AN: Yeah, no real action here. Just your basic aftermath after a big fight. Cheers -- MB.

Harry finally dropped to his knees, gasping in pain as the hurt from his forehead, back, and side came hurtling all over again. Elizabeth, for her part, rushed up to him, barely noticing the fact that hundreds of Imperial soldiers were now streaming through the streets, rushing every which way.

Once she'd reached him, she knelt by his side and forced him onto his back, putting his head on her lap as she tried to determine how badly he was wounded. Looking up, she finally noticed the Imperial soldiers running around.

"DOCTOR!" She yelled. "I NEED A DOCTOR OVER HERE!"

Almost instantly, a man in a red coat, with a white band with a red cross and two wands crossing underneath it on the left arm, came running up to her, and gasped when he saw his patient. Turning around, he yelled, "The Duke is down! Get me a stretcher!"

Yells of disbelief answered his announcement, but soon enough, a stretcher arrived. The medic, however, wasn't paying attention as he brought out his wand and started treating Harry's wounds. Cursing, the doctor looked up to one of the stretcher-bearers, who were looking at Harry with very worried looks.

"I need an Anti-Concussion Draught!" snapped the medic. "Quickly now!"

The junior of the stretcher bearers ran off to get the desired potion, while Elizabeth looked at the medic disbelievingly. "You mean you don't have them?" she asked, incredulous.

"Can't carry everything, I'm afraid," replied the doctor absently as he took out a morphine syrette, bit on the protective plastic, and then plunged the uncovered needle into Harry's thigh. "We don't expect many of our wounded to be suffering from concussions. Bullet wounds, spell wounds, cuts, bruises, missing limbs—yes, but not concussions, of all things!" he muttered as he put his wand to the head injury and started mumbling softly, making the tip of the wand glow a soft white light.

"You use Gifted and Ungifted medicine?" asked Elizabeth, shocked.

The medic smiled ruefully. "Were it up to me, Your Majesty, I wouldn't use Gifted methods," he admitted, never taking his eyes from his work. "Personally, I find the Ungifted methods far less barbaric. Magic imposes a cure on the body, whereas the Ungifted have found a way to make the body heal itself. I find that far more noteworthy."

Elizabeth nodded before freezing. That last comment had reminded her of her previous companions. Looking around, she saw all three of them lying face down amongst the rubble. The woman's typically fiery red hair had even had a layer of dust covering it, hiding its normal red lushness.

Pointing at them, Elizabeth got up and ordered the stretcher bearers. "Quickly, bring those three over here!"

"Yes, your Majesty," was all the men replied as they made their way towards the three downed civilians.

"Your Majesty," the medic spoke up, his eyes narrowed from squinting as he kept repairing the delicate wound in Harry's forehead. "I'll not be able to treat them—not if you want the Duke to make it."

"It's that bad?"

The medic nodded. "At first glance, it won't look that bad. But this forehead wound managed to slightly crack the skull. The wound to his side broke a couple of ribs, as well, and I'm pretty sure that they may have cause minor internal damage," he told her. "Was he hit anywhere else?" he asked.

"The back," she replied quickly, fretting over her mentor.

"Middle or sides?"

Elizabeth racked her brain for the memory, before answering, "Right side."

The medic sighed in relief. "Probably not major damage, then. Had he been hit in the middle, there could have been damage to his nervous system, and if hit on the left, it could have hurt the heart."

Elizabeth paled at this. Such a casual thing as location of a wound could have determined whether or not Harry would have had heart damage? It shook her to know how close it had been.

Her attention was redirected to her companions, however, as they were laid next to Harry. Glancing momentarily off his work, the medic looked at them and grimaced. "I can see several things wrong with them," he told the Queen as he got back to work. "But like I said, Your Majesty, the Duke comes first."

Elizabeth looked at her unconscious friends nervously before looking up at the medic. "If you had an assistant, could you do it?" she asked suddenly.

The medic was silent for a moment before nodding. "Yes. But I don't. Not even an Ungifted one."

"I can do it," stated Elizabeth firmly. The medic looked at her, aghast. "I can do it!" she repeated. "Just tell me what to do!"

"But…Your Majesty…" protested the medic, who looked appalled at the idea of having the Queen get her hands dirty with blood.

"We're ordering you to tell us what to do, doctor!" hissed Elizabeth as she rolled up her dress' sleeves and knelt next to the first of her companions, the dark-haired man called Sirius.

The medic hesitated for a moment before nodding and getting back to work. "Very well. First things, first, though. Get yourself a pair of gloves, Your Majesty," he told her. "There are some in my kit."

Elizabeth was immediately passed a pair of gloves from the stretcher-bearer nearest to the medic's kit, which she rapidly put on. At the snapping sound of her hand letting go of her gloves, the medic continued.

"Now, check the body for any unusual lumps or indentations. Make sure to clear the dust off them very gently."

Elizabeth did so. Soon, she noticed that the right arm was actually twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Broken arm," was all the medic said at the description. "Any protrusions?"

Elizabeth checked. "None."

The medic nodded. "Good, it may yet be a clean one. Is the arm inflated in any way?"

"No."

"Good, so it shouldn't be that hard to reset it," he muttered. "Stretcher-bearers!" he barked. "Set the Queen's patient's bone into appropriate position and put a splint on it."

As he heard the men do as they were told, the medic returned his absent attention to the Queen. "Any reddening of the skin? Deep reddening, that is."

"None."

"Good. Move on to the next one, then," he told her, before nodding to the stretcher-bearers. They put Sirius on a stretcher and carried him off to the nearest medical tent.

She looked down and saw that it was Remus.

"He's a werewolf," she told the medic, who stopped healing Harry's side to look at the Queen in amazement.

"Is he, now?" he asked. At her nod, he called for the stretcher-bearers, who came immediately. "Get the man to the nearest Lycanthrope Clinic," he told them, pointing at the werewolf.

Obediently, the men put the fair-haired werewolf on the stretcher and carried him off to the clinic.

She was now left with the young woman, who looked as if she was peacefully sleeping.

Lifting his eyes momentarily from the wound in the Duke's side, the medic began, "Now, have you checked…" the words died off as he lay eyes on the woman, finally taking a good look at her.

"Doctor?" asked Elizabeth, concerned.

"Buggering hell," swore the medic in amazement as he looked at the dust-covered woman. "It can't be!"

"Doctor?" repeated Elizabeth.

Looking up at the Queen, the medic kept his look of amazement. "Y-Your Majesty?"

"Is something wrong?" asked the young Queen.

The medic looked at the young woman, then at Harry, and back at the young woman.

"Merlin's balls," the medic swore again. "I don't believe it! She's alive!"

"Who?" asked the Queen, now getting slowly irritated.

Looking at the young woman, the doctor replied. "The Lady Ginevra Molly Potter," he told her. "The Duke's lost wife."

Elizabeth felt her jaw drop.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dumbledore?" demanded Snape a couple of hours later, in the Order's new Headquarters, which were located in the new Weasley home. "Preventing me from helping the Imperial Queen? Do you want us to get killed?"

"You cannot speak to the Headmaster that way!" objected Hestia Jones furiously.

"Headmaster of what, exactly?" put in Frank Longbottom, who was glaring at Dumbledore openly. He'd heard about the 'venerable' wizard's decision moments after it'd been made. The fact that he had a nasty scar crossing his left eye vertically added to the intimidating effect. "Hogwarts is under Death Eater control. He is no longer the Headmaster of anything. The Confederates wouldn't even consider renewing his teaching license, for Merlin's sake!"

"That Muggle is a hindrance!" furiously noted Ron Weasley. "As is that entire faction! They must be eliminated!"

"And how exactly do you suggest we do that?" shot back Tonks. "They have legions of men and women fanatically loyal at their disposal! In fact, unlike us, they actually have lands of their own! We're mere refugees!"

"Details," growled Ron. "They didn't manage to defend the city, now did they?"

"They had inside help and you know it!" riposted Tonks, who looked ready to curse the redhead where he stood. "The Confederate Defence System is second only to that on the NLBF's homeland!"

"Which reminds me," interrupted Arthur Weasley, who was trying to defuse the situation before he lost another son. "Has anyone here managed to get their Visa to Harrisburg approved?"

When the entirety of the Order shook their heads, Arthur sighed. "It seems they weren't bluffing, then."

"What do you mean?" asked McGonagall.

Arthur raked his thinning hair with his hand nervously. "Bad news, I'm afraid. A notice was passed out at work today. It seems that we've all been blacklisted."

Dumbledore, who'd been silent for the majority of the debate, now focused his gaze on Arthur. "Explain yourself, Arthur."

Arthur sighed. "It was announced that, under the newest law passed at the Senate and in the Imperial Parliaments in emergency sessions, the Order of the Phoenix was officially outlawed, and all its members were to turn themselves immediately," he told the group, all of whom gasped in horror. Arthur paused for a moment, before continuing. "I fear that the Imperial and Confederate governments are in accord that we are the reason the Death Eaters managed to mount an attack on this city. I expect I'll be fired soon, as a result."

"Preposterous!" scoffed Diggle. "How dare they presume we'd work with Death Eaters?"

"Have we not two in our employ?" remarked Shacklebolt softly. "Did we not turn on and capture an Imperial garrison in the past?"

That shut up Diggle, but Shacklebolt continued. "I fear that perhaps the Confederacy may be correct in viewing us as likely candidates in this treachery. Our past," here he glared at Dumbledore, "does not help us. Indeed, it condemns us."

Most of the other ex-Aurors nodded at their leader's assessment. A great majority of them, in fact, were getting tired of the Order, but remained out of respect to Shacklebolt, Frank Longbottom, and Mad-Eye Moody.

"Now, now, Kingsley," soothed Dumbledore. "I'm sure the two are merely overreacting. Give it a few days, and this will all blow over…"

"BLOW OVER?" yelled Frank as he menacingly stepped forward once. "Like that time we gave the Death Eaters Harry's location?" he yelled. "Do you remember how well that blew over?"

Frank slammed his open hands on Dumbledore's desk, his face a mask of fury and vindictive rage—a fact that made Dumbledore draw back in surprise. "I lost my wife and son during the coup, Dumbledore," he hissed. "My face is scarred from trying to fight them off, only to see Alice fall, and knowing my son was on the Potter lad's ship!" he reminded the older wizard. "You cost me my family, Dumbledore. MY ENTIRE FAMILY!" he roared. "And you want to justify your betrayals by saying they'll blow over?"

Silence permeated the room as Frank finished his tirade, his cheeks sparkling with furious tears. Silently, Shacklebolt and Dawlish moved forward and grabbed their comrade comfortingly by the shoulders, drawing him back towards the Aurors, all of whom were giving Frank words of courage and sympathy.

Shacklebolt, however, turned midway, and glared at the older wizard. "You've cost me and my men too high a price, Dumbledore," he said through gritted teeth. "Your noble little war has caused more orphans, widows, and widowers than the bloody war against Grindelwald!" Dumbledore flinched violently as he felt as if he'd been slapped at Shacklebolt's accusation. "Either you get your act together and start making better judgements, or I'll withdraw the Aurors' support from the Order."

With that, Shacklebolt nodded to his men tightly, and the remainders of the now-defunct Auror Corps Apparated away.

As soon as they were away, Ron snorted disdainfully. "Can you believe Longbottom's nerve? Pinning all that on the Headmaster!"

Any further comments, however, were silenced immediately as a resounding CRACK resounded through the room. Upon closer observation, all saw that the noise had originated from Ron. Or rather, from Ron's cheek, which was extremely red as the redhead's eyes widened. He sputtered at his assailant, who looked completely unrepentant.

"I cannot believe you, Ronald Weasley!" hissed Hermione furiously. "How you can be so callous, it boggles even my mind!"

Ron reddened furiously and made as if to draw his wand when he felt a pointed pressure poking painfully at his neck. Looking sideways, he saw Snape had drawn his wand, as had Draco Malfoy, and both were holding their wands at Ron's neck.

"Don't try it, Weasley," sneered Snape. "I happen to agree with Granger."

Even Draco, who'd only reformed hours prior to the coup, nodded, much to Hermione and Ron's shock. "That was some veritable stupidity you showed there, Weasel," added the blonde man. "Longbottom's lost everything in his life. His wife, his son, his home, his hope. You've obviously lost nothing you've ever cared about!" he spat.

Ron glared at the two Slytherins. "Oh yeah? What about my brothers? Don't they count?"

Hermione snorted disbelievingly. "Oh please, Ron! Spare us!" she bit out. "When you heard that Charlie, Bill, and the twins had gone over to the Imperial side, you practically disowned them!" she reminded him, causing him to flush angrily.

"You didn't disagree at the time," he sneered at her.

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "Nor did I agree. I have my issues with the Empire and their methods, but I respected that your brothers and sister chose their path."

"Wrong though it may be, Miss Granger?" interrupted Dumbledore.

Hermione glared at Dumbledore—a feat none would have thought possible, what with her hero-worship of authority figures. "Don't attempt to drown the issue in semantics, Headmaster." Even at the point of rebelling, Hermione couldn't drop the formalities. "I've never condemned the Empire as the wrong side—merely the misguided ones. But, seeing their successes compared to our own, I'm beginning to wonder as to the veracity of that view."

"Factionalism is what has driven the Light to this deplorable state," Dumbledore reminded her. "Had it not been for the Empire, we—"

"Would be far worse off!" snapped Snape. "Get over your own worship, Dumbledore! Without the Empire, we'd be fifty thousand times worse! The Death Eater army would be nothing short of huge, and the Light would never stand a chance!"

"Surely you exagger—"

"Oh, Albus, shut up and listen!" shrieked McGonagall, shocking everyone present. Minerva McGonagall had always been Dumbledore's second in command and fiercest supporter, after all. Glaring at the older wizard, she continued. "You know damn well that Severus is not exaggerating! You saw the reports yourself! Without the RNA, Serpent Fortress would have been used as a staging area against Hogwarts! Without the Imperials, Diagon Alley would have been destroyed years ago! In fact," noted the austere Professor. "The one time the Imperials never showed up was the day of the coup!"

"Too right."

"Hmm."

"She's right!"

"Bloody hell, why didn't I see it?"

A cacophony of similar statements rose up from the group as Dumbledore and his dwindling faction (consisting now only of him, Molly, Ron, and a few of the younger Order members) tried to fervently deny these observations. Eventually, it was not Dumbledore who brought order back, but rather Snape, who shot sparks from his wand.

"Unfortunately, the Headmaster is right about something," the Potions Master stated silkily. "Factionalism has been the cause of our rather deplorable, present state."

Dumbledore beamed at Snape, hoping to be vindicated by the man. He was, unfortunately, deeply disappointed when Snape turned to him with a sneer.

"That is why I petition the Order to vote for the official dissolution of the Order of the Phoenix," he announced, amidst the shocked shouts of the group.

"Factionalism has brought the Light down, but we can redeem ourselves now by working with the Empire towards an end to this war!" agreed tiny professor Flitwick.

"The Imperials will sooner throw us all into jail!" reminded Ron. "Or worse, hung!"

"Not if we turn ourselves in and admit our guilt," countered Hermione. "And even less if we offer to work with them!"

"The Imperials are bloodthirsty murderers!" shrieked Molly. "Look at Serpent Fortress! Look at Diagon Alley!"

"Extreme times require extreme measures!" snapped Snape. "Because of those two events, the Death Eaters had their plans thrown back a year!"

"We cannot join with the Imperial government," stated Dumbledore firmly. "We would be hung before dawn, and the Light cannot afford to lose us,"

McGonagall glared at her long-time friend. "You mean, it can't afford to lose you," she corrected tersely. "Albus, we're sick and tired of losing and hindering the wrong people! For Merlin's sake, Albus, we're practically helping the Death Eaters!"

"Minerva!" shrieked Molly. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true," came Malfoy's unexpected reply. As all the attention redirected to the ex-Death Eater, Malfoy elaborated. "We've been continuously giving the Death Eaters the locations of whatever Imperial fortress we can find. Sydney and Ottawa were practically our tribute to the Council of Death," he noted tersely. "Because of that, there's been little to no Light support from any Imperial country, and much less any volunteers for the Order. The world loathes the Order. We're the cause of its destruction. Not the Death Eaters, and certainly not the Imperials."

"Our best bet, then, is to do away with the Order, and thus start our way into getting ourselves back into the world's good graces," summed up Snape. The rest of the Order, minus Dumbledore and his few remaining followers, were looking in awe at the two redeemed ex-Death Eaters.

The fighting amongst the group raged on for hours as both the dissenters and Dumbledore's supporters clashed verbally over the Order's existence. Eventually, however, it slowly became obvious that the dissenting voices began to overtake Dumbledore's supporters, especially after Frank Longbottom was informed of the conflict and came back with the Aurors, lending his support to the dissenters.

Soon enough, a vote was called when Frank slammed his hand onto the round desk around which the Order congregated and gave an ultimatum: either a vote was called, or Frank pulled the Aurors from the Order and went to the authorities with Dumbledore's complicity in the coup, and during the attack on Panama City.