Finally, a cheer went through the battle-weary redcoats and green-coated riflemen as the Union Jack was waved atop the central stronghold's walls.

Harry was sitting on a step of the stairway the 96th had used to descend from their wall as he tried to regain his breathe, wiping some of the blood on his face with his sleeve. He realized that many other officers would look down upon him for having taking part personally in the storming, but he didn't care much for their opinion. He only cared what his parents, his wife, his friends, and his Queen thought; pompous fools be damned.

He looked up to see Major Sharpe walking towards him, just as blood-stained and weary as he was. Harry weakly waved for him to take a seat beside him, which Sharpe did.

"How many?" asked Harry immediately, wasting no time. He didn't elaborate either on what he was asking; Sharpe knew exactly what he wanted to know.

"30 men," answered Sharpe, "Mostly killed in the scaling. A few died when the second company from the Seventy-Eighth stormed down the stairway to flank the Death Eaters"

Harry looked up at that. "Is that what they did?" he mused, "No wonder the enemy broke so quickly, then. I figured they wouldn't break for a good ten minutes more when they did,"

Sharpe nodded as he took out a cigarette and his wand, lighting it up with the tip of it. Sharpe was one of the few wizard officers in Harry's army. Besides him, there were only about 6 others, including the 96th Rifles and the artillery and naval squadrons.

Sharpe took a long breathe from the cigarette before blowing out the smoke. Harry scrunched up his face in distaste.

"Things will kill you, you know," he bluntly stated, only to then laugh at the irony of the statement. Sharpe joined him in laughing.

"These are custom made, sir," he explained after he'd stopped laughing; he was still chuckling, though. "Apparently, this brand pretty much keeps the so-called calming effect the real ones have, while taking out the lethal stuff. Pretty handy during and after a battle. Good for after a shag, too," he added impudently with a grin, making Harry laugh.

"My wife would kill me if she saw me with one," commented Harry. Sharpe rose his eyebrows at that.

"You're married, sir?" asked a surprised Sharpe. And with good reason, too. Harry didn't strut around saying he was married. The men just thought he was a puritan, since he displayed no apparent carnal desires.

Harry nodded. He didn't mind the men knowing. After all, he'd bloody bled with them, all pun intended. He knew they'd never use it against him, either. The bonds of camaderie wouldn't allow them, on pain of losing their honor and the respect of their brothers-in-arms.

"Married for a year now," he told Sharpe. "We met earlier than that, of course, but we didn't develop a relationship until later on. Finally, when I became 16, Her Majesty gave us special permission to marry, since she was still 15."

Sharpe still had an intrigued expression on his face. "How did you manage not seeing each other for so long and still managing such a good relationship?" he asked, "Before marriage, I mean," he added hastily.

Harry shrugged. "We did like most do. Owl post. Occasionally, whenever the family was in the country, we'd see each other in secret," he explained before looking at Sharpe, "Her folks don't know she's married, you see."

Sharpe's eyes widened even more. "That also why you needed the Queen's blessing?"

Harry nodded. "She was under age and didn't have parental consent. So, the Queen gave her a private interview, was satisfied, and gave us her blessing."

Sharpe whistled under his breathe, impressed. "How have you managed to keep it a secret from her folks?" he asked, genuinely curious. He absently noted the men dragging off another corpse into the flaming bonfire in the center of the courtyard; they were burning every enemy corpse.

"A mutual friend of ours is posing as her boyfriend," explained Harry, "So besides keeping it a secret, she's also being guarded by a friend."

Sharpe nodded, impressed with the planning of his colonel. Turning back to business, however, he asked, "Do you really think we'll have to fight at Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged. "Depends. I could be wrong and Dumbledore will back off," he admitted, "Or perhaps the Ministry does something and Dumbledore doesn't lend aid; or perhaps even Dumbledore tries something but the Ministry doesn't aid," he added before shrugging again. "I can't predict the future, and anything is possible at this point."

Sharpe merely nodded silently.

Harry let out a sigh as he gazed at the courtyard, where the flaming pile of bodies was burning healthily. He sighed again as he grabbed his sheathed sword and stood up, dusting himself as he did.

"Order the charges placed. Once everyone is out, blow this fortress to kingdom come," he ordered as he stood up, Sharpe nodding once from where he sat.

Taking one more glance at the bonfire, Harry hooked his saber's scabbard back onto his belt and made his way out of the fortress. As he entered the archway, he could hear Sharpe shouting behind him for the charges to be set.

Another day, another win, another enemy crushed.

Yes, life was as usual for Harry Potter, Lieutenant-Colonel in the Queen's Army.

Three Days Later (Day 9)

Harry gave a pleased smile as he watched the courier leave his tent, laden with dispatches for the soldiers' families and also his personal report on the battle, as well as battlefield awards recommendations for the Queen. He then frowned as he remembered the possible scenario he would be finding upon returning to Hogwarts. So deeply immersed was he in his thoughts that he didn't even register the entrance of Majors Sharpe and Wolfe. He only noticed them when one of them, Sharpe, politely cleared his throat.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" asked Harry once he'd registered their presence.

Wolfe and Sharpe exchanged a glance before returning their attention to Harry. "We're here to receive orders, sir" Wolfe reminded him.

Harry looked shocked for a moment, then sheepish as he remembered that today was supposed to be the day they moved out. The fortress had been leveled the previous day, so nothing held them here anymore.

Quickly gathering his wits about him, Harry nodded as he thought for a moment. "We don't know what situation we'll be facing when we reach Hogwarts," he began slowly, "Thus a quick march to Hogwarts is inadvisable"

Wolfe and Sharpe nodded slowly. It made sense to them to approach Hogwarts as they would an enemy fortress, rather than a welcoming home.

Finally making up his mind, Harry continued, "I want a squad from the ninety-sixth to move ahead of the army. Have them scout out the Hogwarts grounds and nearby village. Make them go ahead today. We'll move out in three days," he told the two Majors.

Just as both officers were about to salute to leave, Harry suddenly added, "Oh, and send a letter by owl to my father," he told the two men, "I want the Irish Regiment and the Welsh Regiment ready to march immediately, should we need them."

Wolfe's eyes widened slightly at that, while Sharpe gave a low whistle; something only the two senior Majors could get away with in front of their commanding officer.

"You really expect us to need them?" asked Sharpe, a bit skeptic. After all, 6,000 troops was quite the large amount of soldiers.

Wolfe on the other hand, seemed giddy at the thought. He really liked the way the Irish and Welsh fought. It was similar to how his own Scots did; wild and fierce.

Harry merely shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know what we're facing. Once our riflemen scout out the area, we'll know whether or not we'll need them."

Sharpe remained skeptical. "Sir, with all due respect, does the Ministry and Dumbledore together have even half our numbers?"

Harry gave Sharpe a chiding look. "You of all people should know better than to put your full confidence in numbers alone, Sharpe," he remarked reprovingly.

Sharpe grimaced at that. He'd originally been one of the skeptics against Harry's promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel.

Needless to say, having his army annihilated with a 98 casualty rate by Harry's smaller army, who'd only suffered a 10 casualty rate, in a war game had done wonders to change his mind.

"Still, sir," pressed Sharpe, "your father, the Lord Marquess, would become most worried if you required all three elite regiments,"

Harry nodded, "True," he admitted slowly, "But in these growingly troubled times, perhaps that is best."

Wolfe now looked at the younger man curiously. "You think this might escalate?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know," he admitted, "But I don't want the old man catching us off guard."

Wolfe nodded; it made sense to him. Sharpe, on the other hand, remained slightly skeptical, but didn't voice it this time. Rather, he asked, "Shall I get the advance party moving, sir?"

Harry nodded. "Better if they go now. Cover more ground that way," he remarked. Sharpe nodded, gave a stiff salute, then left the tent, Wolfe following shortly.

Harry was just getting comfortable in his chair when a soft but clear hoot caught his attention. He smiled as his familiar, Hedwig, flew into the tent through a window flap. Harry frowned just as quickly, however, as he remembered that Hedwig was in Ginny's care, and that she wasn't to use her to contact him unless an emergency had come up. He quickly got up and went over to his familiar's perch, where she was gazing at him with her piercing brown eyes.

"Message from Ginny, eh girl?" he asked softly as he gave her a pet, making her hoot in approval. She lifted her leg, allowing him to detach the parchment from her talons. He quickly went over to the table and retrieved some sausage scraps and fed them to her as he unrolled the parchment with his other hand and began to read.

"Beloved Husband," Harry smiled. No matter how many times he'd read that, it never ceased to give him a warm feeling,

"Word of your victory up north has reached Hogwarts. How, our spies have yet to discover, as you've sent no messenger that I am aware of, and I am aware of everything in this castle."

Harry couldn't really argue with that logic. Being the Hogwarts Spymaster of the Crown, Ginny really did know everything that went on in that place. The piece about his victory troubled him, though. Who had told them? He'd sent no messenger. No Death Eater had made it out alive; his wards had made sure of that. Putting that at the back of his thoughts, he continued to read,

"Beloved, whatever it is that you've done, it seems to have succeeded in stalling the old man's schemes. Since he's heard of the victory, and of the manner in which it was attained, he has been reluctant to molest the troops, who have begun to become restless due to the headmaster's foolishness.

However, I am saddened to say that this caution does not extend to the Minister, who refuses to believe his Aurors can be outmatched by your troops.

My love, the Ministry has acted, as you feared. They have launched a full-scale attack that overwhelmed Captains Lyle and McAllen. The men put up a good fight, love, and conducted themselves honorably; shooting to wound severely, yet not kill. I daresay that many of the Aurors involved will have to be retired after the attack.

The men, however, have been imprisoned, all of them (including the wounded, amongst whom are Lyle and McAllen) in the Hogwarts dungeons.

I'm sorry, love. I know you warned us about this and we failed to prevent it. Please forgive us.

You will be glad to know, however, that we now have proof that in order to launch the surprise attack, Fudge enlisted Malfoy junior and Snape to provide distractions and portkeys, which they acquired from Dumbledore under false pretenses. Dumbledore, in his extreme foolishness, has decided to forgive them.

Your adoring and faithful wife,

Ginny"

By the time he'd finished reading the parchment, it was crumpling up where hands met parchment. He realized that he'd seen this coming, and that he shouldn't be so mad about it, but he couldn't help it. He was glad that Dumbledore had decided to back off, but Fudge's own idiocy was going to potentially cost him men. As it was, he was grateful that he'd left no cannons at the school. In the hands of idiots like Fudge, who knows what could happen.

Harry strode over to the entrance flap of his tent and, poking his head, out, ignoring the guards' salute, he roared, "WOLFE! SHARPE! MY TENT! NOW!" before storming back inside. Outside, the guards looked nervously at one another. The lieutenant-colonel didn't usually get mad, but when he did, it scared even the battle-hardened veterans.

Within minutes, the message had been relayed to both Majors, who reached Harry's tent at a dead run, panting when they got at the entrance. Quickly recovering their breathe, they squared their shoulders as they walked into the tent. Onlookers would have remarked that they looked like men on death row.

Inside, Harry was pacing angrily and he glared at both majors as they walked in. As one, they both flinched, which made Harry calm down slightly. He stopped pacing and then took a deep breathe before looking apologetically at both men.

"Sorry, men," he apologized, "I just received word from Hogwarts" he explained, motioning at the letter on the table, which Sharpe snatched up before Wolfe could.

Sharpe's eyes widened as he reached the end, and he proceeded to re-read it again, faster. By the end, he was scowling as he pushed the letter into Wolfe's hands, who gave a similar reaction before putting the letter back on the table.

"Bloody Ministry!" muttered Sharpe. Wolfe agreed with a short burst of Gaelic swearing. Harry added a few choice Welsh words that he was sure his mother would have disapproved of.

"What're we going to do now, then, sir?" asked Sharpe. Wolfe was still scowling fiercely, giving himself a passing resemblance to his namesake.

Harry clasped his hands behind his back as he looked at his two senior majors. "Call for a general meeting of all regiments in the camp. I'll be talking to the troops about our situation," he ordered, "Following that, I want a message delivered to my father on our current situation. Ask him to send the Irish and Welsh regiments seven miles along the railroad track leading into Hogsmeade. That will be our meeting point."

Wolfe and Sharpe gave a sharp salute before clicking their heels and leaving the tent. Back inside, Harry began thinking on the wording of his speech.

An hour later

Harry looked at his troops around him from atop his white horse, a proud look on his face. His men seemed eager to hear him, and didn't let the loss of a few of their brothers to undermine their dutifulness. All of them were standing upright at attention, their muskets or rifles held against their shoulders. In front of them were their officers, amongst them Majors Wolfe and Sharpe, who were both in full battle uniform, shako or tricorne included.

He gazed at the men that surrounded him in a square, all soldiers of the Empire; all guardians of the Crown. He briefly recognized one of the men at the front of the 2nd Company of the 78th Highlanders. Douglas McIntyre, he remembered. He smiled at seeing the new sergeant stripes on the man's uniform.

"How does it feel to be promoted, sergeant McIntyre?" he asked the man as he made a pass with his horse. Douglas stiffened at attention and saluted, before stammering out his response.

"J-Just fine, colonel, sir!" he replied loudly. Harry smiled kindly before asking another question.

"You led the diversionary assault that allowed your company to secure the gatehouse, correct?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. He also made sure to ask it loudly, so all could hear.

"Yes, s-sir!" replied Douglas, just as loudly. Harry nodded approvingly.

"You've done well, sergeant," he commended, before turning to the rest of the crowd, "You've all done well, men," he called out.

He reigned in his horse as he moved back towards the center of the square. "But there are those who would look down upon you, as one would an insect!" he continued, noticing the scowls on the men's face at his comment; they knew it was true, "People such as the Ministry, who view us as outlaws, as brigands carrying out a personal brand of justice! A justice outside the law!" he stated.

"These men, I pity them," he then stated, "For they will never understand the bonds that bind together brothers-in-arms! They will never understand the honor that keeps us together! They will never understand the true friendship and camaderie that only evolves through common suffering!" he orated,

"Men, today we've received word that the Ministry has acted against us, carrying out a treason most foul against the Crown, and against you!" he called out, causing angry shouts of condemnation against the Ministry from the soldiers.

"Men, the Ministry has imprisoned five hundred of our brothers!" he announced, causing even more angry yells to erupt, "In a move most foul and dishonorable, the Ministry attacked our brothers when their defenses were down!" The angry yells began to intensify as some men even began shaking their fists at the general direction of Hogwarts.

"But our brothers fought well!" he continued, causing the yells to simmer, "Our brothers wounded critically a large number of the Ministry's dogs! Most will never again lift a wand! Such is the price of their treachery!" he told them, causing cheers to erupt.

Harry now drew his sword and held it above his head. "But this I swear, in the name of mine own honor and my commission to the Crown, I will free our brothers personally if I have to! I will exact the Crown's vengeance on the Ministry and bring its traitor of a leader to his knees!" he yelled, causing the cheers to intensify. "Who's with me?!" he roared.

The answering cheers were deafening, and some of the officers claimed to keep hearing bells for the next hour.

"Our brothers, the Welsh and Irish regiments, are now on their way to meet up with us!" continued Harry, making the crowd of soldiers cheer, though less loudly than before. "We will meet up with them on the fields near Hogsmeade, and from there, we will march to Hogwarts, and free our brothers in captivity!" he announced. This time, the soldiers did not cheer, but instead started to chant "Potter! Potter! Potter!" over and over as Harry gave a final look at the men and then guided his horse away from the square.

The next morning, with Harry at the head of the column of angry and vengeful soldiers, the Royal Northern Army began its march towards Hogsmeade.