The square between the Wizengamot and the Courts of Justice was empty. The riots might have started there, but they had been pushed on days ago, and accordingly it was the best place for Leo and just over forty fighters to Apparate or Portkey in. It was past twelve, almost one in the morning—it had taken Leo too long to collect his assigned units, and by the time they were ready to go they had decided to wait until Voldemort's followers assigned to enforce order in the Alleys had changed shifts. Better not to be caught straight off, or so was the feeling.

It was cold for June. The night air was crisp, making the dark canvas jacket he wore over his other clothes welcome. The atmosphere in the air, however, felt old—odd, and old, and tired. There had been violence here, and if he concentrated, his magic could still feel the echo of curses and hexes that had been thrown.

He drew his wand and cast a Lumos Charm, scanning the square. The Wizengamot was only a burnt-out shell, the ground marred with blocks of blackened stone and rubble; the Courts of Justice across the square was still standing, though its white edifice had been covered in dark soot. Most of the shops nearby had been torn down, their windows broken, their awnings ripped and skeletal. Chunks of stone, wood, glass and cloth were scattered across the square, though Leo was glad that there were no bodies. Those, it seemed, had been taken away.

"We'll be on our way," Captain Dragić murmured, touching Leo on the shoulder. Leo fought a shudder—he had known too many decent vampires for the existence of a group whose sole purpose was to wipe them off the face of the earth to do anything but make him uncomfortable. The Crypts had been a bit odd, to be sure, but the Shrouds had been a valued part in the Lower Alleys community. But allies were allies, and the vampires allied with Voldemort had not been his covens, so Leo didn't protest.

"You'll intercede if you see Voldemort's followers attacking anyone?" Leo asked. Captain Dragić had already said that they would, but he needed to hear the confirmation.

"Yes," Captain Dragić replied, not mentioning the six times he had provided the same confirmation in the last three hours. "We'll start by sweeping the areas that were burnt last year, but I expect that we will regroup with you before the night is through. A riot or mob is the best place for a vampire coven to hunt, and they'll be attracted to the crowds. Good hunting, Rogue."

Captain Dragić turned away, signalling his people, and melted away into the darkness.

Leo took a deep breath, tasting old ash on the air, then he waved for the remaining three units to follow him. He was still the Rogue, so within this magical space, he still had abilities beyond anyone else in the Alleys. The closest access point to the controls was a block away, between two buildings, and he made his way there and focused, waiting for that innate sense of the Alleys to come back to him.

The Alleys had withstood much over the years, and they responded as readily as they always had. He didn't know if the previous Rogues had ever worked out their magical authority over the Alleys, but he suspected not. He had never heard about the controls when he was looking into challenging the Rogue for rank, and nothing about the last Rogue's behaviour had ever tipped him off that they existed. Instead, the Alleys themselves had called to him after he had won the kingship, and he had found his way to the closest control access point soon afterwards.

The Alleys hummed slightly when he connected to them. They felt a little weary, if he thought about it—they were perfectly aware that a large section of them was still burnt out and gone, and they wanted to know when Leo would be back to rebuild. Soon, he told them, and then he asked about the riots.

There was a jerk behind his collar, and suddenly Leo had a bird's eye view of the entirety of the Alleys. He swallowed his nausea, focusing on the sections of the Alleys where he could see torches, and people moving.

There were several barricades set up—more than he had the people to cover, but if that was the case, it would be so for Voldemort as well. Instead, he asked the Alleys to point him to those that didn't belong. The Alleys knew its residents, and after a breath, it pointed out the dhampir unit fanning out through the former Cesspool and Market districts, then three groups in the Patton, Flash, and Upmarket districts. The largest group seemed to be collecting near the fountain of St. George and the Dragon in Upmarket, in front of a large barricade. The group in Patton was only prowling, looking for stragglers, while the group in Flash was setting up an attack formation against a much smaller barricade at the corner of River and Bain. Leo cursed.

No wonder his mother wanted him to collect supplies from the Healer's and Farmer's Guilds before going. Leo had ways around the barricades—it would have been well-nigh impossible to fully block one part of the city from another—but he could see that Voldemort's followers had effectively retaken control of Diagon Alley, Craftsmen's Alley, Knockturn Alley, Market and Patton Districts. Getting back to the Guilds for supplies would have been difficult and dangerous for someone behind the barricades. Not everyone in the Alleys knew how to Apparate.

One more night, Leo told himself, before he turned back to the three units that were still following him. Donaldson, in charge of one of his units, was shifting his weight between his feet and looking around uneasily, while the other two captains, Thornley and Heron, were stiff in their wariness. They all knew what was happening in Wiltshire tonight, and they were all tense and worried. Leo studied them all, taking the time needed to gather his thoughts.

Once, words had come easily to his lips, words and smiles and cheerful humour. It seemed that those days were past, because he had nothing sweet left to say.

"Forget anything that's happening elsewhere," he said finally, looking around. "We can't do anything about it, so we might as well forget it. We need to get the water, potions, and other supplies from the Guilds, and we need to get them behind the barricades. Voldemort's followers have split into three groups. One is just searching for straggling rebels in Patton district, the other two are facing off against barricades in Flash and Upmarket. They outnumber us, but split up as they are, we can pick them off one by one.

"Donaldson, you're the most senior captain—take half of the supplies and go relieve River and Bain in Flash District. They're the smaller group, and Voldemort's followers there are gearing up for an attack, so by the time you get there they'll probably be striking. You should be able to eliminate them. Thornley, you're hunting the group in Patton. Kill them if you have a chance, but distraction is more important. I don't want them coming to the aid of anyone else. Heron, you're with me—the biggest group of Voldemort's followers is at the barricade in Upmarket, but they're in a square and I can let off riot fountains into their formation if we drive them into the right spot. We'll bring the rest of the supplies with us."

"Aye, Captain," Thornley said, saluting and making to move out, but Leo held up a hand to stop them. In all his years as the Rogue, he had given many speeches, but none of them felt quite like as this one. This speech wasn't to his own—these people weren't members of the Court of the Rogue, most of whom were now dead. This wasn't a speech for the Alleys alone, but for all of England. This was different.

"Be careful, all of you," he said. "And don't hesitate to kill."

XXX

Despite her orders at the meeting, Lina doubted that many of the soldiers had managed to sleep. The sensible ones among them would have asked a friend to Somnium them for an hour or so, just as Lina had asked Christie to do for her around one in the morning. Those that hadn't thought of it would be running on too much adrenaline and anxiety to have gotten much rest at all.

Certainly Aldon, standing beside her, hadn't. He had the distant, focused look on his face that Lina recognized from Christie after a long day of concentration, and Lina would have put money on Aldon having spent the last eight hours or so memorizing everything he could about ward battles from a textbook. It was the sort of thing he would do, though her opinion was that his last-minute studying mattered less than his ability to react on the spot, which would have been better helped by six hours of sleep.

"Francesca is in the study, watching the wards," Aldon murmured. "John is with her and promised me that if we failed, he'd get her out of the country. Aman is with her, and Christie and the house-elves have everyone else ready to move out as well. John further advises that Heathrow Portkey Hub has been warned and will accept transits from all our safehouses."

"Dublin and Edinburgh Portkey Hubs have been alerted too," Lina replied absently, reviewing her troops. Three units would be moving out from Rosier Place, the entirety of their forces; Alex's unit had been gone hours ago. The soldiers' expressions varied from eagerness, to determination, to worry and well-hidden fear. Normal, in other words, though the hard-bitten professionals with whom Lina was used to working would never have shown worry or fear. They were too used to violence in their lives for one more attack to faze them.

"All right, everyone," she announced, thinking that at least this would probably be her last speech. That was something that she would not miss when this was over. Inspirational speeches had never been a strength, nor had she ever cared to be a good public speaker. "You all know what is on the line here—I don't need to tell you how important this attack will be. We succeed here, then we win England, and we put Voldemort on the run if we don't kill him outright. We lose here, and we ourselves are likely to be on the run. Keep that in mind.

"We're going to be Apparating to a muster point approximately a half-mile from Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire to meet with the rest of the army. I'll be in the lead. We move quickly, and we move quietly—we can hope that the riots in Diagon Alley have Voldemort's followers exhausted enough that they won't be attentive, nor will they be able to put up a good fight. We outnumber them a little more than two to one, but don't let that comfort any of you. Remember that our safehouses were able to withstand far larger numbers with traps and other defensive entrenchments. We'll be trying to disable as many of them as we can, but be aware of not just the enemy, but the ground around you. Anything unusual, and you scream a warning."

She paused, looking around. Her soldiers didn't look very comforted, though they did look more determined, so she called it a job well done. She nodded sharply. "Those of you with ACD wards and shields, turn them on. We're moving out, everyone!"

The muster point had been selected by the shifter alliance—they had used this one and approximately three dozen other points for their surveillance operations. The shifters had gone ahead hours earlier to knock out as many of the monitoring charms as they knew about, so Lina could hope that they would be able to approach relatively unnoticed.

They were hidden behind a low hill. The grass was long and unkempt, which would leave tracks, but Lina couldn't say she cared overmuch. No one would notice those tracks until it was too late for it to matter. She didn't bother casting a Lumos charm, instead simply turning around and marching forwards. James and Sirius were coming in on a point to her right, while Lady Prewett had another two units to her left. Mei Ling, heading in front of the Queenscove contingent, would be close to James and Sirius' troops, and she trusted that everyone else was also in place. There wasn't much she could do about it now if they weren't.

A quick look at her watch told her that she was on time—it was three-thirty in the morning, and they could certainly cover a half-mile in half an hour. Especially because they weren't going to be making much effort to remain silent. There were almost a hundred and eighty of them, so they could hardly remain hidden. Even if they all put on Disillusionment and Muffling Charms, the ripple in the air would give them all away.

She drew her wand and strode forwards. Her units would follow her, and it was important that she move with confidence.

The fields in front of here were still, the grass slick with night-time dew. She heard some of the soldiers swearing as they slipped and fell, to be caught by their unit-mates and pulled upright. She didn't bother telling them to be silent—there wasn't any point. She caught sight of the other units joining her on their left and right as she moved forward. Comforting, though she couldn't say that she expected otherwise.

There were woods starting about a quarter mile away from the Malfoy Manor wards. Most old wizarding manors had woods or something like it to shield their estates from prying eyes, especially prying Muggle eyes. Unplottability Charms and many of the other spells now used to hinder Muggles had been invented after the International Statute of Secrecy, which had come into effect centuries after many noble wizarding manors had been built. Not Rosier Place, but most older manors.

The woods were thick, the trees gnarly and overgrown. For a moment, she debated carving a path with magic, but it would be a waste—the woods would slow them down, but that wouldn't matter as much as the magic they had remaining for a fight. They could carve a path without it. Aldon hesitated, but one hand on his arm had him stiffening and following her as she made her way into the dark trees.

A flash of magic caught her eye, and Aldon froze.

"Monitoring Charm," he whispered, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "It's already gone—the flash shows that it was triggered. We should have screened the woods better."

Lina's jaw tightened, but she shook her head. "It was probably too much to hope that the shifters would have managed to find and take them all out anyway," she murmured. "We won't be the only ones to trigger an external Monitoring Charm. Look sharp, Aldon, the soldiers' eyes are on us."

"Shouldn't we warn the troops?" Aldon whispered back, his eyes flickering meaningfully behind them.

"For what purpose?" Lina shook her head, very slightly. "They're already on edge, and they know we'll be fighting. They're already imagining monsters in the woods. Telling them that we set off an external monitoring charm will just make them even more paranoid, and not usefully so."

"What about pre-emptive attacks?" Aldon frowned.

Lina snorted. "Aldon, did you do a pre-emptive attack on Voldemort's forces when they struck at Rosier Place, either time?"

Aldon grimaced. "No."

"No, because it doesn't make sense to make a pre-emptive strike when you're in an entrenched position," Lina replied, still moving forward. "If he makes a pre-emptive strike, Aldon, we're lucky—we have a chance to take Voldemort or a large number of his followers out without dealing with any spells he might have embedded in the Malfoy Manor grounds. No, if he's clever, he'll do exactly what you did and use this extra warning time to gather his forces and prepare."

"I don't like that," Aldon muttered, looking away. "I very much do not like that."

"Tough," Lina said, though she could feel the small smile on her face. "If anything happens at the wards, we'll cover you so you can focus just on the wards. Once you break through, you know your orders?"

"Fall back," Aldon recited immediately. "To the centre or back of the group. Take my shots when I see them, but I am best as a ranged fighter and should not be on the front lines."

"That's right," Lina said firmly. "You don't have the duelling experience to be anywhere near the front lines, but you do have a good eye. Stay out of the way and let us push the way forward."

Aldon nodded, shifting the rifle on his shoulder as he followed her forwards.

The wards flickered into being in front of them—or rather, they didn't, but Aldon stopped and drew a runic screen spell with his fingers, and the wards blazed with light through his screen. In front of her, Lina could only see more dark trees, an illusion projected by the wards.

Her foster son examined the wards for a minute, his expression turning darker by the minute. "Complicated," he muttered finally. "I can see the Malfoy Manor base wards underneath, but Master Black has added a complex structure on top. With the warning we sent, we can expect an active defence. Where are the other Curse-breakers?"

Lina pulled a comm orb from her pocket. "James. I need Bill Weasley, and your other Curse-breaker."

"Hastings is here—let me get Lady Prewett, Captain Weasley is with her." There was a rustle from the orb, and James came back. "Lady Prewett, Lina is requesting Captain Weasley."

It was a long minute before they heard a reply, but Weasley's voice came through the orb, only a little unclear with the doubled connection. Lina would do a lot to adopt Muggle communications technology, which was considerably better suited for war than the closest wizarding equivalents. "Rosier, Hastings—are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Two layers in the ward. One's the same as the one I, Jones and Gibson unravelled last year, the other is new." A new voice came on, sounding sour. "The new layer is a mess—it'll take weeks to unravel."

"Not two layers, and we don't have weeks," Weasley replied, brusque. "There's two wards: the Malfoy default ward, and the new one. Whoever wove it tried to tie it into the main Malfoy wards as much as he could, but look closer. It's not a part of that ward, they just tried to make it look like it was one ward."

"Master Black's reputation is well-deserved," Aldon commented, examining the ward with narrowed eyes through his runic screen. "But he couldn't weave it into the main Malfoy wards because he's not the Lord Malfoy. There is no current Lord Malfoy. We can break the complex ward with sheer power if we need to do it. The Blacks are Dark—are either of you Light? Thibault's multiplier effect—"

"I'm Light," Weasley interrupted. "So is my mother, and half my units. I can get a boost if I need one, but it would be an enormous waste of power. Look at those power conservation sigils! It's efficient, and brute-forcing should be the last resort. It'll take a good five of us out to break it on force alone."

"Fortunately, we can hope that we won't need to," Aldon replied, dismissing his runic screen with a wave of his hand. "Master Black will be defending his wards in person. I'll do the ward-battle—I have a strategy and with luck, I may be able to break it. If not, we may need to resort to brute force."

"I know how we broke the Malfoy wards the first time," Hastings said with a small sigh. "There's that—the base ward hasn't changed, so the same technique should work."

"How long?" Aldon asked, looking at the orb. "To break the Malfoy ward?"

"Probably no more than ten minutes," Hastings replied. "Five if I have Weasley's help. You can keep Black occupied that long?"

"I hope so," Aldon muttered, then he stepped forward towards the wards—

And the wards flared.

"'Ware!" Lina yelled, tackling Aldon out of the way with her weight. Aldon went down like wet cardboard, and a line of poisonous green light went over their heads to strike the ground where Aldon had been. Avada Kedavra—damn it, they were right on the other side of the wards, and with the wards still up she and the troops were easy pickings. They couldn't even see the other side to pick them off with Muggle weaponry, let alone retaliate.

"Shields, now!" she snapped, her wand out and already casting Engorgio on a spare pebble on the ground. The rock swelled, going to a thousand times its size, shoving them backwards when it butted up against the wards. "Stone or earth—we need cover! Aldon—"

"I'm fine," Aldon snapped, slightly out of breath. "Get off of me—and I can do the wards from here."

Lina shook her head, twisting to look behind her. Her troops had reacted, Transfiguring, Summoning, or Engorging bits of debris to turn into physical shields that they were now huddled behind. No bodies—that was a good sign. She reached for her comm orb, which she had dropped on the ground to grab Aldon.

"We're under fire," she said conversationally. "Suggest you order troops to put up physical spell-blocks or shields. Aldon is getting into the wards. Aldon, can you give us forewarning of when you break it?"

"I can try," Aldon murmured, his eyes already half-shut in concentration. "Don't bother me—I'm in a ward-battle."

Lina sighed, pulling her own rifle from her back and setting it beside her. Glancing around, she Transfigured a few leaves nearby into bags of sand, then did the same on her other side, shoring up their meagre shelter.

"Confirmed," James said, after a moment. "We're under cover as well. The message is being passed along, Hastings is at work. We'll hold."

"Received," Lina replied, then set the comm orb down beside her.

This could be turned to their advantage. When the wards came down, they now had cover, while Voldemort's followers would likely have to fall back past Voldemort's own entrenched defences. If they could drive Voldemort's followers back fast enough, they could potentially use them to set off the entrenched defences, or learn where the spells were rooted. At the very least, if Aldon gave enough forewarning, they would at least have a few moments of open season on Voldemort's followers before they fell back.

She reached for her rifle and turned around to keep an eye on the blank, slightly sinister image of dark trees in front of her, waiting for the wards to melt away.

XXX

The wards were a beautiful lattice, the new ward integrated in intricate knots with the old. Or, that was what the ward was intended to make them believe. They weren't—Aldon wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't already known that no one at Malfoy Manor had the power to alter or integrate a new ward into the Malfoy Manor defences. Since he had known, however, he had seen the knots instantly.

He ignored them, looking for the mind behind the wards. Master Black was here, Aldon could feel him from their last battle, and he was waiting. Black was waiting, secure in the safety of his wards.

The last time they had fought, Master Black had been on the offensive, and Aldon the defensive. On the offense, Aldon didn't think that Master Black had been particularly strong—he was very clever, but he was methodical, which did not bode well in an attack. Master Black liked to take his time and unravel each part of the ward or spell or trap when it came up, and he liked elegant solutions. Aldon had been far better there, throwing in thorny, if inelegant, problems and relying on speed to keep ahead of Black. Here, however, Black would have the advantage. Black had had time to build strong wards, just as Aldon had had at Rosier Place.

Aldon licked his lips, setting up his strategy. He had been thinking about this since it had become clear that he would be at Malfoy Manor with the main army, and he needed to find a way to turn this from Black's advantage to his own.

Black was a Master of Ward Construction, said to be the best in all of Britain. From a technical perspective, Black was far better at Ward Construction than Aldon could dream of being. But as a formally trained Master of Ward Construction, he would have certain weaknesses.

First, Black knew that he was better than Aldon. He expected that he was better than Aldon, and he would be secure in that knowledge. There was a good chance, therefore, that he would be overconfident. Second, Black was only a Master of Ward Construction. He was not experienced in war, and when it came to making and breaking wards, he would likely expect Aldon to approach the problem as if it were a problem of the wards. He would expect Aldon to get into his wards, and to begin unravelling the spells the way that he, an expert at ward construction, would approach it.

But Aldon was not a Master of Ward Construction. Aldon was entirely self-trained, and his interest wasn't, strictly speaking, in Ward Construction. More than that, his training had been in the circumstances of war, so his advantages in a ward battle with Black were simple.

The wards weren't important. Aldon did not care about the wards, no matter how elegant and technically proficient they might be. He just wanted to break them, and he didn't care about following any usual practices in Ward Construction to do it. And that meant he wouldn't be approaching this like someone who practiced Ward Construction, by going into them and trying to unravel them in a pretty, elegant way.

A ward-battle wasn't about the wards. A ward-battle was about the people involved.

There was a particularly large and interesting looking knot in the ward nearby. Aldon arrowed his magic and drew a few runic symbols to throw lightning at it. The knot lit up, a beacon that lit up a network of other spell-knots. The ward held, not even shuddering under the pressure, though Aldon hadn't expected it to do anything else. He focused, waiting for something else—and a second later, he found it.

There was a gentle sense of laughter, further along in the ward. Aldon tried not to smile as he lobbed another blunt-force spell at the ward, this time a Reducto Curse with some power behind it. Again, the ward didn't flicker, only shunting the spell to one side, and again there was that haunting sense of pleasure from along the wards. Master Black was connected into the wards, ready to react if Aldon actively threatened the wards in any way, but he was confident. He believed his ward would hold, and if Aldon was playing the same game as Master Black, then he was probably right.

But he wasn't. Instead, over the next fifteen minutes, Aldon made a perfect fool of himself. He threw absurd amounts of power at the ward, his spells ranging from focused attacks intended to break through a specific aspect of the ward, to trying to overload the ward as a whole. He did throw in a few legitimate strikes, letting Black come forward to defend the wards, simply because it wouldn't be believable otherwise, but for the most part he simply played exactly into what he expected Master Black would think of him. Aldon Rosier had just graduated from Hogwarts, and of course he couldn't break a ward set up by the best Master of Ward Construction in Britain.

But every spell that Aldon lobbed at the network provoked a response, one that Aldon could feel reverberating through Black's ward. When they finished with the Malfoy default wards, he felt Weasley and Hastings join him, each separately looking for weak points in Black's ward and both of them far more seriously than Aldon was looking. With all those responses in the ward, Aldon narrowed in on one critical piece of information—Black's location.

Aldon wasn't a Master of Ward Construction, but he knew enough. Master Black was not a Malfoy, and that meant exactly three things.

First, Black could not be behind locked doors. Aldon and Francesca could afford to be the comfort of his study when they defended their wards, but that was only because Aldon was magically the Lord Rosier, and even if Francesca was not yet the Lady Rosier, she was something like it. They had authority and power over their grounds that Black simply did not enjoy over the Malfoy grounds. Since Black was an interloper on Malfoy grounds, he had to connect to the wards in a very physical way, just as Aldon had to hook into them from barely three feet away. That meant that Black was on the grounds, almost certainly somewhere nearby.

Second, Black couldn't connect his ward into the Malfoy keystones. He didn't have the authority to, and he was almost certainly fuelling the ward himself. One look over the ward told Aldon that he was probably right—the ward's own elegance suggested that Black needed to make the ward as technically efficient as possible to keep the ward up on the strength of his magical core. It was an impressive feat, and one showing that Black's magical core was likely deeper than Aldon's, though ultimately it would work in Aldon's favour.

Third, if Black was tied into and fuelling his wards, all Aldon had to do was take him out. Without Black, an intrinsic part of his ward, the ward would likely collapse for lack of power. And would he look at that?

Black had only warded against magical attack—witches, wizards, and magical objects and weapons. There was no sending a broom in there, but a bullet was a very different matter.

Master Black was sitting in meditation approximately a two hundred feet away from him. He was in rifle range, closer to Lord Potter's forces than Aldon's group, but that was only better for Aldon. From his position, he could arrange his rifle at an angle, propped up on the sandbags that Lina had transfigured rather than peeking his head over the rock that shielded them from a rain of Avada Kedavra spells. He moved slowly, shifting into a kneeling position, thankful for Weasley and Hastings who were still distracting Black with challenges to his ward—challenges that Black was deflecting with ease. Thankfully, under an onslaught of other attacks, Aldon could hope that Black believed him to be magically exhausted. He wouldn't be far wrong if he guessed so, because a check on his own core showed that while he wasn't drained, he had thrown more than half his core into the ruse.

Aldon took his time lining up his shot. He couldn't see Black behind the wards—in front of him, to his eyes, there were only dark trees. But with his magic, he could feel that the wards were there, and that Black was sitting in direct line with his shot. He was probably even smirking, satisfied in how his ward was holding.

Aldon shut his eyes, breathing deeply as he concentrated on his magical senses rather than his physical ones. With every breath, his rifle bobbed. A sixteenth of an inch, from his perspective, but a sixteenth of an inch in his scope was the difference between a good shot and a bad one. He breathed, concentrating on his mental image of Master Black. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and another deep breath in and he let his finger grow heavy on the trigger—

The shot went off, a crack in the night, and the wards collapsed like a tapestry falling from a wall. Immediately, spells rang out around him, Lina's own Killing Curse loud in his ear. He looked up, and the illusion of dark forest was gone, replaced by dozens of Voldemort's wide-eyed followers, who were starting to turn tail and run.

The battle had begun.

XXX

Archie had to wait many long, impatient hours until Dad, Uncle James, and Harry left. He smiled and waved them off shortly after three in the morning, telling them that he would see them when they got back. He couldn't say anything about his own plans; Dad would have tied him up if he knew what Archie was thinking, and he wouldn't have been alone in doing it. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, in this case.

Instead, after they left, he slipped up to Harry's bedroom and pulled her Firebolt out of the closet. Archie had one too, but his broomstick had been commandeered for the aerial support units months ago. He hadn't been using it, and they had needed good brooms. Harry had kept hers only because she took more active missions and might have needed it.

Harry's Firebolt hummed under his fingers, ready to go, and he grabbed it and headed back downstairs. Hermione was waiting for him in the main sitting room, her face creased with worry—she would see him off, then take the Portkey Hub back to London to wait for more news. She stood, grabbed him around the shoulders, and yanked him down into a hug so tight that he could barely breathe.

"I'll be fine," Archie choked out, rubbing her back in reassurance. "Marcus will look out for me. A little less enthusiasm, 'Mione, but the thought is appreciated."

"I don't know Marcus," Hermione muttered, letting him go, and Archie was glad to see that the tears of earlier that night had disappeared. She was steady, ready to face whatever came next, and Archie needed to feel that steadiness. "Be careful, Archie. The usual range for any spell is only about thirty or thirty-five feet, so if you stay higher than that—"

"I know." Archie replied hurriedly. "I know, 'Mione. I'll be careful, I promise."

She stared at him a moment, then her lips tilted into a small smile. "You'll be as careful as you can be, in the circumstances," she said, her voice a little tart, but she reached up and kissed him to soften the words. "Just come back, all right? Even if things go badly—Apparate anywhere in London. America will take us in as refugees, or Ireland. We can try again in a generation."

"I can't think about that yet." Archie took a deep breath and stepped back, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Not before today is done. I should go."

Hermione nodded, a little stiff, and they stood there awkwardly for another few moments. Archie tried to fix Hermione in his mind—the worried furrow between her eyebrows, the precise shade of brown flecked with gold that were her eyes, her long eyelashes, the small bow of her mouth. He wanted to kiss her again, and a proper kiss this time, but if he did that then he'd never leave. He'd never be able to leave.

"You should go," Hermione said, sounding abrupt. "You haven't any time to waste."

"You're right," Archie said, tearing himself away. "I'll—I'll see you later, Hermione."

Marcus had answered his Patronus within an hour of him sending it, an African wild dog jumping through his window with the Apparation coordinates for the muster point assigned to them. By the time he arrived, Apparating into cluster of young men and women, he was the last one there. Marcus glanced at him and raised a hand in welcome.

"Archie," he said, his voice low and gravelly. Archie had seen him around, especially at meetings after the Scottish campaign, but they'd never had time to catch up. A few words here or there, and that was all. "How are you?"

"As good as can be expected," Archie replied, flashing a smile at the people surrounding him. He didn't recognize anyone, but that was no surprise. Flint recruited based on skill with a broom, and most of his recruits, Archie suspected, were former Hogwarts Quidditch players. "You?"

"Ready to bomb Malfoy Manor into dust," a new voice said, and Archie glanced over to see a redhead with brown eyes and a dusting of freckles over her milk-white face. "Ginny Weasley. Have we met?"

"Not formally." Archie's smile was weak. "We've seen each other, but never talked."

Ginny nodded. "I can't tell," she said bluntly. "With the ruse. When were you, you and when was Harry, you?"

"Weasley is going to be looking after you tonight," Marcus interrupted, holding up a hand. "Stick by her, Archie, and turn on your ACD. Weasley, keep him out of trouble—he's here for Bridge, as a war correspondent, and he's not going to be hit or hit anyone. Everyone who has ACDs, turn them on and use them."

Weasley pulled up her sleeve up, flicking on the electronic device at her wrist, and belatedly Archie realized he had to do the same. Even with all of Chess' improvements, the ACDs tended to run out of steam about six hours in, so he hadn't wanted to turn it on earlier. Six hours seemed like a long time to fight—the Scottish Clanmeet hadn't felt longer than an hour, and Grimmauld Place had fallen in less than that—but he didn't know. Around him, he saw winking LED lights in several colours, as a dozen people around him turned on their own ACDs. The air units were the ones that had seen the highest uptake in ACDs, partially because, Archie imagined, they also needed to control a broom in the air and any advantage on shielding was worth it.

"All right, air units," Marcus said, projecting his voice to carry. "This is a standard backup assignment, even if we have a little more firepower than we would normally. Wood, Page, Davies, Johnson, Spinnet, Bell—you and I are holding the bombs, so that means we're leading the phalanx. Orders from above are to use them to clear the grounds of any traps, but we're also supposed to lob them at the other side if we can, so keep that in mind. If you have a chance, crew, throw them into Malfoy Manor's windows. Command wants us blowing them out into the open, no dirty in-manor fighting."

"Is that why you recruited a bunch of Chasers? To throw bombs?" A tall, Black girl with her hair woven in dreads asked, a slight, almost hysteric, laugh in her voice. "Except for Wood and Page."

Marcus glared at her. "I picked you because you lot have the best aim and the worst skills at actual Defence," he snapped, before turning to the rest of the group. "The rest of you, you know your responsibilities. You're providing covering fire for the ground troops, and you're defending us. I haven't had a single loss yet—don't let today be the first day I need to write to one of your families. We're about a mile out from Malfoy Manor, so get going. We want to be there when the wards fall."

There were no other words, and Archie followed the others as they each swung a leg over their brooms and took off. The air, rushing against his face and ruffling his hair, was icy cold, and Archie reached down to the edge of his blue-and-gold AIM sweatshirt to turn on the Heating Charms. He wouldn't be using magic to attack anyone tonight, so there was no need for him to conserve his energy.

The flight over the grounds wasn't long—their brooms moved much faster than the ground units could cover, and Archie spotted their army crawling along like ants before long. There were so many people, almost two hundred of them, and he knew with a sinking gravity that whatever happened, not everyone would be coming home. With that sombre thought, he faced forward and flew into the wind, part of the dark, silent air support unit. In the darkness, he'd have a hard time making out what happened on the ground below, but he'd have to manage. At least twenty-five to thirty feet in the air, outside of range of any attacks, or at least far enough that he would have plenty of time to defend from a strike.

There was a movement ahead of him, Marcus holding a hand up in the air, and Archie braked when he saw everyone else stopping. They were hovering about fifty feet above the ground, as far as Archie could tell, but he couldn't see much below him. It was all forest, a dark sea of trees that rippled like waves.

"Malfoy Manor is about here," Marcus said, his voice distant and hard to hear over the wind. "We wait."

No one replied. Instead, Archie caught several grim looks being exchanged, and they hung in the air, waiting. It was cold and growing even colder. The wind whipped through his too-thin sweatshirt, the heat from his Heating Charms ripped away from him almost before he could feel it.

Long minutes passed as they waited. Marcus was focused below them, one hand already in his bag, which held a share of their bombs, the other already holding his wand. All their bags had Undetectable Extension Charms, Archie guessed. He didn't know how many bombs they were each holding, but he hoped it was enough.

Below them, the empty noise of the wind was broken by yelling. Archie looked down—and his eyes widened.

There were no more forests—instead, Archie saw rolling fields, cobblestone and stone tile paths, and a huge, white mansion with bright lights that spilled out onto the lawn. But he didn't need the light to see, or hear, the chaos starting to unfurl below. Lines of light were being fired between what he could see were their own troops and Voldemort's followers, who were starting to fall back.

Glancing forward, Archie could see that Marcus' face was twisted in an expression of anger and hate, and it was Marcus that lobbed the first bomb at a cluster of Voldemort's followers. The bomb hit the ground and exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere, and people went down. Archie swallowed—he hadn't been on the battlefield before, not unless the Scottish Clanmeet counted, and watching was a very different experience than only arriving in the aftermath. People below him would be dying, either on his side or not. He had the skills to Heal a lot of them, but he couldn't go down to the ground to do it. The battle was ongoing, and it was too dangerous.

"Come on!" Ginny yelled at him and pulled him upwards another ten feet and away from the rest of the air support. "You're here to observe, get information, and report, right? So, do it!"

"Right," Archie replied, slightly out of breath, and he started squinting at the ground below, trying to pick out people, faces, movement. It wasn't much, but it was what he could do—it was all he could do. He soared, circling with his eyes on the ground, while Ginny kept a sharp eye out for anyone attacking them.

Below him, the battle moved. It was a living being—things moved so quickly he could hardly keep track of it as it happened. He knew that they were advancing, the front was moving closer to Malfoy Manor as he went, and he could see bright, liquid splashes on the ground from the bombs that Marcus and the air support units were throwing. He saw that some of them hit traps, triggering those, and he rolled out of the way of a bright orange cloud as it whooshed by him.

He heard a sharp cry of warning below him and looked down to see Voldemort appearing in a cluster of their soldiers. He stopped in horror, debating getting involved—but there was another cry a little further away, and a second Voldemort popped into existence.

"What are you doing?" Ginny yelled at him, grabbing the back of his sweatshirt where he was drifting downwards into the fray and throwing a Blasting Hex downwards into the battle. "Get back here! I can't defend you if you're floating all over the place!"

"But—" Archie hesitated, then he pulled upwards. Voldemort had to be here, and they had known that going in, but whenever he appeared someone died. Or multiple people died. But there wasn't anything he could do about it, so he kept flying.

There were four Voldemorts reigning terror on the grounds, and Archie could see a fifth one watching when he banked towards Malfoy Manor. The fifth one was the real one, Archie would bet money on it, even if the fifth one stood stock still and only watched the grounds with narrowed eyes and a downturned, angry mouth. Ginny saw where he was looking and motioned for them to fly back—they wouldn't get closer. Too dangerous. Archie followed.

Marcus and his unit were paving the way forwards—Johnson had lobbed a grenade at one of the Voldemort facsimiles, their own units diving out of the way, and the shape disappeared into ash. The Voldemort shapes in the middle of the battle might not have been the real thing, but they were plenty real, sowing chaos where they stood. He saw Dad and Uncle James facing off against one of them, playing off each other the way that Archie assumed they must have when they were Aurors together. He stopped, watching for a moment, but the exchange of spellfire was too fast. He couldn't hear the spells being cast, but he knew enough to know that they were all intended to debilitate or kill. He didn't want to hear it.

Lina was facing off against a wizard that Archie didn't recognize. Dad had said once that Lina was older, almost a generation older than Dad and Uncle James and Uncle Remus, but Archie had never seen a sign of it other than a few more strands of white in her hair. As he watched, she dodged a spell, then her fingers moved in a rune and her opponent was blasted backwards. He went down, and he didn't get up. Lina moved on.

"Archie!" Ginny's voice caught his attention, and she threw a Fortis spell around him, deflecting a jet of blue light. A group was flying towards them, wands in hand—not as many has Marcus had in the resistance air corps, and Archie could see at a glance that they weren't as talented in the air as Marcus' group. Most of Marcus' group were flying hands-free, moving like sharp, wild birds in the air, while Voldemort's followers flying at them were grasping their broomsticks with one hand and flying doggedly towards them.

Ginny flew at him, waving a hand and gesturing for him to turn around and fly back. "Behind the phalanx—Captain Flint will take care of them, but we have to get out of the way!"

Archie nodded, wheeling in the air, and taking off to shelter behind the resistance air units. Those of them carrying bombs peeled back, dropping out of the way, letting a second group advance with wands drawn. The air battle, Archie could see from only a few minutes of heated spell-casting, was a foregone conclusion—Marcus' group seemed to have a preternatural sense of where to go, where to dodge, and where to be to back each other up perfectly. Compared to them, Voldemort's air unit was clumsy and hampered, without the experience on brooms necessary for aerial combat.

Below him, Dad and Uncle James had finished off with one of Voldemort's facsimiles, and moving onto a tall, broad-shouldered man that Archie didn't recognize. Dad and Uncle James were both tall, but this man was half a foot taller than even them, roaring spells that Archie didn't recognize. But Dad and Uncle James were dogged and persistent, and after a moment, Archie forced himself to look away. He couldn't just hover here, being worried for Dad and Uncle James.

He scanned the grounds, hesitating, then glanced at Ginny and waved a hand. He couldn't linger here, watching Dad and Uncle James and their troops alone. He had to make sure he saw everyone, that he devoted as much attention to everyone else as he did his family. He didn't know where any of the foreign-educated witches and wizards were stationed—for awhile, they were mostly stationed at Queenscove, but Dad and Uncle James had made an effort to integrate them better throughout the rest of the army since. Still, he hadn't seen the Queenscoves yet, so he looked for them.

The Queenscove flank, along with most of the English north, were easily found. They were the ones wielding fire, wind and earth against the enemy with wild aplomb. Neal and his cousin Fei had teamed up, with Fei conjuring flames and Neal blasting them into the enemy, while Archie could see that the earth underneath them was never still. Kel was standing back, her naginata in hand, ripping great chunks of earth from the ground and throwing them at the enemy. Neal caught sight of him as he flew overhead, shooting him a bright smile, then turned back to his fight with what looked like renewed vigour.

Archie didn't know most of the people that were fighting. From time to time, he caught sight of someone that he knew, or that he had come to know. He saw Percy Weasley casting a Fortis spell around a round-faced woman with dark brown hair, one of his defence lawyer friends; he saw Kingsley Shacklebolt shoving one of his soldiers down and throwing out a Stupefy at an enemy. He saw Ron Weasley, towards the middle, dodging a spell and casting Confringo at the woman who advanced on him. There were dozens of faces that he vaguely recognized, some of whom he could name, and even more that he couldn't.

He caught sight of Aldon, huddled behind a pile of bags of sand that had to have been Transfigured or conjured into being, well back from the front lines. He had a rifle in his hand, rather than a wand, and at his distance from the enemy that made sense. Without an amplifier, Aldon probably was out of range of spells, but he seemed to be waiting to take his shots. As Archie watched, he fired; Archie couldn't hear it, but he saw the recoil.

He scanned the grounds, looking for Harry, looking for Uncle Remus. Harry had been with Dad and Uncle James, but she must have gotten separated from them since she wasn't there anymore, while Uncle Remus was stationed with the last group of recruits that had finished training. He looked for them—if he remembered right, they were with the Longbottom forces.

It took him a minute to find them, but finally he spotted Augusta Longbottom walking across the grounds as if she were a queen, hexing any enemy that dared to cross her path. Uncle Remus was several dozen feet in front of her, and Archie jerked on his broom when he saw how close Uncle Remus had come to Malfoy Manor. He was almost in the shadow of the building, deep in a fight with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Archie had never met the woman, she was undeniably a Black. She looked closer to him and to Dad than Archie would have liked to admit, from her wild hair to the shape of her nose and chin. He couldn't make out her eyes in the darkness, but he would have bet that they were the same steely grey as his own. That was where the similarities ended—Cousin Bellatrix was also rumoured to be vicious and insane, and Archie's grip on his broomstick tightened.

Uncle Remus was good, Archie told himself, trying to make himself look away. Uncle Remus was fit, and he was fast, and as a werewolf, he was physically stronger than any wizard could be. He was holding his own, dodging one of Bellatrix's spells and retaliating with a light blue spell. Archie was just about to turn away when he saw someone else advancing on Uncle Remus' left. He didn't recognize him, but from the robes he was wearing and the way he was advancing, Archie knew that he was with Voldemort.

"Uncle Remus!" Archie cried out a warning, swooping down and ignoring Ginny's voice as she called him back.

Uncle Remus looked up—but not at Archie. One of the other recruits, one that he had trained, had caught his attention. She was in trouble, fending off two on her own, and he took a single, critical moment to throw a shield spell around her to protect her from a spell she didn't see coming.

And in that moment, two spells hit him. Neither of them was the Killing Curse, but Archie knew by the fact that Uncle Remus went down that the spells had to be terrible, because anything that wasn't terrible would have just glanced off him. He was halfway down to look at him when Ginny threw herself in the way.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Ginny snarled at him, pointing him upwards while dodging a spell that had come from below.

"My uncle—" Archie gestured helplessly down to the ground, where he could see Uncle Remus still lying on the ground.

"And five of my brothers are down there, and my mum," Ginny snapped, throwing a Confringo spell to the ground at the closest cluster of enemies. "And I have no idea what trouble they might be in on the ground, but I know I can't go down to help them. I have my orders, and so do you. If you can't watch, then eyes up, and I'll escort you off the battlefield to Apparate home."

"But—"

"But nothing." Ginny shook her head, flying at Archie to corral him upwards. "You do nothing, Black. Come on."

Archie looked down at the ground at the motionless shape of Uncle Remus still huddled below, swallowed hard, and followed Ginny upwards.

The battle seemed to go on forever, Archie's Healing magic itching harder against his skin as the minutes wore on. Uncle Remus wasn't the only fallen shape on the grounds. From his perspective, he couldn't even tell clearly who had lost more. Some of the people on the grounds weren't dead, Archie had done enough trauma Healing in the last year to know that, but more of them would be the longer the battle went on, succumbing to injuries that could have been Healed earlier. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he know how long they had been out there.

Malfoy Manor was burning. At least some of the bombs had hit their mark—parts of the walls were gone, and Archie could see hungry flames licking out of broken windows. The rising smoke obscured the pale pink light of the pre-dawn, and it took Archie too long to realize what he was seeing.

Harry was advancing on Voldemort in the ruins of the manor. Voldemort had been on the grounds earlier, but he had to have either gone back or been pushed back into the debris. There was too much dust and debris, too much smoke—Archie caught only flashes of light as they traded spells. Both of them were using the terrain to their advantage, the remaining walls of Malfoy Manor providing cover. Archie flew towards her, trying to get a closer view, but Ginny cried out.

He spun around to look at her. She was gasping in pain, a deep cut in her arm dripping blood thirty feet downwards to the ground, but her wand was moving as she threw a hex below her. They'd gotten too low—Ginny had always been below him, within range to fire spells at the ground. He looked around quickly, checking to make sure that they were safe in the air, then he gestured for Ginny to fly upwards out of range. He might not be able to go to the ground to Heal anyone, but he could certainly take care of a cut, no matter how deep, without setting foot on the ground.

"Forget about me!" Ginny screamed, clinging to her arm. "Look at Malfoy Manor!"

Archie turned back, looking over his shoulder, just in time to see a jet of green light slam into Voldemort. He fell backwards, his eyes sightless and dead, and he didn't get up. For a moment, Archie stopped breathing, and he wasn't alone.

It was a slow ripple across the grounds, passing below him like a wave. There was yelling, so much yelling—from the snatches that Archie caught in the air, the resistance forces were calling for what was left of Voldemort's followers to surrender, and it looked like more and more were doing it, dropping to their knees and holding their empty hands in the air. Pansy Parkinson was among them, her wand falling to the ground as she knelt.

"No!" The scream was high-pitched, cutting even through the many cries of surrender. Bellatrix Lestrange whirled on Harry, her wand held high and ready to strike, and Harry was still standing, stunned, at what she had done. She was too slow—Harry was fast, but Bellatrix was driven by madness, and Archie could tell from the movement of Harry's wand that she wouldn't get a shield up in time. Her feet were moving, but there was a low wall in the way, and she stumbled and fell.

But a jet green light flew from another cluster of Voldemort's followers, one that hadn't yet surrendered, and struck Bellatrix in the ribs. She keeled over, dead, and when Archie looked, he saw Caelum Lestrange lowering his wand, an expression of pure hate on his face.

"Any of you think of doing the same, and I will kill you too," he said, projecting his cold voice over the grounds with a Sonorus Charm. "We are surrendering, fully and completely. You start fighting, and you answer to me, understood? We'll go, and we'll go quietly!"

With his words, the last few people sheathed their wands, holding their hands up for surrender. Silence fell over the battlefield, silence but for the crackling of the flames still consuming Malfoy Manor. A frozen second later, the resistance fighters came to life and started moving, Uncle James mechanically directing them to confiscate wands and group people for arrest. Other groups formed, checking the bodies and separating out the injured and the dead.

The Malfoy Estate was in ruins. A quarter of the mansion was gone, though Archie could see that Harry and others were starting to pour water on the fires. Large clouds of steam were billowing into the skies. Across the grounds, Archie could see that large chunks had been ripped out of the earth, lying scattered with blocks of stone and assorted other debris everywhere he could see. There was a light sheen on the grounds, reflecting pale golden glow into the sky. Archie frowned, and turned to the east.

Between clouds of smoke and steam, the sun was rising on a new Wizarding England.

XXX

AN: A fun thought experiment: which resistance character killed the most people in the war? I'm fairly certain it was Aldon followed by Francesca (mostly in the Rosier Place attack), but Sirius gets a mention for taking out like two dozen when he blew up Grimmauld Place. Lina, though, might have killed more but doesn't know it, since she just critically injures people and walks away. There's an irony in that. Thanks as always to meek_bookworm for the beta and yes, it's a shorter chapter than usual (action takes up less wordcount than drama). Epilogue will be up and out next week. If you enjoyed, leave me a comment or review!