Cataclysm

by kitsunerei88

[Sequel to Vanguard] Lord Riddle is dead, and the Ministry has fallen. What began as revolution becomes a war, and wars are never easy – not least because of the enemy.

15. Chapter 15

The Gryffindor common room was emptier this year than it had ever been. Gryffindor had always been one of the smallest Houses, so there had never been much of a fight for chairs, but this was a new low. It seemed like half the school hadn't returned after the winter holidays, and Ron and Neville had almost no competition at all for the good armchairs closest to the fire.

Ron couldn't say that he was particularly surprised. With Britain at war, with Dad gone and Mum as weak as she had been over the holidays, he hadn't wanted to return to school either. He already had his OWLs. With the war, who needed NEWTs?

All of his brothers were involved with the resistance. The twins ran The Underground, Percy was adapting to being a military lawyer, Charlie was running the dragon reservations in the Hebrides, and Bill had enlisted and was a unit captain in the Lord Potter's forces. Beyond that, he knew so many people his own age who hadn't come back and were involved on both sides—there were almost no Slytherins left in his year or the year above him, and most of the sixth- and seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were gone too. Gryffindor had no seventh-years left at all, not since Cormac MacLaggen withdrew. Over four houses, there were only about two dozen students left in the sixth and seventh years.

Ron would have liked to withdraw and enlist in the resistance's army troops too. He wasn't the best at Duelling, or at Defence, but he wasn't bad, and he would be seventeen in only a few weeks. The resistance alliance took anyone over sixteen, but Mum had insisted that he go back to school. He was a prefect, she had yelled, and while Ron didn't think that being a prefect was very important with the war happening, he also hadn't wanted to argue so soon after Dad was gone.

It was good that he had gone back, he supposed. There were almost no prefects left at school, and someone had to keep Seamus Finnegan, one of the few supporters of Voldemort's regime, from being torn apart by the rest of Gryffindor House. Ron understood the feeling—he had drawn a wand on Seamus more than once in the past few months too, because Seamus clearly spoiled for a fight, and better Ron than Neville or anyone else—but someone did have to try to keep the students from outright killing each other.

Responsibility wasn't like him, but the war had changed things.

"You'll still be in check if you move your king there," he said, nodding to the chessboard where Neville was hesitantly drawing his king to a new tile. Ron had been trying to teach Neville chess for years, but Neville just didn't have the knack. "See my knight? Try again."

Neville sighed, running one hand through short, light brown hair. "I can't win, Ron. I can't see any way out of this corner you've boxed me into."

Ron looked down at the board, for all that he knew exactly where every piece was. He had always been good at chess, but it was a game that he had started resorting to more and more as the war wore on. He liked chess, but lately it seemed to be the only thing that could take his mind off the world outside the castle for any length of time.

"You have at least two ways out of check," Ron replied, before he turned around to scan the common room. Seamus wasn't around, probably holed up in their dorm, while his sister Ginny was sitting in a corner with a group of girls she wouldn't normally have much to do with, wearing a smile that Ron could only tell was fake from fifteen years of knowing her. She, too, had changed with the war—she spent more time with people than she had before, and different people at that, though Ron didn't think she enjoyed any of it. Among the younger students, there were the usual groups playing Exploding Snap, working on essays, or talking, but less trouble than he had become used to handling.

The resistance—the rebels, in the eyes of anyone that still supported the Ministry—had taken all of Scotland over the past month. From Shetland in the far north to the Lowlands near the big Muggle cities to the south, the resistance had burned or secured every Ministry outpost in Scotland except for Hogsmeade. And with Hogsmeade came Hogwarts.

The war was close and inching closer. The castle was thick with tension, and while most of the students who were left supported the resistance, the prospect of a battle fought on their doorstep was unnerving.

"I give up," Neville sighed again, and reached over to topple his king over. "I know you said that I could have escaped, but I just can't see it, Ron."

Ron smiled, leaning over to set the king back upright. "The key is that you were looking to get your king out of trouble—you could have sacrificed your rook instead by blocking my bishop, or your knight. You can't always be thinking of just saving pieces, Nev, you also have to think about sacrificing them when it's important to do it."

"I don't see how you can just… see these things." Neville shook his head, collapsing backwards into his armchair.

"It's just practice."

"But it isn't—you keep track of so many things in your head, and you're always playing about four moves ahead of me." Neville sagged a little more in his chair, closing his eyes. "I bet you'd be really amazing if you were with the resistance."

Ron blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Neville opened his eyes, looking over at Ron. "Er—well, isn't chess about tactics? Strategy? I was just thinking, it's not so different from planning a war, right?"

Ron let out a small laugh. "No way! A real war is way more complicated. With chess, I can see everything right when I look at the board. Chess has rules—the pawns can only move in a certain way, the bishops and the rooks and the knights, and they act in ways that can be predicted. A real war has problems like lack of information, or terrain, or unit loyalty, and people aren't anywhere near as predictable as chess pieces. And there are way more players. It's a lot harder, Nev."

Neville's smile was a little sly. "But that's a lot more than I understand, you know? What do you think will happen now?"

"Now?" Ron's smile disappeared as he leaned back in his own armchair. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think Voldemort will be doing now?"

Ron settled back into his armchair, staring into the crackling fireplace, and made a production over thinking about it. Red and orange flames bathed the logs, and the coals at the bottom glowed a steady red.

It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it before. He thought about the war incessantly, to an almost embarrassing degree, which was why he was failing most of his classes. He thought about the resistance's strategies, pulling out maps of Scotland from the library to track the new, shifting fronts. He thought about Voldemort's counter-strategies and tried to predict where Voldemort would go next or how he would react. He ate up the letters from his brothers, and the news in Bridge and the Daily Prophet both, over breakfast and his morning spare hour, then he spent his classes deconstructing the latest enemy and ally moves. Sometimes, he found himself lost in thought, trying to figure out what would have happened if things had gone differently.

What would have happened if Voldemort had won the Hebrides? What about the Highlands—what would have happened if Voldemort hadn't chased the resistance into the Highlands? If he rewound to the beginning of the Scottish campaign, what would have happened if the resistance had opted to begin not on the outlying islands, but by breaking the siege on Queenscove?

The resistance was good. They had clearly had hidden safehouses throughout Scotland before beginning their campaign, so their supply lines were already secured before any of the fighting had begun. Then, they had gone for the islands first—the places that were already likely supportive of them, which would be harder for the Ministry to reach in time and easier for them to defend with a limited force afterwards. The loss of the dragon reservations had been an enormous blow, and much of the Highlands themselves had gone shortly thereafter. The last few successes, Inchcolm Port and the Edinburgh Portkey Hub, had effectively sealed off everything that Scotland needed to be an independent state.

At this point, Hogsmeade was isolated in enemy territory. If the war were a chess game and he the player in charge of the Ministry, Ron would have sacrificed Hogsmeade and withdrawn. Hogsmeade was an important wizarding community, but it was only on the level of a knight. It wasn't the king, or even the queen. But then, if he had been the player in charge of the Ministry, he would have also sacrificed the Highlands in favour of strengthening his position in Hogsmeade and the Lowlands.

"I don't know," Ron said finally, shaking his head. "If Voldemort were smart, he would go back to the Ministry in London. Even if he keeps sacrificing people, he won't be able to hold Hogsmeade in the long-term. But he also doesn't always do the smart thing—he chased the resistance into the Highlands where his troops were basically butchered. It's hard to tell. Like I said, people are a lot more complicated than chess pieces."

Neville sighed. "I know I should be hoping that he does the stupid thing, because it means that the war would be over quicker. But really, I just want him to leave."

"I know what you mean." Ron smiled, then reached for his chess set to set up a new game. He needed the distraction, or he'd spend the next several hours dwelling over whether Voldemort would make the sensible sacrifice and leave Hogsmeade. "Another game, Nev?"

Chess only distracted him for so long. He was still awake at four-thirty the next morning, sitting in the window seat overlooking Hogwarts with his mind whirling over the possibilities. It wasn't that he hadn't slept—he had told the two fifth-year prefects to keep an eye on the common room and turned in well before midnight after Neville had given up his third game, but he found he woke early, these days. Too early.

Voldemort had to be turning back. He had to see that defending Hogsmeade was a bad gamble. They were in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, completely surrounded by those who supported the resistance, and Ron would have bet every Galleon he did not have that even most of the people within Hogsmeade and Hogwarts itself supported the resistance. Voldemort was overextended in Scotland, and the smart thing to do would be to retreat to a better position. If Scotland were a chess game, Ron would have called checkmate in two; but if the war overall was the chess game, then it was still the middlegame, still too early to tell.

He chewed on his bottom lip, listening to Seamus and Neville's snores. For once, it was quiet—not that Seamus and Neville fought often, but Seamus was one of only a few Ministry supporters left in Gryffindor. Neville hadn't formally taken a position, though his family had joined with the resistance not long ago, and Seamus wanted someone, anyone, to take his side. Neville usually deflected any questions as to his position, but sometimes Seamus got aggressive, and Ron had to intercede. Their dorm was tense, the atmosphere itself tiring, and it was only in moments when everyone was asleep that Ron felt anything like peace.

It was because he was awake that he saw the lights—blurry in the distance, but bright against the dark, starless sky.

He straightened in his seat, staring out the window. From Gryffindor Tower, there was a sweeping view of the grounds. Their dorm window showed a view out to the front gates, and the lights were flashing, bobbing in the distance.

Someone was trying to get into the school, past the school wards. No, that didn't make any sense. That didn't make any sense at all.

Except that it did. It made a disturbing amount of sense, and Ron cursed himself soundly for not thinking about it. Ron thought too much about war—he thought too much about troop movements, about army sizes and access routes and the defensive value of particular strongholds, but he didn't turn his mind to thinking about the emotional impact of attacking a school. There was more than one way to win a war. Defeating the enemy on an open battlefield was only one of them.

Another was making the other side surrender. And a school full of hostages, mostly under the age of sixteen, not fully trained in magic yet, would be a very good way to pressure the resistance to surrender.

He needed to see more, and he ran for the stairs. From his dorm, he could only see the way to the front gates, but the common room would have wider views. If he were Voldemort, planning an assault on Hogwarts, he would not go through the front gates. The front gates were almost definitely the best defended—they were the primary entry point to the school, and therefore they had to be, but they weren't the only entry point.

He would bet every Galleon that he did have—all one of them, and therefore considerably more valuable to him than the ones that he didn't have—that whatever was at the front gates was only a small part of Voldemort's forces. If this were a chess board, this would be the beginning of the game, and it was poor planning to commit to only one line of attack. Especially when the target was Hogwarts, which had about as many holes as Swiss cheese.

There were dozens of secret passageways, and Ron knew that more than one of them stretched into Hogsmeade. Fred and George had shown him about three, and they used the passages many times when they were at school to get Butterbeer and candy for Gryffindor parties. Forgetting the secret passageways, there was also the Forbidden Forest—the walls didn't stretch around the Forest, and while there were werewolves and the gods only knew what else in the Forest, he doubted that would be a challenge for an army that willingly worked with both Dementors and vampires.

In the common room, he checked each of the windows—there were the lights bobbing outside the front gates, and he thought he could see a strange movement in the trees in the Forbidden Forest. It could have been a strong wind or just the natural magic of the Forest, but he didn't want to write it off. His gut instincts were telling him that it was more, and he fell back on the spells that all Prefects had been taught to use in case of an emergency.

He pulled his wand out and focused, and the tiny, golden messenger went off to alert the closest staff member.

It was only a few minutes before Professor Flitwick appeared. Without Professor McGonagall, the diminutive wizard had been doing double duty as the Head of both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, an easy task considering that the school had effectively shrunk. All the sixth- and seventh-year courses had been put together, and most of the elective classes were either cancelled or self-study only.

Even dressed in a thick dressing robe, Professor Flitwick's dark eyes were sharp and alert. "What is it, Mr. Weasley?"

"Outside," Ron said, keeping his voice down though he didn't know why. It wasn't as if they were close enough for Voldemort's forces, if they were indeed Voldemort's forces on their doorstep, to hear them. "Lights at the front gates, and there might be something in the Forbidden Forest, too."

Flitwick hurried to the window, quickly Summoning a stack of books to stand upon for a better view. He scanned the grounds, and his wand came out to make a dozen small movements as he examined both the front gates and the Forbidden Forest, his mouth tightening.

"Mr. Weasley, go wake your House," he snapped, his eyes still fixed on the grounds. "Direct them to the Great Hall, then go make sure the Slytherins are awake and do the same. I need to alert Albus."

"The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs?"

"I will handle the Ravenclaws, and Pomona can wake the Hufflepuffs." Professor Flitwick was casting more spells, his wizened face becoming more serious by the second. "Go!"

Ron hurried back up into the dorms. It was quick work to wake Neville and Seamus, and to tell them to wake up the lower years—there were no more seventh-year Gryffindors to worry about, at least, though he could have wished for the seventh-year prefects to help him. He was the only one of them that could undo the usual spells on the girls' dorms, where he headed straight for the fifth-year dormitory to wake Ginny and get her help.

By the time he slipped into the dungeons, using the Point Me spell to help him find the Slytherin common room, his nerves were in a jangle. Since there were almost no upper-year Slytherins left, including no Slytherin prefects, the other prefects had taken their turns responding to problems in that House, but Ron would never be comfortable in the low-lying room under the lake. He had avoided Slytherin duty as much as he could, leaving it to the few Ravenclaw prefects left, who had the best relationships within that House.

"Vitality," he told the blank stretch of wall in front of him, and it slid open. The room glowed with a dull green.

"What is it?" A huddled lump curled up on one of the couches sat up, her hair in minor disarray. Not a student that Ron knew, probably no more than a second or third year. "You're not—"

"We need to wake everyone up," Ron said, without explaining. "Get everyone to the Great Hall. As soon as possible."

The girl's eyes widened, and her face was pale in the green light. "What's happening?"

"Nothing good," Ron replied grimly. "To the Great Hall. Understand?"

The girl nodded, running for the girls' dorms, while Ron hurried to wake the boys.

He was halfway up the steps, chivvying a group of Slytherins along, when a grand, gong-like bell rang through the castle. The sound hung in the air, echoing through the stone corridors and hallways. A chill ran over the back of Ron's shoulders and down his arms, and he stopped, shivering.

"Attention, staff and students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Ron had never heard the voice before, but it didn't take him long to realize who it had to be. Voldemort—an address of this importance would never go to anyone else. It had to be Voldemort. "In light of recent rebel activity, the Ministry of Magic is taking control of the school to ensure the safety of our children. Kindly open your gates that we may assume control and prepare the appropriate defences for an anticipated rebel strike. You have one hour."

Kindly, my arse, Ron thought as he shook his head and hurried back up to the Great Hall, pushing along a few of the more frightened students. Not that he wasn't nervous, too—his heart was pounding in his chest, his arms shaking, though his mind was still clear and racing through the options. This was an opening move, and Dumbledore had to respond.

If Dumbledore opened the gates, he would be putting everyone in the school in danger. He had to know that—they all knew, by now, what the atmosphere was like among Voldemort's ranks. Most of those left at school were either from families that trusted Dumbledore, meaning that most of them were from resistance families or families that were still trying to remain neutral. But if he didn't, he would be declaring their support for the resistance, and inviting a strike from Voldemort himself.

How valuable was Hogwarts?

Valuable enough to be worth the risk, apparently.

The Great Hall was swirling with students when Ron arrived. Most of them were sitting at the House tables, not necessarily their own, clinging together in small clusters. Seamus was sitting alone at one end of the Gryffindor table, his face pale but with a stubborn tilt in his jaw, while others were whispering in fear. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were still streaming in, with the Slytherins coming in behind them.

The Slytherins needed no instructions to head to their own table, a few of the older students muttering that they'd look after the younger ones, so Ron made a beeline to Ginny, whose flaming red hair made her easy to spot in the crowd. "What's happening?"

"Not sure," she replied, looking around the Great Hall with wary eyes. "Seamus wants us to go ahead and open the gates, and he's not alone. But the professors haven't said anything yet. Neville is with Professor Dumbledore, by the way—you might want to check with him."

"Will do."

Neville was, true to Ginny's words, deep in discussion with Dumbledore. Ron frowned as he approached, only to see Neville nod. Their voices were quiet, but they weren't trying to hide their conversation.

"At least a hundred and sixty students for evacuation," he heard Neville say. "Aldon's not going to like this—you know how paranoid he is about Rosier Place."

"He will need to accept it," Dumbledore replied grimly. "Rosier Place would not have the space for all hundred and sixty anyway, but I trust he will take action and secure other places for the students. We need a place for them to go, and rather urgently if Voldemort keeps to the schedule he has set. We have fifty minutes, now."

"I understand. I'll be back as soon as I can." Neville took a deep breath, turning around and blinking when he saw Ron standing there. A moment of surprise, and then he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Ron. I've got to go."

"I thought you were neutral." Ron frowned. "Or at least, you were until recently."

"My family was," Neville replied with a shake of his head. "I'll explain later, but I really do have to go."

"Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore was calling him over, and Ron didn't have much choice but to let Neville disappear out of the Great Hall. "I'm told that you have a good head for chess."

"Er—" Ron cleared his throat, looking away. "I suppose so, but I don't think that's really helpful right now. I just came to see if you needed anything else to be done—organizing the students for evacuation, setting up defensive barriers, anything. I can get what's left of the prefects together to organize."

"Miss Chang is already organizing the students for evacuation." Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, looking over the Great Hall. "I am going to refuse Voldemort entry. There are too many children here that can be used as leverage, and we can't evacuate the students fast enough—it will be at least half an hour before Mr. Longbottom can make the appropriate preparations on the other end, and then we can only send them out in groups of six. At six-minute transit intervals, it will take three hours to evacuate everyone. If you were Voldemort, Mr. Weasley, how would you strike at the castle?"

Ron swallowed, feeling slightly light-headed. "This isn't something—I'm just good at chess. War is nothing like chess. There are too many variables."

"Professor Flitwick also tells me about the doodles in the margins of your essays." Dumbledore tilted his head downwards, looking at Ron over half-moon glasses. "Strategy diagrams, he calls them. Mr. Weasley, I don't have a Stormwing here to guide the defences, and my professors are already setting up further defences on the grounds. I am not relying on you, only asking for your thoughts as someone who enjoys strategy and who might have considered this problem before."

"S-sure," Ron replied, though he had no idea what a Stormwing was, and he swallowed again. "If I were Voldemort, the group at the front gates would only be a decoy. There's no point to striking at the castle head-on—it's where our defences are strongest. I would split into three groups: one for the front gates for show, one to take the secret passageways from Hogsmeade into Hogwarts, and one to go through the Forbidden Forest."

"The passageways are set to collapse," Dumbledore replied, looking away in thought. "I will set them off shortly to block that route. I am less concerned with the passageways than I am the Forbidden Forest. I do not think we can defend the grounds…"

Ron hesitated, but Dumbledore had asked for his thoughts. That meant he could comment on Dumbledore's plans too. Probably. "First, I think we should collapse the passageways when Voldemort's troops are already in them. Whoever makes it through will be injured, and it'll be a better blow against Voldemort than just blocking them off. If we just block them off, we'll just face those people elsewhere. Second, I don't think defending the grounds is a good idea. There isn't enough cover, and there isn't enough worth defending on the grounds either. Unless the students are evacuating out of the grounds somehow, but from what you've said, I don't think they will be."

Dumbledore looked back at him, a look of mild surprise on this face, then he nodded. "Ah, yes. From the groups of six, I assume. We have a resistance Portkey Hub installed here in secret, but it only transports groups of six."

"Then we just should fall back to the castle," Ron replied, then he paused. He wasn't sure how to phrase the next part of what he wanted to say, nor was he sure whether his opinion was needed, but Dumbledore nodded for him to continue.

"Er—I can understand the reasoning behind defending the castle until we evacuate, but the school itself…" Ron stopped, looking down at the ground and frowning. If he considered only Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, then the smart thing to do would be to abandon the castle after the students were gone. The value of the castle was its student body, and less so the physical building itself. But in the context of the Scottish campaign, giving Voldemort the castle would leave him with a foothold in the Scotland, which was not a good idea. In the context of the wider war over Britain, leaving Voldemort with Hogwarts was a terrible idea.

But they didn't have anyone to defend the castle with. There were the professors, few enough to sit around the Head Table and without either a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor or Professor McGonagall, and there were maybe a dozen sixth- and seventh-year students who might be inclined to stay and fight. Maybe some fifth years too, but Ron wasn't even sure that they should stay. Ginny would insist on staying, he knew that much, and Mum would kill him for it later. If they survived.

"We don't have the people to hold the castle, Professor," he finished feebly. "If they assault us seriously, we can't hold for long."

Dumbledore's mouth was a grim line. "Mr. Longbottom will get a message to the resistance, who will be on their way shortly, but you are correct, Mr. Weasley. If Voldemort and his forces seriously assault the school, we will not hold."

XXX

The tapping on his mind was annoying, Aldon thought with a frown, slowly coming out from a deep sleep. Francesca was fast asleep beside him, her half-bare back pressed against his chest, and he looped one arm under her breasts and sleepily tugged her a little closer. She was warm and comforting, a calming presence for him to breathe in every night.

But the tapping sensation didn't stop, and it took him a couple minutes to realize that it was his Portkey Hub with an incoming access request. To Rosier Place, from Hogwarts.

From Hogwarts.

He startled awake, sitting up and pulling the blankets off himself and Francesca. Hogwarts was unusual, and there was only a handful of people who would be making a request from Hogwarts, and none of them would do it at this hour unless something critical had happened. Any other person would have had to head to an access panel to allow entry, but as the Lord Rosier, Aldon had more extensive controls. He signalled for his manor to permit the transit and swung his legs out from his bed.

There was a soft whimper beside him. "Aldon?"

"It's nothing," Aldon replied quickly, pulling the blankets back over her. "Go back to sleep, Francesca."

She had to have been tired because she didn't argue with him. Instead, she rolled, cocooning herself further in the nest of blankets, and fell back asleep. He reached for his clothes, dressing quickly in the dark, then grabbed his wand and shoulder holster with his sidearm. One could never be too careful.

He met Finch hovering around outside the Portkey Hub, looking worried as he wandered back and forth in the corridor. Finch had never been to Rosier Place, to Aldon's knowledge, so he hadn't known where to go.

"Aldon!" Finch's voice was relieved as he caught sight of him and hurried over. Aldon was disturbed to see that Finch had had a late growth spurt and was now taller than him. "Voldemort is outside Hogwarts. He's given Professor Dumbledore an hour to open the gates, which was twenty minutes ago, now. Professor Dumbledore needs to evacuate the students as soon as possible. A hundred and sixty students. We need to start as soon as possible—now, if we can. We have too many students, and at six per transit, it'll still take hours!"

Aldon snapped to attention, and without thinking about it, his wand came up to summon three Patronuses. One to Grimmauld Place, another to Potter Place, a third to Queenscove, to anyone awake. "Emergency. Report to Rosier Place immediately. Hogwarts needs to evacuate the students."

He hesitated to send Patronuses elsewhere—he didn't know the other Houses well enough, and as far as he knew, the other Houses likely wouldn't be inclined to hear from him anyway. Archie and Harry would have better success with the other Houses, he thought.

Much as he didn't like it, he would have to take at least some of the students. Not too many, if he could help it—he didn't want people of questionable loyalties in his manor, but he could hope it would only be for a few hours. He didn't have the troops to keep more than a hundred students in line, nor could he question every single one of them in time. He hoped the other houses would respond, and quickly.

"Has anyone contacted the forces yet?" he demanded. Hogwarts, to his knowledge, was entrenched but had little firepower of their own. There was only Dumbledore, and a dozen or so professors. Even the older students—Cardinal had reported that few of them had returned after the winter holidays, and he had heard from Robin that most Clan-kin sixteen and older had been summoned home for active duty. He didn't know how long Hogwarts could hold against a sustained assault.

"No, my instructions from Dumbledore were to arrange the evacuations with you." Finch shook his head, looking worried again. "Do you need me to go anywhere else?"

Aldon reached up, rubbing his eyes. A hundred and sixty students—he thought he could take twenty or thirty, on a short-term basis. He needed to drum up space, which seemed to a much harder proposition than it should be considering how many strongholds they did have. But not everyone they would be taking in would be their allies, and the security provisions they'd need—

He didn't have a choice.

"Can you go to your manor house?" he decided finally. "Grimmauld Place is small—Archie can probably only take a dozen or so, though Harry may be able to take more at Potter Place. She and Hurst still have most of a unit. Queenscove may be able to take more and has the equivalent of two units, but we won't have enough space here. I know there is no Portkey Hub to the Longbottoms yet—"

"I have a personal Portkey," Finch interrupted. "I can do it, and we can probably set up a couple mass transits from Potter Place, but—"

"But?"

"But Grandmother…" Finch took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm guessing my utility as a spy is pretty much gone, isn't it?"

Aldon was surprised into a smile. "I suppose it is—I can't exactly integrate you anywhere else. We'll find another spot for you. Thank you for your service."

Finch saluted, a small smile in reply on his face. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll ask my mum or dad to Side-Along me back here, and then I'll go back to Hogwarts to help with the evacuations."

"Go, and good luck," Aldon replied, mentally altering the wards to allow Finch to Portkey out before he hurried back to his rooms. They had had enough time before the Scottish campaign to put together a few communication orbs, but since they had had limited resources, the focus was on the military units—between Lina and the Lord Potter, Moody and the Lord McLeod, between those who were most likely to need to communicate sensitive information quickly and effectively for battle. Lina had only just managed to obtain for one with him as the spymaster on the chance that he would receive time-sensitive relevant battle information from one of his spies that would need immediate transmission north. It was the work of a second to find the dark green orb, left on the nightstand beside his bed.

"Lina," he snapped, picking up his orb. "Lina, wake up."

There was silence on the other side—not surprising, considering it wasn't even dawn yet, but he didn't have much choice. He thought that their forces were secured in the Boyd Clanhome for the moment, but he wasn't sure, and this was exactly the sort of situation for which they had made the communication orbs. She had impressed on him that he needed to keep it close, and while they hadn't used it before, he hoped—no, he knew—that she would have hers close as well.

She didn't answer, so he tapped the orb again. "Lina, please. Wake up."

He waited impatiently, every second that passed seeming like an eternity. He needed to start working out where to place the children—the problem was that the vast majority of their units, everyone who could be spared, was in Scotland. They might have space to take in the children, but to maintain order? To defend them in the case of anything happening? A hundred and sixty children was not a small number, and he could take less than thirty.

"Mother, please," he said finally, and he was disturbed by how forlorn he sounded for a moment. But she had to answer. "Answer me."

"Now there's a demand I haven't heard in a long time," he heard a muffled, tired reply. "It took awhile for me to dig this out of my duffle bag, so calm down, Aldon. And I'm not your mother anymore, go to Christie if you want someone good at mothering. What happened?"

"Voldemort is striking at Hogwarts. Finch just reported to me, and Dumbledore is giving orders for evacuation."

There was a pause on the other side, and Aldon heard movement, a shifting body. "Merde."

Aldon winced. "Lina."

"You swear like a sailor in your own head, don't pretend like you don't." Lina yawned, but Aldon could tell that she was getting up hundreds of miles away. "This is not entirely unexpected, though we did hope that Voldemort would simply abandon Hogsmeade once the rest of Scotland was taken—"

"That would never have happened," Aldon replied flatly. "Never. It isn't in his nature."

"Well, we'd hoped that he would have been convinced by one of his advisors or his own Stormwings that holding it or doing anything with Hogwarts would be political suicide," Lina grumbled. "I'll mobilize the army, but if Dumbledore says they need to evacuate, they need to evacuate. Get the children out, we can send them all home later, and if you can get a message into Hogwarts, tell them we're on our way."

"How long will you be?" Aldon was calculating the time needed for evacuation already. They could start as soon as Finch made it back, and Finch knew how urgent it was, but even transporting out six at a time would be hard. They could aim at three minutes per transfer, which would be about an hour and a half, but realistically it would be longer than that. They couldn't count on getting the students moving quickly enough for three-minute transfers, and Portkey Hub theory recommended no more than one transit every eight minutes. Even if they rushed, it would likely take hours. "By my best guess, it'll take three hours to transit out all of the students, and Hogwarts only has Dumbledore and the professors for defence."

"We'll be there this morning, but I don't know how long it'll take before we can engage," Lina replied grimly. "It depends on what defences Voldemort has set on his back end—we might have to break through some barriers to get through to Hogwarts at all. It shouldn't take me more than an hour to mobilize the units here for a mass Apparition to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, assuming he hasn't blocked that off. We may also need to march some. I don't know yet, we'll need to strategize on the go. You'll need to handle the evacuation on your own."

"Very well." Aldon frowned. He didn't have to like it, but if it needed to happen, it needed to happen. Aldon felt another tap on his magical senses—the Portkey Hub again, this time from Grimmauld Place. "Archie's here. I have to go."

"Keep your comm orb close," Lina ordered. "I'll be in touch."

Archie was already heading to his study, Hermione beside him, when Aldon ran into him. Hermione's hair was frightful, a terrifying poof almost as big as another head, and she was pulling it back and spelling it into a knot that was only slightly neater. Aldon motioned them into the closest reception room and clapped for a house-elf. Hermione frowned at him but said nothing as Aldon ordered a platter of coffee.

"Is Harry coming?" Archie asked, with a big yawn.

"I'd hoped you could tell me that," Aldon replied with a raised eyebrow. "I did send a Patronus to Potter Place."

"Well, we aren't mind-melded," Archie muttered. "Though we considered it, once."

Hermione shot him a horrified look, one that Aldon was shocked to see was mirrored on his own face. A mind-meld?

"It was during the ruse, for one of those awful Galas," Archie said with a shrug. "Because she needed to be there as herself, and I didn't know anyone in Wizarding Britain really. We didn't do it."

Hermione's face said clearly what she thought of the idea, but before she could say anything further, Aldon felt the tap of the Portkey Hub. Queenscove, this time. "Excuse me."

It wasn't Neal, but Percy Weasley who had been sent over from Queenscove, deep bags under his eyes showing his own tiredness. "Dawn watch," he said by way of explanation, his mouth turned down in worry. "I received your Patronus and came as soon as I could alert one of the captains. My brother and sister?"

"I haven't heard anything about them," Aldon replied, feeling another tap—this time coinciding with a flash of the access panel, which anyone except for him would have needed to use. Potter Place, this time. He reached over and input the symbol to allow transfer. "Finch was rather in a hurry."

Harry was coming out of the Portkey Hub, her green eyes sharp even if it was obvious that she had dressed in a hurry. Her robes were wrinkled, and she still smelled of the Potions laboratory. "An evacuation of Hogwarts?" she asked, sounding far more awake than anyone had a right to be at five in the morning.

"Yes," Aldon confirmed, leading the way to the reception room. "We need to work out numbers and the logistics—once Finch returns from the Longbottoms, he'll return to Hogwarts and help on that end, but we need places for all the students to go."

"We should have at least one line of communication open with Hogwarts." Harry's eyes were focused, her eyebrows pinched together in worry. "But other than Patronuses, messengers would tie up their Portkey Hub…"

"I've already alerted Lina—she is mobilizing the forces to go to Hogwarts now," Aldon replied, with a small shake of his head as he motioned for Harry and Percy to go ahead of him into the reception room. He felt another prickle against his wards, and a quick command to his manor to show him his wards revealed that it was Finch and his mother. He allowed them entry, then hurried to meet them.

By the time he returned, his house-elves had returned with a carafe of coffee and half of the people in the room were already indulging, and few people were quietly talking. Finch had made a motion for the Portkey Hub, but Aldon had shaken his head and pulled him along with him to the meeting. While they needed to begin evacuations as soon as possible, rushing now would only cause more delay down the line unless they kept the Portkey Hub lines as clear as possible. They needed something that looked like a plan.

"Evacuation," Aldon said, his voice cutting through the chatter, his mind already set. "Rosier Place can take the first four groups—we do not have space for a hundred and sixty students, and while we are entrenched, we have almost no defensive forces at all. My forces right now consist of myself, Draco, and Aman. I can't possibly maintain control of a hundred and sixty students, nor can I begin transferring students out to different safehouses while still taking in evacuees from Hogwarts. Further, if we were attacked, we have less by way of physical defences than either Potter Place or Queenscove."

"I think an attack is unlikely if Voldemort is at Hogwarts now," Harry snorted, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. "But if that's your position, Potter Place will take in the rest."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Archie's voice was concerned, and his frown was very different from hers. "If Rosier Place takes the first twenty-four, that's still at least hundred and forty left! Even if you have an entire unit left, that's only going to be a dozen people to look after more than a hundred upset kids. Grimmauld is small, but I can take two groups, at least for a few hours. Older kids, if you can manage it—Hermione and I just have half a unit with us, and we do live on top of a bomb."

"Our manor also doesn't have a unit," Alice Longbottom added, her blue eyes bright. "But my mother-in-law has taken in most of our extended family, so we can take as many children as we need to take in—perhaps we should simply split them equally among our remaining houses."

"That would be fine," Percy agreed. "Neal has given me authorization to accept as many students as needed—Queenscove is well entrenched and continues to have the equivalent of two units."

"We can simply rotate the last three," Aldon decided quickly. "If we rotate the transits, we'll be more likely to get through them quickly, though it will put strain on the Hogwarts Portkey Hub. But we might be able to move them faster than the normal Portkey Hub transit recommendations allow—"

"We'll need a contact within Hogwarts," Harry said, standing up. "A third of the remaining will still be some fifty students—I need to get back to Potter Place to prepare. But we need a connection to carry information and messages that doesn't tie up the Portkey Hubs—the Portkey Hubs should be evacuations only."

"Patronuses?" Archie suggested. "But with Wales—"

"And the distance isn't small, from here to Hogwarts," Harry interrupted, looking pointedly at Aldon. "We need something more secure—a communication orb."

Aldon's lips tightened. "You want me to go to Hogwarts."

"It's what makes sense," Harry replied, her green eyes steady. "You have a connection both to the army, and another connection here."

It took a moment for Aldon to recognize her meaning, and he grimaced. He did have another communication orb here—he and Francesca had one for when she was at school. He was the logical choice, but he didn't like it.

It meant leaving Rosier Place in Francesca's hands, along with his mother and the rest of Blake & Associates. While he had faith that they would well be able to care for his manor in the usual circumstances, and he had left the manor before, he had never done so without Lina or Moody present. And they would be allowing in another two dozen students to his grounds, who would need supervision. Were that not enough, he would also be going into an active war zone, where there was every possibility that the school could be overwhelmed before Lina and her forces reached them. He was not a fighter—not the way that Alex was, or Neal, or even Harry.

But he didn't have much choice. It was a developing situation, and someone needed to be on hand in Hogwarts to see and pass on information as necessary to the houses in Britain taking the students. Similarly, someone needed to be able to pass Hogwarts information about developing situations among the students or in the safehouses, so that they could redirect the evacuees as necessary. He was the only one who had a communication orb connection both to Rosier Place and to their forces on the move.

"It's quarter past five," Finch added, shifting anxiously on his feet. He had never sat down, and had instead hovered in the doorway, looking for the moment that he could move for the Portkey Hub. "Voldemort's announcement said an hour, and it's been at least forty-five minutes. That's too long, we need to start evacuations now."

Aldon sighed, bringing one hand to his head. He didn't have a choice.

"Let me wake Francesca," he said, and his voice was devoid of any emotion. "Then I'll get my rifle and the communication orbs, and we'll be on our way."

Francesca was already rolling over when Aldon strode back into his bedroom, her dark eyes blinking sleepily. "What is it, Aldon?"

"The school is being attacked," he replied, reaching over to touch her on the shoulder. "I need to go there to help with the evacuation and act as a communication link with both the army and here—we'll be taking in two dozen students. You'll need to look after the wards and the manor while I am gone."

She sat up, several emotions flicking across her face in a pattern that Aldon couldn't follow. "I—how soon will you be back?"

"As soon as I can."

"Is it—will you be all right?"

Aldon took her hand, small in his, and squeezed gently. "I'll come home. I swear it."

"Don't make me promises you can't keep, Aldon." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'll wake up everyone else. Go on, do what you need to do."

He could have wished for more—he didn't know. More than a dismissal, but he didn't have time to worry about it. Instead, he pulled her close, not caring if he was being too rough about it and pressed his lips hard against hers. "I will be back," he swore anyway, before he went off to grab everything he needed and to meet Finch by the Portkey Hub.

Finch was well ready to leave by the time that Aldon was at the Portkey Hub, his wand out and casting a Tempus Charm. Five-thirty, the magic flashed. "We have to go," he said, looking down at Aldon, his face frozen in worry. "Everyone else has gone, they're preparing their Houses to receive students."

"Fine," Aldon said, opening the door to the Portkey Hub and mechanically checking for his weapons. Wand in his holster on his right arm, ACD on his left, already on with the batteries full. His sidearm was at his waist, and his rifle hung on his back. "Let's be on our way. Francesca will need several minutes to wake the manor and get ready—perhaps we should send two first groups to Grimmauld Place."

Finch headed into the Portkey Hub and grabbed onto the ring, reaching for the access panel. Aldon barely managed to grab onto the ring as well before the magic took hold and whisked them to Hogwarts.

He came out in a familiar seventh-floor corridor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls how the dance. Neither the famously batty wizard nor the trolls were in the tapestry, and the scene across from him showed only an empty room with wooden floors and a high barre. The floor underneath them was shaking, a low rumble echoing down the hallways. For a moment, Aldon was disoriented; it had not been that long since he had left, but he was coming back in completely unforeseen circumstances. He wasn't dressed in his school uniform, he was carrying Muggle weapons, and he no longer fit here.

Finch tore off down the hallway, intent on the Great Hall, and Aldon followed. He couldn't help but keep an eye on the castle around him—there were so many things that were the same, and so many that were different. The portraits around him were empty, their inhabitants elsewhere, while the plinths that once held suits of armour and statues stood bare. The floors of the castle shook now and then from what sounded like fresh blasts of power, and Aldon staggered as the floor moved from under him, sending him careening into a wall.

They ran into Ron Weasley running up the Grand Staircase, a group of older students in tow.

"Neville!" His face lit up, sounding relieved. "You've been nearly an hour! And Rosier."

"I would have been faster, but Aldon held me back to plan the evacuations," Finch said, sounding out of breath. While he had shown no sign of his tiredness while moving, Aldon could now see that he was running on adrenaline and panic, not athleticism.

Aldon that thought that Weasley would say something scathing in reply, but instead the redhead only nodded in understanding, motioning for the other older students with him, including Cardinal, to keep moving upwards. "Sometimes, it is better to move slow, in order to move fast," he said. "Better to work out any foreseeable problems now instead of getting snared by them later. Cho has the students organized in groups of six, a mix of older students with younger students in each, a mix of political beliefs too. Hopefully, they'll be able to take care of themselves until you can find better places for them. They're ready to go as soon as you have a place for them to go."

"We do," Aldon interjected. "First two groups to Grimmauld Place—older students if possible, Grimmauld Place has few defences but is effectively a bomb in and of itself, Archie will not be able to handle more than two. Next four to Rosier Place, where my—Francesca—will look after them, and the remainder to be split between—"

"Sure," Weasley replied, shaking his head and turning away. "Sounds great. I have to run—we're holding the castle while everyone gets out, I'm organizing the defense from the towers. Height advantage is always good. I'll see you when the dust settles. Nev, the students and Dumbledore are in the Entrance Hall, which is a little better defended than the Great Hall. Less windows."

"You got it," Finch said, taking a deep breath and continuing his mad dash down the stairs. Aldon nodded at Weasley in acknowledgement and followed.

The castle was still shaking under him, and there was another, louder rumble as the floors shook and Aldon clung to the bannister of the stairs. It was different than the other strikes—those had been momentary, a second or two of shaking, but this sound lingered for several seconds in the air. It was the sound of rock falling, an avalanche of noise, almost as if one of the towers or walls themselves had collapsed.

"Shit," Finch panted, but they were nearly at the bottom of the stairs anyway. He jumped the last six steps and ran to Dumbledore, who immediately began motioning for groups to proceed to the stairs. Finch shook his head, but a quick report later, and he was again running up the stairs. Aldon considered calling after him to be careful of the recommended times between transfers, but let it go—it would probably take a few minutes to set the children up between transfers anyway, and Finch had a good head on his shoulders.

"Lord Rosier," the Headmaster turned, seeing him, and Aldon could see his eyes flicker to the Muggle weaponry he carried. "I assume you are here as a communication link."

"That is correct." Aldon nodded. "The resistance army is coming—Lina estimated an hour to mobilize, but they may have to fight their way through obstacles left by Voldemort to get here. I am linked to both the army and to my manor, where my intended is waiting to receive evacuees as well."

"Mr. Longbottom is apprised of your plans, I am sure." Dumbledore turned away, looking thoughtfully at the grand, wooden doors that had only been closed after curfew when Aldon had been a student. They gave another massive shake, as something on the outside hit them with massive force. "Voldemort has not yet passed our front gates, but he is making every attempt to do so. A second group of his fighters have already made their way through the Forbidden Forest, while a third I have trapped in the passageways. We will not hold forever; our wards are strong, but fundamentally, we are a school, not a fortress. We have too many openings to defend. Tell me, Lord Rosier—I hear that you have been using a simple test to screen visitors at your manor."

Aldon frowned. "The one wherein I demand that they state whether they mean harm to me, my manor, or to those within my manor?"

"Simple, but clever," the Headmaster mused, examining the shaking walls of Hogwarts Castle.

"Hardly helpful, unless one is a Truth-Speaker," Aldon retorted, hearing a noise from one of the communication orbs in his pocket. He fished it out, recognizing from the darker green that it was Lina. "Lina, I'm at Hogwarts."

"Why the fuck are you at Hogwarts?" She swore on the other side. "Couldn't you think of anything better than going yourself to Hogwarts with that brain of yours? Voldemort left a coven of vampires to guard his back, as well as an Anti-Apparition Ward for some distance—we're on our way, but we're delayed."

"We've started evacuations on the inside," Aldon reported quickly. "Rosier Place is only taking twenty-four evacuees—the remainder will be split among other houses. Dumbledore has collapsed some of the passageways within the castle to limit access, but there are forces moving through the Forbidden Forest."

"How long can the school hold?" Lina demanded. "Do you know?"

"Some hours yet," Dumbledore replied directly. "But not indefinitely. We have too many openings, and not enough defenders to retaliate against an attack. I am considering our options."

There was a pause from the communication orb. "Have you considered destroying the school after you evacuate? Not a popular move, to be sure, but it you cannot hold and we cannot get there in time, it is better to destroy the school to keep Voldemort from holding it."

"The young Mr. Weasley made the same suggestion," Dumbledore replied, smiling slightly. "But I could not—there is simply too much magical knowledge within these walls for me to destroy it. However, you can rest assured that Voldemort will never hold these walls, Lina."

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other side. "Very well. I leave that to you. We'll be there as soon as we can. Aldon—"

"Lina?"

A sigh. "Don't die. Your mother would be crushed, and I don't want to deal with it."

"I shall endeavour not to," Aldon replied dryly, hearing the unspoken concern. "Just get here quickly, Lina."

He heard only a crackle in a reply, the sound of Lina putting her communication orb away.

"Now, Lord Rosier." Dumbledore was looking at him, a very serious look in his blue eyes. "To return to your test, do you think that a spell or ward could be developed to bar entry to Hogwarts to those who mean it and its students harm?"

"In magic, anything is possible." It was an aphorism recited through every magical theory class Aldon had ever sat through, and even repeated in the better texts that he had managed to get his hands on since his graduation. "The issue, Headmaster, is that of magical power."

"A pithy answer," Dumbledore noted. "I suppose that you'd then say that it would be more magical power than any person has to do such a thing."

Aldon hesitated—he hadn't thought it through, but already the problems were obvious. It included too many areas of magic: Legilimency, ward construction, magical theory, possibly Charms depending on whether it was a ward or a spell… While an interesting thought, it was not one that they had time to explore in only a few hours under attack. "I wouldn't know, Headmaster. But my experience working in magical development over the past year suggests so, and since no such spell is known to exist, there would be exponentially more power required for a spell guided on intent alone. Hayashida's Law."

Dumbledore nodded, looking away as if very far into the distance, his expression inscrutable.

XXX

Aldon never told her anything. Not until she pushed him on it, or unless someone else pushed him to it.

Francesca had been awake almost from when he had first gotten up. Initially, she had opened her eyes to see darkness, and had curled back up to go back to sleep—it was normal for Aldon to wake before she did, and she usually slept an hour or so longer than he did anyway. But no more than a few minutes later, she had woken up again, feeling something wrong.

It was earlier than Aldon normally woke. That much she could tell, scrambling for her watch. It hadn't even been five in the morning yet, and without the dhampir unit close by, Aldon hadn't been rising at six to train but worked in an hour with Draco later in the day. She couldn't feel anything from the wards—the manor only woke her or carried her information in an emergency, but she worried. Something was wrong. Aldon wouldn't have left her so early if it wasn't, and there was something about the way he had said it's nothing earlier that left her suspicious. It was too quick a denial.

She had slipped down to Aldon's study to listen in, the primal keystone being the only place in the manor where she could exercise the control over the manor that Aldon had anywhere he went. The manor, obligingly, had let her listen in, and she had even asked it not to tell Aldon about her spying on him. Had he found out, he no doubt would have returned and sent her to bed. He could have relied more on others. He could have relied more on her.

But he wouldn't, so instead she had to slip down and find out what was happening for herself.

Even when he had come back to wake her, he had kept it to the bare necessities. Francesca knew better than Aldon thought she did about the dangers he put himself in, but she couldn't be fully sure why he hid it from her.

She would never have tried to stop him. She would have worried, but not the same way she knew that Christie worried about him. The war that Aldon was fighting was his version of the ACD, and indeed, she would think much less of him if he didn't put himself in danger when the war called for him to do so.

But for the moment, she was watching the first few groups of students arrive from Hogwarts and helping to direct them all to the formal dining room. A simple breakfast had been laid out, mainly pastries with toast and various spreads, along with coffee, tea, hot chocolate, juice, and water. The students were a mix—some older, but mostly younger, and they all had the same sort of look to them.

Scared. Not just of what was happening, but of where they were. A few of the youngest seemed to be carrying stuffed toys with too-tight grips, and they all wore stiff, blank expressions, as if they were simply too scared to cry. Some of them were looking around, their eyes wide. Only a few had managed to grab anything like regular clothing; most of them were still in their pyjamas. The oldest students seemed most preoccupied with the younger ones, barely giving Francesca more than a glance or a slight, tentative nod of acknowledgement. She wasn't familiar to them. She was part of the war.

Francesca had no idea what she was supposed to do. She had woken everyone else in the manor, but with the exception of Draco, she didn't think any of them would be familiar to the evacuees, and familiarity and control would probably give them the most comfort. All she could do was make sure that there was food and drinks available. She wasn't good at this. This wasn't what she was good for, and she didn't like feeling so out of place and useless.

"Er—" There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to face a young Asian woman, around her age or a little older, with a tired, stressed look in her dark eyes. "My name is Cho—Cho Chang. Thank you very much for hosting us."

"Francesca Lam. And it was Aldon's decision," Francesca mumbled, looking down at the floor. She recognized the name—Cho Chang had been listed as one of the strategists for the Hogwarts team for the Triwizard Tournament. Aldon certainly knew her, but he'd never mentioned her. "Any thanks should go to him, not me. Do you—is there anything else that I can do for you? Is there anything that you need? Blankets or bedding, maybe, or… I don't know."

Cho shook her head. "I'll look after them, with the older students. We won't cause any problems, I promise. I was only going to tell you, you don't need to stand here and wait on us. If there's anything you need to do, you can feel free."

Francesca hesitated, then she nodded, trying to think of what Aldon would do. With so many people in the manor, and without their usual forces, she was worried and uncomfortable. Aldon would have at least had the assistance of the manor to keep an eye on things, and the ability to review the wards at will, but Francesca didn't.

"I'll—please don't wander," she said finally, making up her mind. She would check on the wards, then she would check on Christie and Draco and the others, who were helping to direct the kids from the Portkey Hub, before she came back. She didn't know what else to do. "Aldon wouldn't—we have a lot of, um, security spells and so on, so it's safer not to wander. If you need anything, if you clap twice, one of the house-elves will come and get me."

"Will do," Cho replied, with a tentative smile. "Thank you."

XXX

Lina set her communication orb back in her pocket. It had started raining—of course it was bloody goddamn raining, why wouldn't it be raining sheets of ice water on them all in the middle of the most important battle for Scotland?

Annoyed, she flicked out her wand and set up an umbrella spell and went to meet the other commanders. Captain Dragić was gone already—sunrise would be delayed by the rain, but they had only an hour or so to catch the coven in the open for an extermination campaign. Once vampires went to ground, finding them tended to be harder, and handling them with anything other than arson—typically frowned upon by magical and Muggle government alike—was messy.

The Anti-Apparition wards stretched a few miles out from both Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—not as far as out as Lina had feared, but far enough to make a difference. At a quick march with the assistance of magic, Lina expected they could march four or five miles in an hour, but she would rather the army conserve their magic for an actual battle. That meant marching at no more than three miles in an hour, and they'd already been struck by the vampire coven left behind.

There would no doubt be more obstacles in the way. Voldemort was not so stupid that he wouldn't leave a defence on his back end, and even if he were, his Stormwings would no doubt have arranged for defences. As obvious as it might have been that Voldemort didn't always listen to them, Lina couldn't always count on the man's stupidity.

"Hogwarts has begun evacuating," she said succinctly, joining James, Alastor, Flint and the three Clan Lairds and Ladies standing in the open. The rest of them were spread out elsewhere, but the Laird Cameron and Lady MacLaggen were carrying communication orbs linking the rest into their meeting. "Aldon is in Hogwarts and can act as both a connection into Hogwarts and back to Rosier Place. Voldemort's army is already on the grounds—they cut through the Forbidden Forest, always one of the castle's weak points. Dumbledore has already collapsed some of the passageways—I assume that Aldon meant the passages into the castle from Hogsmeade, so that option is out."

"Do you have any brilliant ideas for a plan?" James asked, looking into the distance as if he could see the castle itself. Normally, in daytime, he would have been able to, but not at this hour, nor in this downpour. "Lord Dumbledore won't be able to just open the gates for us get in to defend the school, and without the passageways—"

"The air troops could get there faster," Flint said, his arms crossed on his chest. "But there aren't many of us, so if we were to go ahead, I'd want us to join forces with those in the castle. If we had any more of those bombs—"

"We used them in the Edinburgh Portkey Hub attack and haven't been able to make more," Lina interrupted. "No time. And in this rain, I doubt it would be very effective anyway, but I can pass a message through to Hogwarts to drop some of the wards to allow entry. If it's restricted to tower-levels, I don't think Voldemort will notice in time."

"Works for me. We'll be on our way—should be there in less than half an hour." Flint nodded sharply, then turned away to find his air units.

"As for the rest of us, by the time we get there, chances are the gates will be open." Sirius sighed, his face creased with worry. "Let's just go and hit them from behind, split their forces. Squish them between us and the castle."

"Whatever's left of the castle," Alastor muttered darkly. "I don't have a better plan—we don't have the information or the time. We should split up. Each of our individual ground units should be large enough to sustain a rearguard action, especially if we remain close enough to provide support to each other. Voldemort will have most of his forces committed to Hogwarts right now, especially if he's divided his army into three groups for different entrances as Rosier suggests he did. Keep your comm orbs close, and yell if you hit anything. If we can get at least some of us close enough for support, it's better than nothing."

Lina thought about it, then she grimaced. She couldn't think of anything better either, and they were still a few miles out from both Hogsmeade and the castle. They needed to get moving. "I agree—we'll have to plan as we go. It'll be at least another hour before we manage to get to the castle, though Dumbledore did say they could hold for some hours."

"Then let's go," the Laird Cameron grunted, turning to look up at the skies. "This miserable rain will keep us from moving as quickly as we'd like, and the troops won't be as attentive as they should be."

He was right. It was the work of only a few minutes for her to pass the message onto Aldon that Flint's air units were on their way, and for her to collect her units and head out. Her own units were obviously unhappy with the weather, but they didn't complain. They had lived through worse, these past few months. They knew they'd soon be in battle anyway, and they showed it the way that soldiers did—some laughed louder than they ever had before, others withdrew into meditative silence, many seemed to be running over spells and weaponry as if just reminding themselves of their spells and weapons would guarantee their survival. There was nothing that would guarantee anyone's survival, a fact that Lina knew better than most, but she left them to it.

The grass and hills were slippery under their feet, but she saw little. Part of it was the freezing downpour, but Lina also didn't expect to see much by way of resistance this far from the scene of the action. Voldemort would be keeping his forces close to him, and this far out she expected creatures or wards to be the issue. None of those yet, either.

A grim silence seemed to choke them as they marched—slower than she wanted to march, but they did need to move carefully. She knew that Alastor's forces were somewhere to her right, and James' to her left, but she couldn't see them. Occasionally, she would hear a crackle from one of the several orbs carried in her pockets, confirming their position and their status, but there was nothing yet. Their voices were quiet, strained, and as they walked every awkward laugh from one of her soldiers sounded strange against the heavy downpour.

She couldn't help but keep track of the distance as they marched. A half-mile, and then a mile. The tension increased the closer they got to Hogsmeade—there were only so many ways into Hogwarts, and the easiest path was through Hogsmeade. From their approach, they would pass through Hogsmeade, though several of the others wouldn't. Clans Ross, McAllister and McLeod were picking their way through rougher Highland terrain but would be approaching from the side of the Forbidden Forest. She could only imagine how their units would be faring at that knowledge. Even as a Stormwing, she would have been nervous entering the Forbidden Forest, because she was trained to fight against other witches and wizards, not other sentient beings. Centaurs, manticores and acromantula obeyed different rules than humans, and she had no wish to tangle with any of them.

A mile out from Hogsmeade, she ran into a ward. The air in front of her flared blue, and as tempted as she was to kick at it, she was no longer in her twenties and not quite as reckless. She held up a hand, then motioned for Bill Weasley, one of her unit captains, to come over.

"Tell me about this," she ordered bluntly, keeping her voice low. "Or break it. I don't much care which."

She didn't know him well, but the wizard's face was serious as he leaned forward to examine the ward. "A standard alarm and barrier ward," he muttered, his wand out to probe at the spells. "I don't know if I have enough power to break it on my own—no. Wait. There's a weakness—if I hit it here, while someone at least a half-mile way hits it as well, it should collapse."

Lina frowned. They had been some time—Flint should have passed these awhile ago, and she hadn't heard anything about a barrier spell from him. "Does it go all the way around, like a dome?"

Weasley shook his head, though he hit the ward with another spell. A crackle of blue light spread up in the air, but Lina couldn't see where it ended in the rain. "If it were only an alarm-spell, probably, but actively walling people out needs quite a lot more power. It only goes up about forty feet, if we levitate ourselves that far up, we can cross without a problem."

Lina grimaced. That much magic was not something that she wanted to use. "But you can break it with someone more than half a mile away?"

"Should be able to collapse it," Weasley confirmed. "But I need to coordinate with someone at least half a mile away."

Neither James nor Alastor would be more than a half-mile away, so she would need to reach out to one of the groups further away. She didn't have a direct connection to most of the Clans, but Laird Cameron did—she dug in her pocket for the marble-sized communication orb that linked her to him. "Cameron. Are you at a barrier?"

"Just reached it."

"I have a Curse-breaker with me who can break it, but we need someone at least a half-mile away. Can you confirm your location?"

"Not far enough." There was a rustle. "Let me check with MacMillan, he's the end of this line."

The minutes seemed to slip away under them. Lina drew a wand, casting Tempus—they had been almost an hour already, moving much slower than she had hoped they would. Between the rain, the general caution, and now this barrier, they were only being more delayed.

"MacMillan has someone," Cameron confirmed. "And he's just over a half-mile from your location. Give him a moment and we'll link him in."

A moment felt far too long, but when Cameron flashed back on, Lina could hear someone through a second communication orb. The links weren't perfect—over two connections, the background noise of the rain seemed disproportionately louder. In any case, she held her orb out to Weasley, who immediately began providing instructions and coaching whoever it was on the other end.

Whoever it was on the other end wasn't a Curse-breaker. They had precious few of them in the army—there was Weasley and one other under James' command, but whoever it was with MacMillan couldn't have specialized in ward-breaking. It sounded from the conversation like she worked in another area of magical experimentation, because Weasley was spending far too long coaching her into finding the weak point at all.

Not too long, she corrected herself, annoyed. Too long would be making everyone levitate forty feet in the air instead of just breaking the ward. She was just anxious to be at Hogwarts because Aldon was there.

Most of a year into war, and Aldon was still not at the point where Lina ever wanted him anywhere near anything like active combat. He was fine holding Rosier Place, largely because his manor provided him with such strong protections and additional abilities, but she would never choose to take him on a campaign. Fortunately, he had never asked to go along—whatever might be said, her foster son was generally aware now that he was not a fighter, which had the additional benefit that he also acted with extreme violence when he needed. Unlike many of her soldiers who still struck to wound or incapacitate only, Aldon didn't hesitate to kill.

A bright flash lit up in front of her, blue and orange crackling across a barrier. There was a sizzle, raindrops that hit the lights going up in steam, then the whole structure seemed to collapse in on itself leaving only a burnt mark on the ground. Lina didn't hesitate to step over it, and maybe it was a good thing that she had, because then the Dementors were on them.

"Patronuses!" She yelled, her own wand already in play, and her wolverine leapt into action to defend the first few rows. There were dozens of the spectral creatures, drawing deep rattling breaths in the air and she knew that with a month of campaign to draw on, the Dementors would find much fear to feed on in her troops. But they didn't have time to deal with Dementors—killing the creatures would drag them down too long.

"Don't waste your time fighting them," she snapped, seeing Weasley's weasel leap into the face of the nearest Dementor and whipping around to face the rest of her units. "They should guard only. Focus on the goal, everyone—we need to move onto Hogwarts!"

With that said, she strode forwards, her Patronus leading the way. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see dozens of silver Patronuses coming into being around her, a circus of ghostly creatures surrounding them and holding the Dementors at bay.

"Lina," Aldon's voice came from her pocket, and she scrambled for the orb. "We're half-done the evacuation, but the front gates have fallen. Flint's arrived, and we're still holding the castle, but—"

"But?"

"Please do hurry, if you can," he replied finally, endlessly polite. "I'm two-thirds out of rifle bullets, too—most of my shots are going wide with magical interference."

Lina shook her head, pocketing the orb, and refused to think about the possibilities of what might happen if they didn't make it there in time. They would make it there in time because she would make it happen, and they were already within two miles of the castle. Hogwarts Castle would hold because it had no choice but to hold, and because Dumbledore had said that it would.

The Dementors still slowed them down—they hovered just outside the circle formed by their Patronuses, haunting, and she could hear her forces muttering behind her. Even with the Patronuses, grim dread hung in the air. People were moving slower than before, wading their way through blunted fear-terror thick as mud.

The streets of Hogsmeade were eerily empty when they arrived. Sensible—no one could miss the flashes of light and magic from the castle overlooking the village, even if they could hear nothing. As they came closer, Lina could see James' and Alastor's forces narrowing in closer to hers, funnelled by the narrow streets of Hogsmeade, as they marched on towards the castle. There was a noise on her right, and she glanced over to see a unit of Voldemort's followers ambushing Alastor's group.

Her wand was out, and there was a mutter through her forces, but Alastor was shaking his head and making a hand signal for them to move on. A quick assessment showed that Alastor had them outnumbered.

"He has it," Lina snapped, turning around to face her own units. "Defend yourself if you're targeted, but we move onto Hogwarts. Leave Alastor's group to handle the rearguard, there aren't enough of them for us to leave off the main mission!"

There was a crashing boom from the direction of the castle, cutting through the sound of the wind and rain, and Lina whipped around to look. A bright, white light was glowing from the castle, expanding, and she could see a pearlescent blue tint. That tint was unmistakeable even if she had never seen it—thirty years a mercenary, and she had only ever heard legends.

"Shit," she muttered, then she looked back at Alastor, who had paused in his direction to stare upwards. Even if she couldn't make his features out clearly from his distance, she knew that he had gone pale, and she saw the quick shake of his head as he turned back to battle. She looked back at her own troops, half of whom were staring at her, the other half up towards the school. "Let's move it, everyone. Double time!"

And then, she ran.

The front gates, once wrought iron with the school name and crest worked in gold, lay twisted on the ground. Small pieces of gold littered the ground before them, quickly being covered in mud, any remnant of the name and crest completely unrecognizable. Chunks of the walls, never very high or thick to begin with, had been blasted forwards, and stone rubble dotted the grounds. The white light that she had seen from Hogsmeade still glowed, the spell for which whoever had sacrificed their life-force sinking into the cold stone.

Dumbledore had promised that Voldemort would never hold his school. He was the only one who could possibly have known the spells. Life-force magic was a closely guarded secret, and while some few people knew the theory, very few indeed knew the keys to unlocking it. Indeed, as far as Lina knew, only Stormwings were ever explicitly taught the skills, but even for them—

The price of life-force magic was life, and that meant all of life. That meant what remained of life, along with their souls and the potential for an afterlife, and no one made that choice easily. Not even if no one knew for certain whether there even was an afterlife.

She slammed into back of the enemy phalanx, no time to spare for an inspirational speech for her troops. It was well past sunrise by now, by almost two hours, but with the rain, the grounds were still cloaked in predawn gloom, and Voldemort's people had been in a fight for some hours now. They were tired, and her units were still fresher than they were, even after a march. Or, maybe it was just that Lina herself was especially motivated to strike, because Aldon was in that castle and if Dumbledore had done everything he could do, then there were preciously few people left in the castle to look after him.

Her wand was drawn, and her side-arm too. One of the dark shapes closer to the castle turned to her, and she blew him back with a Blasting Curse before setting him on fire. The beacon lit up the ground before her, giving her plenty more targets.

She had just enough concentration and breath for one Killing Curse, which fortunately found its mark in someone she belatedly recognized as Rabastan Lestrange, before she was set upon by others. A fire-spell on one direction, then a dodge from a curse she hadn't heard, a Vertigo Jinx to slow someone before throwing a whip curse, more Bombardment Spells and Blasting Curses, and she forced herself forward. People went down in front of her, but it wasn't enough. It never seemed to be enough. There were always more bodies in front of her.

There was a cluster of people near the doors, but they melted away as she approached. She could hear the sounds of her troops behind her—no non-verbal spells for her troops, no need to waste the energy in the chaos of open battle, and the air was ringing with Blasting Curses, Bombardment Hexes, Freezing spells, Petrification Charms, Stunning Spells, Fire spells, Knockback Jinxes, or Disarming Charms. Some of her troops were more bloody-minded than others.

"The Anti-Apparition Wards!"

Lina barely needed the warning—it was Bill Weasley, and his voice was drowned immediately by the sound of a hundred enemy Disapparating. Frustrated, Lina levelled her side-arm at the closest group of enemy figures, firing several shots, but it was too late. They were gone, and she hadn't even managed to clip any of them.

Shaking her head, she went up to the castle—the doors had been broken. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she would find inside, and picked her way through the splintered mess of the front doors.

The Entrance Hall was empty but for Dumbledore sitting at the foot of the Entrance Hall. Aldon was dashing down the stairs, the Longbottom boy and one of the younger Weasleys behind him, recognizable by his shock of red hair and similarity to Bill Weasley.

"They're gone," the Weasley boy panted, leaning over to catch his breath. "But the East Tower has taken serious damage, as has the gallery wall, and the professors are stabilizing it. It's at risk of collapsing and taking Ravenclaw Tower with it."

Dumbledore nodded tiredly, but Lina could see the Fade beginning already. No more than an hour, or maybe two, she guessed, before his soul dissipated into the air and only the husk was left behind. The spell he had cast had to have been powerful. He looked around, his eyes fixing on Lina. "Minerva?"

"The Anti-Apparition Wards are down," Lina replied, her words were curt as she tried to figure out what to do. Someone would need to handle Dumbledore when there was nothing left, and Stormwing traditional rites called for a close friend or ally. "I'll call for her."

The elderly wizard nodded again, shutting his eyes. "I need to talk about the continuation of the school with her. I imbued a new ward into the walls—something that should prevent anyone who intends any harm to the students from entering the school. A variant of your son's Truth-Speaker test, but it may only have worked on Voldemort and his army because it was what I had most in mind. I cannot tell."

Lina nodded, already turning away to pull the communication orb linking her to Cameron from her pocket. She couldn't be sure whether he'd made it to Hogwarts or not, but she hadn't seen him outside. "Cameron. Get me the Lady Ross—have her at Hogwarts as soon as possible."

There was a pause. "Will do."

She dropped the orb back in her pocket, then motioned for her foster son to come over, away from Dumbledore and the other students.

"We completed the evacuations about ten minutes ago," Aldon said unnecessarily, avoiding her eyes as he looked out the shattered doors. "We were about to draw back, pulling the older students out as well—"

He gasped, mostly because Lina had swatted him on the head. Christie would have no doubt done something horrifically sentimental such as hugging him, but Lina was not given to those shows of emotion, so instead she swatted him. "What made you think that coming to Hogwarts, in the middle of a battle, was a good idea?" she hissed at him, keeping her voice down.

"Er—someone needed to be able to communicate with both the army and with the manors taking students," Aldon replied, one hand covering the ear where she had smacked him. "I have a communication orb with both you and with Francesca, so—"

"And you could think of nothing else? Patronuses?"

"With the distance between Rosier Place and here, we considered Patronuses inadvisable," Aldon muttered. "Francesca cannot cast a Patronus in any case. I think I did well—"

"You are not a fighter," Lina snarled at him, still quiet. "Repeat after me, Aldon. You are not a fighter."

"I am not a fighter," he replied, a little stiff in exactly the way that he had when he was a child and she was forcing him to repeat sentences he did not truly believe and did not want to repeat.

"You are not a fighter, and I shall never see you on another battlefield unless it is at Rosier Place where you have four solid walls around you and either myself, Alastor, or any of the other soldiers around you."

"Lina, we are at war, and I think this is a little—" Aldon objected, then he very sensibly shut up when she held her hand up again. "I am not a fighter, and I will not go haring off onto a battlefield without serious and considered thought."

She scowled, but in the circumstances, it was good enough, and she pretended to ignore Aldon's under-the-breath murmur that he had thought it through this time. "Tell me what happened."

Aldon shook his head. "After Flint appeared, Lord Dumbledore sent me upstairs to join the student forces. We were protected by the walls and height, and I was attempting to pick people off with my rifle, without much luck. The magical interference here is too strong—I may have caused a few non-vital wounds with a bit of magical stabilization, but overall it was not as helpful as I had hoped. Towards the end, when we had about three groups left to transport, I believe Voldemort managed to break the main doors. We heard the noise. I don't know anything further."

Lina nodded, a look over her shoulder showed that the Entrance Hall was beginning to fill as people came through the doors. Bill Weasley was already hugging his brother, while James and Sirius were pulling the doors apart, spelling any splinters to a corner pile where they could be cleaned later. More were looking around, uncertain as to what to do.

The Lady Ross hurried in, her eyes wide, but she spotted Dumbledore at the head of the room when he waved one weak hand in her direction. Her mouth twisted in worry and she strode over to him with fast, determined steps. There were a few words, before she hoisted Dumbledore's arm over her shoulders and helped him into a side room where they could talk privately.

Lina took a deep breath, setting the matter aside for the moment. Dumbledore might be dying, but there was work to be done and she had never been close to the man anyway. The only reason she was so shaken was that she had never witnessed someone break the seal on their life force and spend it—it was a very last resort measure, and Lina could count on her fingers the situations she might consider doing it herself.

In defense of Aldon. In defense of Christie. And that was about it.

"Let go upstairs, then," she said with forced calm. "I should hear from Flint."

The next few hours were spent connecting with the other commanders and unit captains, assessing damage against Hogwarts and counting casualties. Someone outside was already building a funeral pyre for the dead, and their own casualty numbers were lower than she could have hoped. They had arrived too late to suffer serious casualties, but Hogwarts had taken considerable physical damage. There was no way that the school would be operational for some time. Aldon passed a message to his girlfriend that he was fine, and Lina ordered that the remainder of the older students, those that didn't have anywhere else to go, be sent to Rosier Place. Aldon looked as if he might object, but she glared at him and pointed him through the Portkey Hub herself.

It was a few hours later that Minerva McGonagall came out of the side room, Severus Snape following. From the expressions on their faces, pale and determined, they had done what was necessary: listened to Dumbledore's last words, waited with him while he Faded, then taken care of what had been left. Too many people were hovering in the Entrance Hall still—the students might have been banished to Rosier Place, but there were professors, commanders, Clan Lairds and Ladies waiting and pretending like they had things to do.

"The Headmaster is dead," the Lady Ross said, her voice wavering slightly even if her expression was wooden. Lina heard gasps from around the room—it was too soon for tears, but she knew that those would come later. Whatever else might have been said, for many Dumbledore had long been a symbol of hope. His death, even in defence of his beloved school and even providing it with defences it had not had before, would be taken hard.

"Clan Ross, into whose lands this castle and these grounds traditionally fall, is taking full possession and control of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the circumstances of war," the Lady Ross continued, looking around the Hall. "The School will remain shut until after the traditional Easter holiday for cleanup and repairs, whereupon it will reopen for any students who require sanctuary and to finish the school year. The curriculum will be limited to core subjects and self-study only. Until the end of the war, the daily administration of the school will be handled by Professors Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, and Pomona Sprout, with the assistance of Professor Rubeus Hagrid standing in as Head of Gryffindor House."

The Lady Ross paused, taking in a deep breath. When she began again, her voice was slower, more deliberate, and she took the time to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded on the principle of tolerance. Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor; fair Ravenclaw, from glen. Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad; shrewd Slytherin, from fen. A thousand years ago, one Founder from each of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland came together here on these grounds to build a school for the education of wizarding youth for the entirety of the British Isles. At the time, Wizarding Britain was not one nation. At that time, the children from four separate countries came to these grounds to study, and there were no barriers for nationality, blood-status, or even language.

"Today, we return to our roots. From now on, those of all nationalities and blood-statuses are welcome at Hogwarts once again. To ensure that these values of tolerance and equality remain, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, to be reconstituted after the war, will include a requirement for representation from each of Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland in equal proportions. It is my hope that, moving forward, Hogwarts might once again reclaim the status that it once enjoyed as being a haven free from discrimination. I ask that these words be spread throughout Britain, and that Dumbledore's loss today be a step towards a better future. Thank you."

They were good words, Lina thought critically, straightening from where she had been leaning against a stone wall. They were hopeful words. But even with Scotland won, it was a long way still to the end of the war.

XXX

ANs: The Lina & Aldon relationship amuses me deeply because they ended up being far more alike than I had expected, which I suppose makes sense because she did (kind of?) raise him. She influenced him, anyway. A few extra notes: for those who don't know, the update schedule is posted on my profile and CC is anticipated to end by the end of the year, and I also cross-post to AO3 where if you check related works, you'll find a couple rev arc fics, special note to Elsin's Unbecoming Pandora and FeatheryMinx's they did no good. Thanks as always to meek_bookworm for the beta, and to everyone who leaves me a comment or review of some kind-you all make it easier to keep writing, and I love hearing from you!