AN: Apologies to those who wanted to see Elizabeth chew out Harry--It's not going to happen in this chapter or the next. I might decide to include it if I ever do an Elizabeth interlude, however, in which case it would be the chapter after the next one. Cheers -- Marquis

Also, to reviewer "sue me" (good one; had me chuckling for a bit) -- All I can say regarding the Order's apparently erratic relationship with the Crown is that nothing, absolutely nothing important in the Empire happens by chance. Regarding Hermione's stereotype as the uber-genius, I don't know myself.

'How has it come to this?' wondered the strategist as he watched the massed Death Eater remnants gather around the massive Portkey that had been created for this very mission. 'Two days ago, we were the greatest power in the world…and now we are on the run, about to embark on a final, desperate mission against our foes…'

Even the Terracotta soldiers had failed him, and now none were left. As the strategist waited to give the order to grab onto the piece of rope that led to the central, massive round piece of rope, he allowed himself to think his situation through.

They still outnumbered the Imperial troops in Harrisburg's garrison, though they were devoid of an Airfleet or a Navy. The werewolves had abandoned him, as had the Vampires. The Giants had opted out of the war, and their dragons were all but decimated. Even banshees and other dark creatures refused to take part in this last offensive, having seen the writing on the wall.

The Goblins, however, were more than ready to help their Imperial allies, having secured 30 seats in the 500-seat strong Imperial Parliament. The Japanese, his last reports indicated, had deployed their new Airfleet to Harrisburg to secure the Emperor, though they would not arrive for another full day. Then there was the Irish, who had just managed to throw off the Death Eaters' control, which had been weakened by the European advances of the Imperial Legions. In thanks, they had sent a delegation to negotiate acceptable terms for Irish entry into the new Empire, and as a show of good faith, 3,000 Irish infantry were being transported to Harrisburg to help out with its defence while the Legions were away. They, too, were not to arrive for a day. The same applied for the Spanish, French, and German troops, all of which had been promised to the British in thanks for the Imperial effort at squashing the European civil war that had ravaged the continent.

Now, only England and Scotland were still under their control, and even that was tentative, as every last remnant of the Death Eaters was gathered at the Portkey, and failure to achieve victory would result in their de facto annihilation.

Was that what he really wanted? To risk his life in a battle that he knew, in his gut, would fail? His oath of revenge still rung through his mind as well, driving him to agree to the idea of a last-ditch attack on the Imperial capital. Even the Council of Death, usually far more circumspect, had given the green-light for it—they had actually suggested the plan.

The thought consumed the strategist as he watched Rodolphus Lestrange, his wife next to him, give a racist's dream speech, imbued with all the typical things: superiority of race, confidence, arrogance, and certainty of victory. It was as full of empty promises as ever, but it served its purpose—the remaining Death Eaters were full of confidence.

Sighing, the strategist nodded when Rodolphus gave him the signal to give the order. "Alright!" he shouted, his thoughts still unclear as to his desire. "Everyone grab their designated pieces of rope and get ready for mass transportation! Do not let go, and have your wands at the ready!" he told them. "We will be arriving directly into the fight, so it is likely that the Imperials will open fire the moment they see us!"

Even as he shouted the orders and advice, he saw the Death Eaters quickly do as they were told, although some of the younger conscripts (which had been forced into service when the Harrisburg campaign failed dismally) had to be threatened or coaxed into doing so. Most of them, the strategist knew, were no older than 16.

It made no difference to him, however. They would be useful as cannon fodder regardless of their skill.

He also saw that many of the Death Eaters were bringing with them antiquated weapons—of the likes of broadswords and lances; no doubt impressed by the strength displayed by the Imperial Dragon Lancers and their American allies, of whom he'd learned about after the battle from a defeated Death Eater commander who had ordered his men out of New Orleans. Said commander was subsequently killed by the Council.

Still, it was a good idea, if they were ever able to get within melee distance, which he doubted most of them would.

'So why am I going along with this?' he wondered. 'What possible good would it do me to go on a mission where I will die?'

The Death Eaters were cheering now, as Rodolphus gave them a last (supposedly) stirring speech. Most of his brainless compatriots were pumping their fists in the air. That was when he realized that he felt nothing for them. No shred of pity, no compassion. As far as he was concerned, they all could die, as long as he himself didn't. To hell with vengeance, he figured. What good would it bring him if he would die before he could enjoy it?

So it was that when Rodolphus was about to say the last syllable in the keyword (Purity, originally enough), the strategist let go of his rope. The Death Eaters around him barely had a chance to shout in protest before they were sucked into oblivion by the Portkey.

Now left alone in the midst of the Salisbury plains, the strategist looked around him for a moment. What to do now? He had betrayed the Ministry, Voldemort, and now the Death Eaters. The Imperials probably knew who he was, and after their victory would undoubtedly begin a manhunt for him once his body was discovered to not be amongst the dead.

"Damn…should have thought this through a bit more," he cursed as he put his hands on his hips. "Those idiots are probably getting killed right now…" he mused, before an idea came to mind. "…surely they won't miss their wealth?"

And a few of them had a good dozen female slaves, to boot, as he recalled. The Malfoys had none, he knew (Lucius and Narcissa were too devoted to each other), but Rodolphus Lestrange and the rest of the Death Eater patriarchs seemed to have no such restraint. After the loss of his ship, he had felt his urges rise exponentially, mainly as a way to release his frustration and rage, but since he had lived out of that ship, all he had was gone.

Smirking to himself, the strategist nodded as he chose his path. He was about to Disapparate when he heard the crack of an Apparation behind him. Spinning around, all he could see was a hooded figure wearing a greatcoat.

"What do you want?" demanded the strategist, his hand going to his wand at his side. "I have no time to be wasting on peons!"

A sinister chuckle emerged from within the hood, causing the strategist to feel chills going down his neck. A mere hand movement later, and the strategist felt his neck constrict, causing the man to choke as the air left him.

"You would do well to be more courteous, Death Eater Lord Strategist Igor Karkaroff," hissed the voice from within the hood, breaking Bagman's glamour.

Revealed for who he was, the former Headmaster for Durmstrang Academy looked panicked as he felt himself growing faint from lack of air. He tried to ask who the hooded person was, but was stopped midway as his neck was sharply snapped in two, killing him.

Dropping the hanging body of Karkaroff onto the floor with a mere hand gesture, the hooded figure looked around before dropping his hood, revealing the young and healthy face of Barty Crouch Jr. He seemed to consider something for a moment before then rolling up one of his coat's sleeves and touching his Dark Mark with his wand.

Instantly, the sound of cracks from Apparation surrounded him as numerous more figures in greatcoats appeared from thin air. Barty nodded to each of them before giving out his orders.

"Alright, we know what our master wants. Take the wealth and valuables, free the slaves, and burn the housing," he said.

Muted agreement was given by his cohorts, who bowed their head in acquiescence before Disapparating again.

For his part, Crouch was looking at Karkaroff's corpse with an impressed look.

"So…Potter won," he mused amusedly. "Looks like the master was correct in choosing the boy over his former followers."

Kicking the dead corpse of Igor Karkaroff for good measure, Crouch shrugged. "Eh…whatever. Act One of this grand play's done. Now it's our turn," he told himself. Crouch then looked towards the sky, an excited look on his face. "I eagerly await to see you play your part, Harry Potter."

With that, he laughed hysterically and Disapparated, leaving only Igor Karkaroff's body inhabiting the empty Salisbury plains.

Unfortunately for Barty, his hasty disappearance meant he missed the pops that resounded in the air seconds after he left, heralding the arrival of several people, all hidden by the heavy, hooded cloaks they wore.

"Oh?" spoke up one of the newly arrived men, noticing Karkaroff's body. "One of them stayed behind!"

"Oh my," spoke up another as the group crowded around the body. "It's Karkaroff!"

"Amazing!" exclaimed another. "Just like he predicted!"

Clapping caught their attention then, and they turned to see one of their comrades staring at them sternly. "Right, then, you lot. We're not here for sightseeing!" he barked out gruffly. "We've got a firm time-table to follow, and every second we lose here is one we have to make up by doubling our efforts!"

Everyone nodded apologetically at the leader's words, and the man seemed satisfied. "We've all got our orders! You all know what to do!" he reminded them. "Remember, lads, if we pull this off, the war ends! Now, then let's go!"

With a sombre, but energetic common shout of agreement, the group quickly disappeared.

"Oh my, I didn't think they'd actually go for it."

Sirius gave an ironic smile to James as the Potter Patriarch looked down into the main Imperial Square at the foot of the Imperial Palace. He was seated in a very comfortable-looking chair and, for all appearances, looked entirely amused by everything. At his side, also sitting in a similar chair but with a far more prim posture, was his wife Lily. Sirius had been the only one not to sit, instead choosing to stand at his friend's other side.

"Harry did say that they would," reminded Lily calmly, and with a hint of pride. Sirius almost chuckled; the pride of the Potter patriarch and matriarch towards their son was near-legendary—especially after they had found out that Harry was not as cruel and evil as they had thought.

"Honey, believing that Harry's every word is solid fact is a bad example to set," chided James, though the quirk in James' lips made it hard to take him seriously. "He's not God."

"You'd think he was, if you heard the troops and common folk talking," mumbled Sirius with a wry smile.

"Hmm? Did you say something, Sirius?" asked Lily amusedly. Obviously, she'd heard him full well, but wanted to take the mickey out on him.

Sirius put on his best innocent look then. "Me? Never."

"If you clowns are quite done…"

James smiled, even though he never took his eyes from the battle below. He didn't have to—he knew exactly who it was that had spoken up. "Feeling curious, Your Majesty?"

"Hmph," sniffed Elizabeth, walking up between James and Lily's seats and standing in front of the elegantly sculpted stone fencing of the elevated balcony. Truly, this was probably the best place to be to observe the happenings below without getting directly involved. "I just wanted to see what that fool of a son of yours is up to, Lord Potter."

Ah, so she was still bitter about the fact that Harry had kept her out of the loop. It was an entirely logical reaction, the group knew, and so weren't about to comment on it.

Silenced passed between the four for a moment as the people in the Square made their final preparations for the impending attack they now had confirmation about. Finding out about Harry's informant had been quite the shock, too, as no one but he and Ginny had known about the identity of the informant in question.

"It's a good plan," Elizabeth spoke up reluctantly. Lily and James exchanged glances before nodding, although the Queen couldn't see them. "It's very sound."

"Our Harry doesn't like anything less than that," agreed Sirius solemnly.

"Hmm…" the Queen made a noncommittal noise. "Dumbledore disapproves of all this, of course."

"He would," noted James dismissively. Where once he had nearly worshipped the man as a beacon of the Light, James now saw him as either an equal, a rival, or both. There were no lingering feelings of hero-worship left in James Potter, replaced instead with calm respect, and a healthy dose of scepticism. "I heard he wanted Tonks, Malfoy, and Snape punished for their disregard of his order not to kill Death Eaters."

Lily looked amused. "Even if everyone else, save maybe Hermione and Ron did it too?" she asked, having not heard of this before. James nodded, making Sirius give a barking laugh in irony.

"The man's looking for scapegoats. Even his own people are refusing to listen to him now," noted the well-dressed man. "They're far more likely to listen to Harry at this point than him."

"Hmm," agreed the Queen. She was still staring out towards Imperial Square, where the enemy was reportedly going to be appearing through mass Portkey. "He approached me about that—wanted me to forbid civilian participation and retroactively hand out punishments to those that had killed Death Eaters."

"You'd have a rebellion in seconds," opined Sirius, who was smiling ironically—as if the entire situation was a joke. "Nevermind the ex-Order members who'd be punished, the public would rise up in arms if the men and women who fought with Black were punished for their deeds."

James and Lily both voiced their agreement to that statement, and the Queen followed suit with a nod. "That's why I turned it down," she stated primly. "I believe the former Headmaster is plotting against me once again."

Lily shook her head sadly. "It's such a shame…" she spoke sadly. "He really was a great man once. Now that he's losing control, he's just getting rash."

Elizabeth nodded. "It is truly a pity," she agreed. Sirius seemed more sceptical, but James nodded as well. "I had hoped to use him to bridge the gap between our two communities."

"What will we do?" asked James, who could sense an impending order a mile away.

Elizabeth smiled to herself as her eyes swept over the organizing manoeuvres down in the Imperial Square. "As the Duke is always so fond of saying, we will do what we must," she stated simply. "That is the Empire. We hold to no ideology, no cause but our own. We will be, and do what we must in order to survive and maintain our way of life."

Sirius, James, and Lily all bowed their heads to the back of the Queen of the British Empire in solemn reverence. With the light of the reddening sun shining on their monarch, she truly gave off the aura of a future hegemon. Harry had taught her well. As one, they intoned the two words that they had chosen to represent their path in life once more.

"Yes, Majesty."

"Everything is ready and everyone is waiting for orders, Harry."

Harry smiled as Ginny broke her attention from her communicator to him, her husband. She was wearing a fairly loose dress this time around—undoubtedly for better mobility during combat. Still, the skin-tight corset that accentuated her deliciously moulded waist and the way the dress held up her modest breasts made it still so very alluring to Harry.

"Eyes up, love," she chided with a smile, forcing Harry to stop admiring his wife's body. "You'll get yours when the fighting's done," she promised.

Harry grinned. "I suppose that's further incentive to crush the enemy quickly and brutally, then," he joked. The two laughed for a bit before Harry went down to business. "Anyway, orders are to stick strictly to the plan. We don't want them to be overwhelmed by our numbers alone—that would achieve nothing."

"I still don't get that," noted Nathaniel, who entered the dining hall of Potter Manor at that moment. "I mean, why not just get the damn bugs out of our way quickly by massed fire? Nice place, by the way."

Harry grinned. "Thanks," he replied amusedly. "As for why, because this battle is a statement, Nathaniel. I want the enemy to be crushed, sure, but I also want the world to see that numbers alone aren't the reason of our victory. I want to crush every last vestige of the idea of taking on the Empire out of existence."

"Probably not going to happen, you know," noted Nathaniel, who was eyeing Harry between admiring the décor. "Always some crazy ready to take on the odds. Hell, you should know. You did it."

Harry laughed, and even Ginny giggled at the truth of that. "Perhaps," agreed Harry. "But because I did it, I know how they think. I also know where they'll show up. As long as I can crush the spirit of those who would follow them, taking out a few individuals pre-emptively won't be a problem."

Nathaniel once again gave Harry a once-over. "Some would call that unfair."

Harry didn't seem shaken by the subtle accusation. "I'm preserving peace and giving our species a viable way to survive. Frankly, I don't care if it's unfair." Harry gave Nathaniel a wicked grin. "I think it was one of you Americans who said it best; 'the tree of liberty must at times be watered with the blood of patriots and tyrants,' no?"

Nathaniel looked at Harry oddly before laughing out loud. "HA!" he barked. "Only you would use Thomas Jefferson to justify keeping an Empire, of all things!"

Harry smiled, but Ginny seemed a little stand-offish about Nathaniel. There was something about the man's laugh that unnerved her. "May I ask why you're here, Mr. Pike?" she asked.

Nathaniel smiled. He was about to speak when Harry cut him off. "I imagine that Mister Pike is here to give me his answer to a proposal I made earlier, am I right?" he asked Nathaniel, who grinned knowingly before nodding once.

"I've talked it over to the lads, and they all agreed as well."

"Then?" prompted Harry, ignoring his wife's confused look.

Nathaniel dropped to one knee before Harry, his spear beside him. Ginny almost started at the sight—it was a sign of complete submission.

"The Resistance has heeded your counsel, Duke of Halifax," spoke Nathaniel very formally, as if he had rehearsed it previously. "As of today, in my capacity as Formal Representative of the South-Western Wing of the American Resistance, I hereby pledge the resources and manpower of the American Resistance to your cause, in return for the rewards you have promised us."

Even as Ginny gaped—she had never known about this facet of Harry's plan—Harry smiled in satisfaction. "And I shall not forget my dues, Mister Pike," he assured his guest. "After the last of our enemies fall, the Empire will help the Resistance restore order to the United States, and help you set up a working, functional government…"

Nathaniel bowed his head lower in thanks. "…with the possibility of entry into an expanded Imperial Commonwealth," he added, as if finishing Harry's statement. Harry rose an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"I would have imagined that your people would be against association with the Imperial Commonwealth," noted Harry as Nathaniel got back up on his feet. "After all, we're being ceded Norfolk and Annapolis under Right of Conquest—hardly a popular thing."

Nathaniel shrugged. Ginny glanced between the two men curiously. "Some were against," admitted Nathaniel. "But the majority of us are realists. If the war ends according to your plan, disassociation would be political, economic, and military suicide. Even though there's a lot of resentment over Norfolk and Annapolis, we're also very aware that a lot of people in the Empire would love to see us exterminated for helping the Death Eaters."

That was incredibly shrewd of the usually happy-go-lucky Texan, Ginny thought. He certainly didn't seem to fit the stereotype of pre-war Americans that everyone she knew seemed to have. He wasn't being arrogant, cocky, or idiotic. Instead, he was talking—no, negotiating with Harry civilly, intelligently, and pragmatically.

"But it's bad for business all around if that happens," summed up Harry with a smile. Nathaniel nodded with an ironic smile in agreement. "I understand. I will convey your wish to the Queen and Parliament. Undoubtedly they will put forth heavy consideration on your request."

Nathaniel bowed gratefully. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Harry smiled and flicked up a finger towards Nathaniel. "Since the ugly part of this business is over with, I imagine you know the details of the assignment I had planned for you?" he asked, amused. Nathaniel, there his credit, did not start at the implication that he had spied on the Duke for information.

"I do," agreed Nathaniel. Harry's smile grew wider.

"Good. I like proactive people," he replied agreeably. "That being said, I'd like you to carry it out."

Nathaniel nodded firmly. He was about to turn to leave when he suddenly stopped, however. "If I may ask, why there?" he asked, turning back to look at Harry. "Why would you want me to camp my men at Serpent Fortress? Or, more accurately, the ruins of Serpent Fortress?"

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise at this information, turning to look at Harry in shock. Her husband, for his part, seemed amused at the situation, and at Nathaniel's question. "Is there any real need for me to answer that question, I wonder?" he asked rhetorically. "Why else? The last battle of this silly war will be there. As it always was going to be."

Always? The word stuck foremost in Nathaniel's mind. How long had Potter been planning this? What's more, had he meant to let that slip? Glancing at the redhead next to Potter—whom he assumed to be Potter's renowned wife, Ginevra—he saw that she had moulded her facial features into an impassive mask. He would get no answers from her. From the poker-faced smile Potter had, he wouldn't get any from him, either.

Nathaniel settled for a nonchalant attitude. Whatever the answer was to his doubts, it had nothing to do with him. All that mattered right now was that the war ended and his country was returned to the way it should have been.

"I see."

Ginny watched impassively as Pike left the dining hall of the Potter's home. Harry had just revealed a hand that she had not known about, and that confused her. Harry told her everything. How come she hadn't known about a new offensive?

"If you're wondering about the Hogwarts offensive," intruded Harry into her thoughts. "Don't."

Ginny's eyes snapped over to him. "Why not?"

Harry didn't bother to look at her. "Because it's not about to happen yet," was his prim response. "No use worrying about matters that may not matter until the present matter is done."

Ginny tried to wrap her head around that one, and dismissed the thought for the question she was burning to ask. "What's at Hogwarts?"

She felt Harry's glance on her for a second before it was gone. "Our last obstacle."

Ginny frowned. That was incredibly vague. As far as she knew, Harry had crushed out the possibility of future enemies via negotiation or military action (sometimes despite her objections). "I thought the attacking Death Eaters were our last obstacle?" she voiced her doubt.

Harry chuckled, his eyes still on the long table before him. "If I remove the cancer but not the source, then what's the point?" he asked rhetorically. "All effects have a cause, and all causes have an effect. This is a law of the universe. The Death Eaters are the effect of a cause. Hogwarts is were I will eliminate that cause."

"So the ambush outside…?" she asked tentatively.

"Gets rid of one threat, but doesn't finish everything," finished Harry. "Look at it as the end of the first act. The next act—the final act—however, begins after that."

"Harry…" Ginny started, but was cut off by Harry's abrupt move of standing up.

"We'll talk about that later," he told her bluntly, a feral grin spreading along his face. "Right now, we have guests to attend to."

Outside, the sound of an explosion rang through the sky.

Post-AN: To be PERFECTLY clear: The Resistance is NOT submitting the United States to Imperial control. It is merely granting the Empire command of the campaign until victory is achieved, at which point the Empire has sworn to restore the American Republic. Just needed to make that clear, so I'm not being accused later on of being a frothing, rampaging Americanophobe. - MB.

PS: Disregard of this very clear explanation and subsequent flaming will be ridiculed to the fullest extent of my considerable grasp of the English language.