Hogwarts Siege, Day 2 – Hogwarts Main Gate Offensive

In a word, the fight for control over the Hogwarts main gate was one big clusterfuck.

The Imperial forces, finally managing to surprise the defenders and set up their ladders, had nonetheless barely managed to do anything more than establish a foothold on the walls themselves. Even with the Third and Fourth Companies of the Second Legion leading, and even with the introduction of the shotguns to help take down the hardy golem defenders, the Imperial forces soon found themselves trying to push at an immoveable brick wall.

No matter how many shotgun blasts they let loose on the cluster of defenders, it always seemed like there were more coming right after them, or that they just wouldn't stay down. The Third Company, however, had managed to distinguish themselves in their wing of the assault, having taken no losses despite being at the forefront of the offensive and all the while managing to secure their foothold long enough for the Seventh Legion to deploy adequate forces to back them up.

The leader of the Third Company was a black-haired, dark brown-eyed man named Allan Moore from what had formerly been Alberta, Canada. Before the war, Allan had been a carpenter who'd made his living helping folks in his town. At the outbreak of the war, he and essentially his whole town had fled eastward, towards Ottawa, believing the capital city to be the most heavily defended location in Canada.

Only when news of the fall of Ottawa had reached them did he and his fellow townsfolk decide on seeking refuge in the mountainous ranges of British Columbia. That was where they had heard of convoys of refugees being set up in Vancouver, and so they fled there, hoping to get passage to the havens where the other refugees seemed to be going.

It was also there that he had been drafted by the man who had taken charge of protecting the refugee convoys. A Captain Lee, as it were. An unwilling soldier, Allan was nonetheless well aware of the need to protect the other refugees and did his part without much resentment and reluctance. Eventually, the convoy—some 10,000 or so refugees on any number of different ships—set sail for Australia, where they found the war raging just as fiercely as it had been in Canada.

Only, when they reached Australia, his captain had then been drafted in turn by the man leading the Pacific resistance to the Death Eaters and their lackeys—the then-Captain Tybalt Staples. Allan had since served under the dubiously infamous command of the Pacific's very own Davy Jones, until the Restoration.

Once the Restoration came about, Allan was then assigned to the Second Legion, which had been designed to hold the very best of Staples' troops. Since most of these had also been veterans of many sieges and city assaults, they were also a highly capable anti-siege force. That had basically secured their label as the "Siege Breaker" Legion.

Yet, this one siege was proving to be either the Second Legion's grave, or its finest hour.

Allan had, as ordered, led his men forward the moment General Sulu had given the order to do so, the Seventh Legion trailing behind his own men. The Seventh had offered to hold the siege ladders, but Allan would have heard none of it, and had his own men carry the five siege ladders, never once slowing down due to weight.

Allan was a veteran now. He had fought in so many battlefields, lifted so many sieges, stormed so many emplacements, this felt like breathing to him. He had his best men at the forefront, ready to scale the walls as soon as possible, their distinct black uniform and body armour melding in with the darkness and keeping them from sight.

The initial assault pretty much went as Allan had expected it. They had managed to get the ladders against the wall and had begun their ascent when the defenders had noticed their attack and had begun firing down at them. Fortunately, the Second Legion had suffered through enough sieges to know better than to send uncovered soldiers up siege ladders, and had as such issued small, meter-wide circular shields that deployed out of a cylindrical baton that they all carried at their waist. With the help of these metallic shields, the men and women of the Third Company had managed to reach the top and begin securing the immediate area.

It was about the time that the Seventh Legion had managed to get five platoons on the wall that Allan had lost his first soldier in the battle—a young Private from Cork, Ireland named Thomas. He had taken a killing spell between the eyes after having just managed to deflect another with his portable shield. Allan could hear the indignant cries from his men as they saw the young Irishman fall, almost in slow motion, his eyes lifeless.

The next to fall, at the thirteenth platoon over the wall, was Private Jenny Welsh, from New Zealand. She took a slashing curse to the torso and yet managed to take down a dozen more golems before finally succumbing to blood loss and ending up nearly slashed to pieces against the wall's merlons.

An hour into the battle, Allan had lost nearly a dozen more soldiers, which was rapidly making the even-tempered Captain red-faced with fury. Each man or woman lost was a physical blow to him. The Second Legion companies had long since learned to enhance the bond between its soldiers to near-familial levels, and he often regarded the people under his command as his own family, given that he had no family of his own outside the military.

A flash of green was enough warning for the aged veteran to duck, allowing the Killing Curse to fly overhead harmlessly. A dull thud told him that another golem had caught it, which suited the Captain just fine. Bringing up his left arm, he proceeded to ram his protective shield against the offending golem's throat, correctly guessing that its small diameter would also be a weak spot, albeit a more difficult one to aim at. The shield predictably crushed the golem's neck and eventually tore after Allan had placed enough pressure into his blow. The sound of heavy footsteps behind him got his reflexes working and, in an instant, he had his right arm up, shotgun in hand, and had blown away the incoming golem's head.

Allan kicked away the falling corpse of the golem in question and reflexively ducked under a cutting curse that would have otherwise sliced his head in two. Just as he was about to blast the offending defender away with his shotgun, however, one of his troopers, having seen her Captain in danger, promptly took it upon herself to do it for him. Allan bowed his head shortly in gratitude, and she returned the sign of respect before the two turned once again to their knife work.

Allan took down five more golems in the next ten minutes after that near miss, and the 3rd Company's Captain was beginning to tire out. Having kept count of his kills since the assault began, he had taken down at least 30 or so golems by himself, with another 15 assists from his comrades. If he extrapolated similar kill counts for his remaining men, that meant 7,000 or so enemy dead after a few hours of combat.

And yet, the damned things kept coming!

Allan was unable to check whether or not this was due to outside reinforcements, unfortunately; the enemy between him and a clear view of the grounds blocked his view. Every time he tried to move forward with his men, the golems seemed to increase in numbers, too!

Allan didn't even start when something collided with his back, the sudden warmth telling him that it was another soldier. A glance behind him told him it was one of his men, and that the soldier was defending himself/herself from incoming spells in front of him/her.

"Captain!" Allan recognized the accented voice as belonging to one Corporal Maria Lopez, from Belize. She belonged to and led his Company's 12th Squad. "The Seventh boys are quickly running out of steam, and it looks like a couple of our squads aren't looking so hot, either!"

Allan grunted in acknowledgement. "I know," he still said out loud. "We can't slow down, though. Keep the men busy and don't let these murdering sons of bitches close to our inbound points!" he ordered.

He didn't need to see the nod of agreement to know it'd been given, and he quickly felt the warmth of her body heat leave him, telling him she'd left to carry out his orders. Allan gritted his teeth and grunted as he savaged an oncoming golem, its heavy, steel-like fists held high, ready to hit him, with his personal shield, slamming the edge into the construct's face and following up with a point-blank shotgun blast to the thing's chest. Strong point or not, it didn't look like the golems could handle a blast at point blank range anywhere, and that was the good news.

Nonetheless, that was another round used up, and Allan was aware that his ammo reserves were rapidly depleting as this fight kept going. No doubt his men had already noticed as well. Digging into one of his many, many ammo pouches strapped onto him, Allan dug out a handful of shotgun shells and quickly pumped them into the automatic recharger.

Pumping the metallic, stick-like weapon of death and destruction, Allan blasted away two more golems who had sought to beat him to death while he was reloading his weapons. Unfortunately for them, Allan had been quicker and had been ready for them before they had taken their second step. They might have had a chance if they'd cast a spell against him, since he needed both hands to reload, leaving him open.

After blasting away five more foes, something odd clicked in Allan's mind.

'How is it that we're nearly a thousand troops on this wall and there's still room for this many enemies??' he wondered. No matter how you look at it, our previous assault told us that the walls were no more than ten meters wide!'

Even considering the length of the wall, there was no way that a thousand Imperial troopers could fit onto the wall and still have enough space for more than ten thousand enemy troops, considering the amount that he and his men had already taken down—Seventh Legion kills notwithstanding.

The obvious answer hit him then.

"Fuck!" he swore vehemently. Cursing that the anti-technological wards hadn't yet been taken down, Allan turned towards the nearest of his men in the hopes of getting the message passed around. "Private!" he roared, causing the private in question to look his way once his latest kill stopped moving on the ground. "Pass the word: we're in an Illusionary Trap!"

Though the private made no overt signs of shock, Allan knew his men well enough to see the unconscious twitch in the soldier's shoulders that belied how shaken the man was from the Captain's revelation. Illusionary Traps were easy enough to take down, as long as you weren't already caught in one. Still, it explained the inexplicable waves of enemy reinforcements.

This left a problem, though. Communication with elements outside the Illusion bubble was impossible, which meant that while he and his men fought infinite enemies, not knowing which Killing Curse was real and which wasn't, the outside world had to figure out their predicament and disable the trap soon, before exhaustion brought down the Imperial troops.

Steeling himself for the exhaustive combat to follow, Allan brought up his shield and shotgun, and prepped himself for battle even as ten more golems bore down on him.

Hogwarts Main Gates Offensive – Rear of Main Gate

Ginny rose her fist to halt her group's advance, and the ten assassins broke their movement hard.

Ginny made another motion, and the ten assassins took cover behind a few bushes next to the wall. A pair of golems soon passed by, and once they were out of hearing range (or what she guessed was their hearing range), Ginny turned to her team.

"Okay, we're almost there. Everyone knows their target, right?"

The assassins nodded. Ten agents for six bombs. Ginny had claimed one, and she had assigned another to the strongest of the team—an assassin who loved to use his bare fists for his work more than his tools. If he was unable to defuse the bomb, then he would be able to carry it out of the danger zone, hopefully. The remaining four bombs were to be dealt with by groups of two assassins each.

Ginny dug into her camouflage robes and quickly brought out her wand, her assassins following her example by doing the same. "Check for traps," she whisper-ordered them, and all ten cast the detection spell at the same time. While it was technically unnecessary for that many detection spells to be used, it was a point of safety for the assassins to do so in order to double-check their results, just in case someone botched the spell.

As expected, each of them had a circular, hologram-like image show up atop the length of their wand, small blips appearing spread throughout the circle's confines.

"I read five Bombarda traps and two Illusion traps," reported Ginny, taking the lead.

"Same," confirmed another assassin, and none of the rest seemed to protest the findings.

"Illusion traps have been tripped, though," noted one of the assassins. "Both of them are on the wall."

Ginny nodded, agreeing with the observation. "That's probably the vanguard of the assault. They must not have Shielders with them, for some reason," Ginny swore under her breath—another complication! Narrowing her eyes at her men, she quickly pointed out a group of two. "You two, disable the southern trap before you go for the bomb," she ordered, before pointing out another group of two. "You two, get the northern. We have to get our people out of those traps, or they'll be too exhausted to fight the main enemy army."

The assassins nodded respectfully at her orders, and with a quick nod in return, Ginny waited until she was sure the coast was clear before whispering the urgent command, "Ok...break!"

Funnelling her magic to her extremities, she strongly pushed her feet down onto the ground and then launched herself into the air, only barely noticing her assassins imitating her and going their own ways.

Satisfied that they had all dispersed without difficulty, Ginny returned her attention to her target: the middle bomb on the northern wall. She would have personally taken care of the Illusionary trap there, but seeing as how she was tackling this bomb by herself, she needed to make sure she had enough time to get it out of range, if necessary. Magically powered up or not, those damn things looked heavy, and her magically enhanced musculature could only handle so much strain before she suffered severe cascading muscular deterioration, which wouldn't stop until her muscles became useless permanently.

Magical enhancement was a risky thing whenever used for long periods of time, so Ginny knew better than to strain herself usually. This mission, however, could very well require her to ignore those safety rules and risk either being crippled for life or killed. The former didn't bother her as much as the latter, given that she now knew, for sure, that her husband would not leave her for another woman, no matter the circumstances.

Steeling her will once again, Ginny looked down, her body still in flight, and quickly locked on to the location of her target. At the very end of the wall, she could see the distinct, egg-shaped magical device that held about five highly compressed Bombarda spells—enough to cause a significant dent in the side of the mountain. Together, they would bring down the side of the mountain onto the gate, crushing the advancing Imperial troops and sealing off the valley from that side for good.

She nearly closed her eyes as she focused on her magic to reduce her overall mass and then letting loose several, silent blasts that allowed her to drift towards her objective silently. Ginny knew she wasn't as powerful as Harry was—hell, possibly only Dumbledore and Voldemort were as powerful as her husband was—but she was living proof that power was not enough to win. Technique, skill, expertise—these synonymous words were the basis of Ginny's prowess in battle. She had refined her control of her magic to unheard-of heights, making her a deadly enemy even for Dumbledore, although she had much less magic to use.

It was this advanced expertise with her magic that allowed Ginny to emit controlled blasts of magic from anywhere on her body and reduce her mass, both overall or location-specific. There wasn't a drop of magic in her that she didn't know about or couldn't control. Even Harry, with all his titanic power, could not boast the same.

Ginny smiled to herself in satisfaction as she noted that her calculated bursts were taking her straight to her target as planned. It had been a long time since she had last needed to make correction bursts, but that didn't preclude the possibility that she could miscalculate in the future.

Slightly increasing her mass, she felt her descent increase proportionally, and within seconds, she had reached ground, albeit it at such a slow speed that she was able to touch ground daintily, as if descending from a carriage. A successful infiltration, all around.

Her silent arrival had made the two golem guards that were protecting her target completely miss her presence, which suited the ginger-haired assassin just fine. Silently making her way towards their turned backs, she withheld her breath as she raised her arms and, with a flick of her wrists, two retractable blades shot out from within her robe sleeves, making a familiar, unmistakable unsheathing sound.

The two golems, finally aware of her presence, began to turn around to confront her, but it was already too late for them. With a glint of sunlight splashing off the two stainless blades, Ginny rammed them into the golems' throats, successfully piercing them. She knew that it wouldn't be enough, though. They weren't human—a hole in the throat would do nothing to their fighting skill.

Tearing off their heads, on the other hand, was just fine.

Channelling her magic to her arms, she increased her muscular strength there fourfold, giving her about as much strength as necessary to be able to punch through concrete (not that she ever would—it would shatter every bone in her hand without the proper magical enhancements). With a grunt, she then proceeded to swing her arms sideways in opposite directions, tearing through the steel-like skin as though it was tissue paper. Dull thuds accompanied the sight of the two lifeless heads hitting the ground.

Ginny observed her work for a second before flicking her wrists again and thus retracting her blades back into the cover of her robes. With a thought, she also dispelled the muscular enhancement she had placed on her arms, and flinched when she felt the strain in her muscles finally hitting her in a vicious feedback. It was an unfortunate side-effect of using these spells, especially when one increased the muscular output several times over what one's body frame should allow. Grimacing, Ginny knew she would be feeling the muscular pain for a good couple of days to come, unless she used the enhancements again, which would guarantee her a week of rest after the battle was over, if not more.

She knew how to deal with the pain, though—after all, this wasn't the first time she had used enhancements in such a way. She reached into her robes and pulled out a plastic container tube from between her breasts and popped a pill contained within, almost immediately feeling the pain vanish from her extremities. It would only kill the pain for about twelve hours, but the feedback afterwards would be excruciating, to be sure. Unfortunately, this was a necessary trade-off, as she had a mission to carry out now, and she wasn't willing for a second to throw in the towel.

Hiding away the tube back in the safety between her breasts, she made her way towards the egg-shaped bomb. It was a bit bigger than she had thought, having seen it from high above. It was tall enough to reach her waist, and long enough to just beat her height. She toyed with the idea of casting a weight-identifying spell on it, but decided not to, just in case there were magical safeguards to make it explode in the event of magical tampering.

Instead, she settled for sliding her hand along the smooth metal casing of the bomb, marvelling despite herself at the fact that the enemy had managed to put aside their prejudice for all things non-magic and create such a lethal piece of weaponry. Soon enough, she found what she was looking for: a section of the smooth metal skin was sectioned off from the rest in a rectangular shape. Had she used her eyes, she would have undoubtedly failed to notice this sectioned-off area, but her bare hand, its sensory ability heightened by magic, had managed to feel the small, nearly imperceptible crease between the metal cover and the rest of the bomb's casing.

Pressing down slightly on the middle of the plate, she felt it give way under very little pressure and then slide to the side into the rest of the casing. Revealed to her was a truly marvellous sight to behold, for one who practised magic with such skill as she did. Where a mechanical bomb would have had controls and all sorts of mechanical instruments to monitor the bomb, this one had currents of magic flowing within the cavity as though it were water. There were no instruments, no gauges—nothing. It was just pure magic, reddish-copper in color, just floating there. She could see strands of the ethereal-like substance undulate around as it moved its crests and troughs from one side to the other.

In short, it was a beautiful sight.

And yet, Ginny knew better than to get caught up in the mere looks of the magical feat before her. No matter how much she wanted to examine the magical configuration that the caster had used to create such a magnificent magical interface, she knew she had to act quick if she wanted to disarm the bomb, lest the Imperial troops recover from the Illusion Trap and get within the detonation parameters of the bomb.

Ginny softly placed her hand into the magical energy and almost immediately felt a warm, enveloping sensation overtake her hand before she gasped and snapped back her head, the air before her suddenly exploding with magically summoned statistics regarding the bomb. By just placing her hand in the magical energy, she had somehow brought out the entire system's magical interface. A feeling of disappointment spread through Ginny. Despite the wonderful ingeniousness of the device, it was clear that whoever had actually done the programming was an amateur. There was little to no security in the device's magical computer.

Sighing in resignation at an easy task, Ginny brought forward in her mind the thought of the detonation parameters. As she thought, the bombs wouldn't detonate due to proximity of magical signatures—only non-magical creatures, such as the bulk of the Imperial troops. It would make sure that the Imperial casualty count would be as high as possible this way. Furthermore, as she had suspected, there were safeguards in place against magical tampering; if she tried to put a spell on the device, it would explode prematurely. With a frown, Ginny now brought up the bomb's internal controls, which would give her access to the detonation sequence and the bomb's disarming functions.

To her surprise, the bomb seemed to resist her attempts to bring up said interface, given the sudden appearance of static in the detonation parameters interface. Frowning deeper, she focused on the thought of her desired command and pushed at the magical link she had established via her hand with all her mental might.

It took a few moments of trial and error, but she finally managed to bring it up, and she was once again surprised by what she found. If the creator of the bomb had failed to secure the machine from outside tampering horribly, he or she had not skimmed on the complexity of the bomb's detonation mechanism.

It was like a finely tangled web of magical links that made Ginny dizzy just by looking at it. From what little she understood of Curse Breaking, which she assumed was the field required to dismantle this insane web of magical links, each said link had to be carefully unpicked from the rest in the precise, correct order. Ginny swore under her breath—she didn't have the theoretical understanding necessary to undo such a complex matrix. That only left physically carrying the bomb out of the danger zone—preferably somewhere near the Black Lake.

With an irritated scoff, she pulled out her hand from the magical interface and carefully considered her options now. Placing a levitating or weight reducing spell on it was right out due to its safeguards, and she had neither the time nor the expertise to dismantle its complex detonation matrix. That left one option—using enhancements on herself and carrying the damn thing with her to safety.

With a resigned sigh, Ginny closed her eyes, widened her stance, and consciously directed her magic throughout her body. This time, merely increasing the strength of her arms or legs wouldn't do—the weight of the bomb would still force immense pressure down onto her body, so unless she enhanced herself fully, she would be crushed by the much heavier device.

Slowly, she felt the familiar feel of warm energy flowing across her small body, relishing in the soft caress of her magic. She wasn't like her husband—she couldn't live without her magic. It was intoxicating to her, and every time she used it, she felt like she was soaring in the sky, free from all constraints. Though the guilt of what she usually did with it would never vanish, she could nonetheless never abandon or resent her magic for it.

When she felt a familiar tinge of pressure in her chest, she knew the enhancement process had finished, and she quickly got to work. Grounding herself well, she took a deep breath before grabbing the underside spikes that kept the bomb aloft and, breathing again, heaved with all her might. As expected, the bomb went up without much resistance. However, just as she could easily lift the ton-heavy device, she could also feel its gravitational effects, judging from the cracks that were starting to appear on the ground beneath her feet. Even despite her enhanced strength, she could also feel sweat congregating on her forehead as the pressure subconsciously transmitted itself to her brain. Her strength was unnatural, after all, and so her rational brain quite naturally understood exactly how much weight she was only lifting by external assistance.

Ginny took a tentative step forward, and was glad to see that her balance was still top class, despite the heavy weight above her head. Slightly bending her knees, Ginny couldn't help but let a small, excited smirk escape her stony façade as she felt the rush of adrenaline course through her veins. With a grunt, she pushed off the ground with as much leg power as she could muster, launching herself and the bomb high into the air, aimed straight towards the two mile-away Black Lake.

While in mid-air, she couldn't help but outright grin in excitement at the feeling of flying in the air, unaided. It had been a dream of hers, back before the war, to someday perhaps play in a Quidditch team as a Chaser. Harry had said he had no objections to it, and had even offered to help her seek out a good team; or, if necessary, build one from scratch. The war had eliminated those dreams, though, and now she only cared about protecting her family. Maybe after the war was over, she could—

A sudden pain in her side made Ginny jerk out of her daydream. Biting down on her lip to avoid making any sound that might reveal her location to the enemy, she quickly raised her body mass once again and prepared for a hard landing down on the ground—this time, in the cover of a small congregation of trees. As soon as she hit a meter distance from the ground, she lowered her arms and finally set down the bomb just as she hit the ground.

Panting from the pain, she put a hand on the left side of her abdomen. She wasn't at all surprised by the feeling of wetness on her hand the moment she had placed it there. Someone had managed to get a hit on her—that was the surprise.

"Shit!" she hissed, drawing back her hand and looking at the coat of blood that now permeated her hand. She hadn't felt something pierce her, so it probably wasn't a stray bullet from an Imperial trooper. That left the enemy. Had she really been so careless?

She didn't have to think about that one to know she had. She had let her personal troubles and feelings of wonderment cloud her judgement. She should have checked to see that there were no enemies between the wall and the Black Lake and, if necessary, avoided simply going straight for the Lake.

Angry with herself for her carelessness, Ginny now made sure that she and the bomb were out of sight before taking out her wand and silently casting a healing spell on her torso, sighing in relief when the wound shrunk and finally disappeared. Her wound now healed, she subtly moved in the cover of the bushes amidst the trees and scouted out the area between her and the lake's shore.

'Three hundred meters...give or take,' she thought.

She glanced back towards the wall. She hadn't seen any of the other groups move out yet. Drawing her wand, she cast the sensor spell and then focused its search on Imperial magical transmitters, which each of the Assassins' wands had on them.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief when nine dots appeared on the circular sensor image floating before her. None of them had been made yet, and they all seemed to be on the move from their different positions. Obviously, none of them had managed to find a way to defuse the bombs.

'One more thing to add to the Assassin curriculum...' she mused.

Dismissing the sensor image, she glanced at her bomb and pondered on how to proceed. Judging by the fact that she had just been shot at, she assumed that her position would eventually be overrun by the enemy, since they had to have seen where she had landed. This presented her with a problem.

Healed though she was, she couldn't let herself become embroiled in an all-out fight, no matter how much her subconscious was begging her for it. She had to get the bomb way out of range of the mountainsides around the main gate, and she had to make sure that the gate was opened once the Imperial troops managed to take the walls.

She would have let the bomb detonate where it was now, but she had a sinking feeling that the blast would still be enough to at least dislodge enough of the mountainsides' rock to then cause the inevitable chain reaction that would result in the gate being buried.

'Well...' she mused, looking out of her cover towards the field between her and the main golem army. 'If it's just a couple of goons, I guess it wouldn't hurt to take them out quickly and then get the bomb to safety.'

Ginny nodded to herself; that was probably the best course of action. As long as the bomb was kept away from the Imperial soldiers, it wouldn't detonate. Since the Black Lake shore was far enough from the coming battle to ensure this, it was the best place for safekeeping the bomb, especially since it would then be under the watchful gaze of the Imperial Navy's Basilisk guns.

Ginny cast the sensor spell again, just to make sure everything was proceeding as planned. She smiled in satisfaction as she saw all nine blips move towards the lake, but then frowned as two suddenly stopped about halfway between her and the gate. Expanding the information on the two blips, she quickly read the personnel information that came up.

Anton Sylva, Imperial Intelligence Service, Assassination Division, Grade 4. Core Signature ARZ-5

Lucas Richards, Imperial Intelligence Service, Assassination Division, Grade 5. Core Signature HMY-3

Ginny quickly brought out her wand and tapped her temple with it, focusing on the core signature of Lucas Richards, the senior of the two Assassins she had seen stop on her sensor. The core signature was a nifty find that the Assassins of the IIS had managed to figure out—it facilitated communications between all Assassins by pre-recording the core signatures of all operatives. Since each one was unique, it ensured that there was no miscommunications.

"Assassin Richards, come in," she said out loud in a whisper. Ginny paused, waiting for a response, one eye on the sensor image that was still floating before her. Both blips seemed to be moving about rather erratically.

"Assassin Richards, come in, please!" she repeated, getting worried now.

She had to rein in an involuntary gasp as she saw one of the blips suddenly dash a fair distance on her sensor before blinking quickly and then disappearing. One of her assassins was dead. A glance at the contact information told her that it was Anton Sylva, the junior of the two.

'Still, what can take out a Grade Four Assassin?!' she thought. The Assassin hierarchy in the IIS was based on Grades, with number 6 being the highest, and 0 being the lowest. Ginny was herself a Grade 6, but already getting into Grade 4 showed outstanding skill. No common grunt, not even a golem, was enough to take down a Grade 4.

So what the hell had happened there?

Ginny gritted her teeth at the thought of one of her men meeting their end on this damnable battlefield. She unconsciously pressed the tip of her wand against her temple, digging slightly into her pale skin.

"Assassin Richards, come in, please!" she all but whisper-yelled. "Please report! What the hell is going on over there?!"

For a moment, nothing came, and Ginny was about to try once again when she felt the connection open up at last. Checking her sensor, she saw that Richards was still moving and alive, but his signal was blinking slightly—an indication that he was injured.

'What the hell is going on here?!' she felt like screaming. 'What the fuck are they fighting against that a Grade Four got killed and a Grade Five is getting trounced?!'

It was a testament to how frazzled the ginger-haired assassin was that she had resorted to outright cussing, even if only in her mind. Assassins of Grade Five, nevermind Grade 6, were the elite of the elite in the IIS. They were sent against the toughest opponents, including suspected members of the Dark factions' Inner Circles, with the expectancy that the would succeed and quite possibly return alive.

"Mistress!" she heard Richards speak over the magical link. Even injured and in a fight, Richards had managed to remember to call her by her official Assassin title. "Mistress! Sylva's down and I've suffered an injury to the left side of my torso. It is not fatal, but it is hindering my abilities! I request assistance, please!"

Ginny couldn't help but feel something cold running down her spine. Whatever it was that Richards was fighting, it was making the man's trained calm break down piece by piece. She dug her wand a little deeper against her temple, her whole body tensed up. "Assassin! Calm down! I'll be right over!" she ordered. "Tell me, who is your opponent? What took out Assassin Sylva?!"

Nothing came through the link immediately, but she did get a reply from Richards a few moments after.

"Mistress, I've never seen anything like this! She came at us out of nowhere! Please, Mistress, I can't hold on for long!" Richards was practically panicking by now, she could tell by his tone, and Ginny swore, getting ready to cut the link and charge towards her ailing subordinate. Unfortunately, that was when she heard a scream through the link that she was sure Richards hadn't planned to transmit willingly.

Ginny froze, her eyes glued to the image of the sensor before her. Richards' blip had started blinking faster and faster. He was critically injured now.

"R-Richards...?" she barely got out.

"M-Mistress..." she heard through the link. "...h-help...me...!"

A gurgled gasp followed the plea through the communication link, and Ginny's eyes barely registered that Richards' blip had now faded away. Richards was dead.

"R-Richards...?" she whispered through the link. Nothing came through.

Ginny dropped her wand hand from her temple, ignoring the fact that a thin trail of blood had emerged from where her wand had dug deep enough into her skin to break it. She had been completely unaware of the pain, and even less aware of the fact that she was bleeding from her head.

A few seconds later, she felt a familiar tingle repeat itself several times, heralding the fact that several people were attempting to establish a link with her. Almost mechanically, she opened the communication channels.

"This is Assassin Mistress Potter," she said dully, her eyes still unfocused as she attempted to process the fact that two of her best men had been cut down by an unknown foe.

"Mistress!" came a voice. "This is Assassin Orson! We've lost contact with Assassins Sylva and Richards! Please advise!"

Ginny was silent for a while, her mouth slowly curling into an angry snarl. "Assassins Sylva and Richards..." she began softly, though the undertone of fury was not lost on anyone. "...have been murdered."

A cacophony of disbelieving noises erupted throughout the multiple channels, aptly relaying the feelings of all the remaining assassins.

"What do you wish for us to do, Mistress?" asked another voice. "Shall we go exact revenge on behalf of our fallen brothers?"

Ginny was tempted—sorely tempted—to say yes. To completely abandon the mission and go after the fuckers who'd taken the lives of two of her men. Fortunately, her rational, mission-bound side quickly shot that down.

"No," she replied after a few seconds of deliberation. "Finish the original mission. We cannot afford to fail General Sulu in this matter."

She could hear the immediate, angry response from her assassin team. They were obviously displeased at being cheated out of their revenge.

"Listen up!" she snapped angrily. "I'm every bit as furious as you all are about Sylva and Richards, but there's over fifty thousand Imperial troops depending on us to clear the main gate of these bombs! Now go and finish your missions, Assassins!"

She could still hear the grumbling of the Assassins, but it seemed that they were all at least reluctantly willing to follow her orders. She didn't blame them; she wanted revenge as well.

"What about Sylva and Richards, Mistress?" asked Assassin Orson.

Ginny closed her eyes, giving a mental prayer for the souls of her departed men. "We'll take care of it after the mission objectives are done, Assassin."

With a few grunts of agreement, the communication links were severed, leaving Ginny to herself once again. Still, she could feel the boiling feelings of rage bubble in her mind. She wanted revenge for Sylva and Richards. She wanted to atone for her failure as a commander, which had somehow got them killed.

Gritting her teeth into an angry snarl, she placed her wand softly against her temple and focused on the core signature of the communications officer on board one of the Basilisk ships.

"This is Assassin Mistress Potter, please respond, HMAS Basilisk," she stated.

An immediate reply came her way. "Assassin Mistress Potter, this is HMAS Basilisk. How can we be of service?"

Ginny glanced at her bomb for a second before continuing. "I've got a package I need you to blast to kingdom come. Authorisation code Alpha-Zulu-Romeo-Victor-Victor-Zero-Four."

She waited for a second before the reply came her way. "Roger that, Assassin Mistress. Authorisation cleared. Is it a ground target? Because we haven't managed to get our magical shells past the ward at the lake shore."

Ginny shook her head, despite the fact that the man on the ship couldn't see it. "Negative. Airborne."

"That might be a problem, Assassin Mistress. Our guns are not exactly made for anti-air purposes."

Ginny smirked, despite herself. "It's alright to simply light up the sky, Basilisk. Whatever it takes to get it destroyed."

A pause followed her statement, but a reply nonetheless came back at her. "...Roger that, Assassin Mistress. When do we open fire?"

Ginny closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. "On my signal, Basilisk. Aim for the sky right in front of the wards. Oh, and get the ships a fair distance away from the shoreline."

"Not a problem, Assassin Mistress. Admiral Staples has had the fleet retreat a full two miles from the shoreline. Will that be enough?" the man on the ship actually sounded worried now.

Ginny smiled. "Plenty enough, Basilisk. Please wait for my signal."

"Roger that, Assassin Mistress."

Sighing, she withdrew her wand from her temple, though she did not sever the connection. Instead, she simply left it open, though she did put her wand back into her robes. It would get in the way of her next action.

Crossing her arms before her horizontally, palms facing the ground, she mentally channelled a decent amount of magic into her arms, increasing her muscular strength tenfold—threefold more than when she had carried the bomb.

What she was planning to do was unquestionably risky, and perhaps even stupid to some. She didn't care, however. She wanted this damn bomb out of her sight and her agenda cleared for some serious hunting. She wanted to find the person responsible for killing Sylva and Richards and tear her apart.

Opening her eyes suddenly, she felt the magic in her arm muscles get to work, and the feeling of increased strength was unmistakable. Satisfied that she had accomplished the enhancement, she walked over to the bomb and, grabbing it by two of its bottom suspension spikes, heaved it up a full meter off the ground.

Ginny then grit her teeth before starting to spin around; slowly at first, then quicker and quicker. She spun until she looked more like a whirlwind than a person. By her twentieth spin, she glared at the hateful object she was heaving and, aiming roughly in the direction she had specified to the Basilisk, she let go of the bomb's spikes, making it soar through the sky at an unbelievable speed. Almost immediately, she drew her wand and put it to her temple, turning away from the lake's direction, a grim look on her face.

"Basilisk..." she said into the communication link. "Open fire."

Ginny did not allow the communications officer any time to confirm he had received her order, instead terminating the link mentally and putting away her wand. She was on her second step towards where Sylva and Richards had been attacked when she heard the sound of artillery going off before a resounding blast tore through the sky. Dismissing her enhancements from her arms, she applied some to her feet, albeit in small quantities—enough to ground her when she shockwave finally hit her. She didn't even stumble as the powerful gale pushed at her.

Finally, when the shockwave dissipated, Ginny raised her hood and quietly placed her wand against her temple, focusing on the core signatures of all her assassins. All throughout this, she kept walking towards her intended destination.

"This is Assassin Mistress Potter," she declared neutrally—her void absolutely devoid of any emotion. It was the voice of a master assassin. "I have completed my objective. As of this moment, I will search for and destroy the murderer of Assassins Sylva and Richards. Proceed with the original plan and do not interfere with my mission. Rally point stays the same. Over and out."

She quickly terminated the link before any of her assassins could protest. She had no patience for it right now. All she wanted was for blood to flow—for someone to pay for the crime of taking two men under charge from her. A commander, Harry had once told her, was like a father figure to his subordinates; he looked out for them and protected them, but gave them enough space to come into their own.

She, however, had failed her men. She had unknowingly let two of the IIS' best assassins get killed by some unknown foe, and Ginny would not stand for it.

With a flash of steel emanating from her robe sleeves, she disappeared.

The hunt was on.

Hogwarts Main Gate

Allan practically sighed in relief when he saw the Illusionary traps collapse around him. Suddenly, the amount of enemies seemed much more manageable. It was a shame that their kill count was skewed, but at least now they knew how many enemy troops there really were. From what he could tell, no more than a couple hundred. Maybe a thousand or so.

Allan grinned before whistling loudly, almost instantly recalling his company to his side, all of them getting into a pyramid formation at his side.

"Captain," one of his subordinates said. "The traps have fallen."

Allan nodded, a fierce smile on his face. "We'll have to thank whoever did this later," he said in agreement. "But for now, let's settle for burying these fuckers!"

Roars of agreement around him was all the encouragement Allan needed to give the next order.

"THIRD COMPANY!" he roared loudly. "ATTACK!"

With roaring battlecries, the members of the worn Second Legion, Third Company charged the remaining defenders, the men of the Seventh Legion, their morale bolstered by Allan's seemingly dauntlessness, right behind them.

"FORWARD, MEN!" Allan heard someone from the Seventh shout. "Show the Second Legion that we're not to be outdone!"

The Seventh Legion had no chance of upstanding the Second, they knew, but the rallying shout was enough to put a definite edge in the spirits of the Seventh Legion's men and women. With distinguished courage, they kept up the pace set by the Third Company, themselves helping to mow down the remaining defenders as the Third Company opened a wedge in their formations, their personal shields repulsing the brunt of the lethal attacks.

"FORWARD, SEVENTH!" the shout rang again and again. "FOR HER MAJESTY!"

"FOR THE EMPIRE!" came the answering call from the Seventh, though many of the Third Company were tempted to join in. It was the clarion call of the Armed Forces, after all. Sure, it bordered on fanaticism, but all that did was make the average Imperial soldier a much tougher opponent for the Empire's enemies to face.

Allan, heading the Third Company spearhead along the length of his section of the wall, was having a blast. Swinging his shield like a razor, he managed to decapitate a golem before using his shotgun to blast another's head clean off. Then, in mid-stride, he crouched onto one leg, swept his other leg forward, and slashed at another golem with the edge of his shield, causing the thing to stumble backwards from the force of the blow; long enough for Allan to then bring his shotgun and blast the golem smack in the torso, tearing it apart thanks to the shield's previous tear.

Beside him, he knew his Third Company men and women were performing as well as he. He had no doubts about that. They all held onto the ambition of one day surpassing the Second and First Companies, and it showed in their battle ethic. They were merciless and yet professional in their fighting. Whether it was using personal shields and shotguns or rifles and grenades, his Third Company vowed to become the best in all aspects and so surpass the legendary First.

So far, after half an hour of continuous combat since the traps had gone down, the Third Company had managed, with the aid of the Seventh Legion, to capture about half of their section of the gate. The battle was far from over, though, and anyone could see that. Whether it was the Illusionary traps going down or something else, Allan and his men had noticed that the main enemy army moving forward to apparently reinforce the main gate. Frankly, Allan had always thought that they were stationed right behind the gate, but since the trap had gone down, he had quickly refuted this belief.

The fact that thousand of golems were now coming his way, however, was incredibly worrisome, especially if they failed to capture and open the gate before they arrived. By the force's current speed, he estimated that they had about an hour or so before things got ugly.

An hour. Not a whole lot, especially once one got carried away by the feeling of combat. It was very easy to lose track of time when one fought for one's life, so they had to make sure that the gate fell quickly. Or, at least, that the gate was open before the main enemy army reached them.

Allan snarled at an incoming golem and slammed it down to the ground with his shield, before shooting off a shell in its face as he held it down with his foot on its chest. Turning back his head to his men, he had a determined look on his face.

"Hurry, my brothers and sisters!" he cried, raising his shotgun. "The enemy army's on its way here, and we've got to get the gates open and the walls secured!"

Cries in agreement replied his cry, and the Third Company resumed their charge, using their shields as best they could to dissipate most of the enemy's spell fire. Even so, they unfortunately lost another five of their number before they reached the gatehouse, where the enemy had holed up. Each loss was another blow against the grim-faced Captain, but still he did not falter in his will to succeed. He would capture this gate, and thus bring honour and renown to his Company, thus honouring his fallen brothers and sisters.

However, even as he was about to order the charge against the gatehouse, something caught his eye. Allan turned his head towards the grounds between the main gate and the second gate and saw what appeared to be three figures fighting over an egg-shaped device. He was about to dismiss the whole thing as inter-fighting in the enemy ranks when he realised that he recognised the uniforms of two of the fighters.

They were Imperial Assassins. There was now no doubt in Allan's mind on this matter. He had only once before seen them in action, during a particular deployment in Egypt. They had been then tasked to infiltrate and assassinate a high-ranking Death Eater collaborator while the Imperial Army duked it out with the Collaborator army in an effort to place the Anti-Death Eater rebels into power.

That particular fight had not gone well, unfortunately. The rebels had been weaker than they had portrayed themselves, and the Death Eaters had made short work of them while the Imperial Army was barely reaching the field. The assassination, however, went off without a hitch.

Regardless of the details of that mission, Allan could not stand by and just watch two of his Imperial brothers (or, at least, he assumed them to be men from their musculature) get beaten back by their apparently very strong foe. Yet, he could not abandon his current mission, either. Allan glanced back and forth between the two Assassins and the gatehouse for a few seconds, trying to make up his mind, very much aware that his people were asking for orders.

Finally, it was the sight of one of the assassins getting blasted away and landing hard against the ground that made up his mind. Without checking to see whether the Assassin would stand up again, Allan turned to his men and pointed at five of them.

"You five, on me!" he ordered quickly. "Two Imperial Assassins are getting their asses kicked and it's our job to get them out of trouble!" he explained, before turning to his second in command—a Scotswoman by the name of Alice. "Lieutenant, you've got overall command now. Capture that gatehouse, ASAP!"

He barely saw Alice give an acknowledging nod before turning to his five designated soldiers, all of them grim-faced and ready to follow. Pointing to the stairs with his shotgun, Allan gave a battle cry. "Onwards! For Her Majesty!"

"For the Empire!" roared back the five soldiers, following him down the staircase that led to the grounds.

Mid-stride, Allan grasped the handle of his shield tighter than usual and was pleased to hear the familiar click of the handle's de/activation sequence. With a mechanical whirr, the round shield collapsed into itself and retreated into one end of the handle, leaving only the handle in his hand, which he deftly slid into his belt. His shield-hand now free, he quickly placed it under the SPAS-12's action-pump and switched on the semi-automatic function of the combat shotgun. Judging by how badly the remaining Assassin was faring (he noticed the second one hadn't got back onto his feet) against his opponent, Allan knew he couldn't afford to take his time with his shots. He had to get the enemy off his Imperial brother or else the man would be dead soon.

Apparently, his actions had not gone unnoticed by his impromptu squad, judging by the five clicks he heard behind him. Their black combat uniforms were thankfully loose enough for rapid movement, too, which meant they were making good time in reaching the duel.

Unfortunately, not quickly enough.

Allan could indistinctly hear the Assassin shouting something over and over, but it was clear to the veteran soldier that the assassin was losing this battle quickly. Unfortunately, not slowly enough for him and his men to rescue him in time. Without ever dropping their speed, the six-man Third Company squad watched as the Assassin's enemy finally struck down their remaining Imperial brother.

Anger filled the Third Company soldiers as the enemy stood over the corpse of their fallen fellow Imperial, probably gloating. Forming into a V-shaped formation, the six soldiers charged their opponent with battle cries on their lips.

Almost immediately, the person to Allan's immediate left let out an "Oomph!" before flying backwards as something impacted her in the stomach and launched her off her feet violently. Allan had barely turned his head to examine his comrade when he felt a rush of air pass right by where his head had been seconds ago. A flash of green told him how close he had come to meeting his maker.

"Holy Sh--" he started, but quickly cut himself off as he rolled forward, avoiding another spell. He heard four clicks and knew that his remaining men had activated their personal shields. It would hinder their accuracy, but Allan understood that without them, they'd be easy prey for this foe.

Shooting his hand to his belt, he made a grab for his shield handle and was horrified to find out that it had apparently got loose during his forward roll—ending up a full five feet away from his current position out in the open. A flash of red in the corner of his sight had him jumping sideways to avoid the vicious looking spell, and he quickly brought up his weapon, aiming in the general direction of his foe and letting loose four shots in quick succession. He paid no heed as to whether it had slowed his foe down. He only knew that if he didn't get to his shield handle, he'd be an easy target for the enemy.

Sprinting towards it while firing another two shots, he barely managed to roll forward in time to avoid another Killing Curse. Grabbing the shield handle mid-roll, he spared no time in pressing it's activation button and quickly brought it up, just in time for it to deflect a Killing Curse that would have ended his life the moment his knees touched the ground.

Looking around, he saw that two of his people were down on the ground, though the slow rise of their chests told him they were still thankfully breathing. The remaining three soldiers were all surrounding the enemy, occasionally lifting their shields to protect themselves or firing rounds at her. Whenever one of them had to reload, they would signal the two others who would distract the enemy while the third reloaded.

It made Allan proud to watch the disciplined show of cooperation. Rising to his feet, the veteran Captain shot towards his enemy, his shotgun levelled on top of his shield for better support. Gently pressing on the trigger, he let loose several shots at the enemy, barely noticing the recoil as he moved. With the expected grace and skill of the person who had managed to take down two Imperial Assassins, the enemy managed to put up small magical shields in the way of the bullets. Allan was somewhat surprised by the speed she had put them up with, though. There were few magicians alive that had that level of instinctual-degree skill with their magic.

In fact, he only knew the name of one person who had such level of skill, and this was only because it was heavily publicised in order to show how powerful the Empire's guardian family was.

Ginevra Molly Weasley-Potter. The Duchess of Halifax herself.

Allan had no idea what the Duchess did for a living, nor did he rightly care. Whatever it was she did, it was clear from her publicised level of skill that she would be a powerful Imperial guardian and a deadly foe to whoever chose to cross her.

Allan gritted his teeth as he used his shield to smack away an incoming Killing Curse, which slammed against his shield with surprising force. The person before him was truly strong. This could be a problem for he and his men.

Allan was not a magician, nor were his soldiers. They were special amongst troops in that they had survived combat against magicians for a long time, but that did not mean they were in any way genetically designed to fight magicians on an even footing. Even if they had personal shields, it was entirely up to their own skills whether or not they would survive the confrontation.

And this particular foe seemed to be among the best magicians he had ever seen or fought against.

Allan was dimly aware that one of his men had been forced to move closer to him, until they were well within hearing range of each other.

"Sir, this isn't good!" shouted the man. "Richardson and Holowitz are both down, and we haven't managed to get a hit in!"

Allan growled loudly in response. "I know, soldier! Calm down and keep fighting! Whoever this guy is, we can't allow him to get away with murdering Imperial citizens!"

Yet, even though he spoke these words with bravado, Allan began to feel something he hadn't felt in years—fear. Abject fear.

He and his men were counted amongst the best soldiers in the Empire; they had killed countless magicians before this one; they had taken near-impossible-to-capture fortifications before, and yet this one enemy was toying with them as though they were children. They hadn't yet even landed a blow, that he could tell. No shot had reached their foe, and it actually seemed like the enemy was having fun fighting them.

Allan began to sweat bullets, though he retained his external image of a grim-faced, calm soldier. This wasn't how it went. Usually, he and his men would cause a panic in the enemy and force them to retreat, or at the very least wound them enough for subsequent forces to push their way through. He was losing, and he knew it.

'Shit.' he thought. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!' his shotgun was barely noticeably trembling on top of his shield as his body betrayed his frustration and fear. 'What do I do? What do we do?!'

Crushing his debilitating fear with sheer willpower, Allan gave a short battle cry as he levelled his shotgun at the enemy and fired off shot after shot, tracing the enemy's movements as it seemingly effortlessly dodged his shots, moving from side to side, closer and closer to him and his fellow soldier.

Realising the danger he was placing his comrade in, Allan didn't even bother to order the man to go away—he outright pushed him aside, even as he felt more than saw the incoming spell. Forcing his reflexes to their maximum capability, he raised his personal shield immediately, only barely managing to deflect the spell in time. It was more instinct than actual thought that made him then raise his weapon to block what he could only assume was a bladed weapon, from the oddly sharp clanging sound it made when it hit the gun.

"Tch!" he scoffed in frustration, even as he felt his opponent somehow pushing down on him as much as he was pushing against. Whoever this was, they were also physically strong, which once again differentiated it from previous magician opponents.

"Impressive, for a Muggle," said the figure, somehow managing to emit an oddly melodious voice that was definitely female in origin. Either that, or the man before him was a eunuch.

Just as suddenly as the pressure had been forced down on him by the blade, it disappeared, and Allan ventured a glance over his shield and gun to see that the woman had apparently disengaged, flipping backwards until she was a good ten meters away. Getting to his feet like the proud soldier he was, Allan matched the now-obvious woman's stare, only glancing down to look at the state of his shotgun.

Ruined.

A deep gash was imbedded in the barrel, the gashes in which would undoubtedly cause the shells to explode mid-barrel if he was foolish enough to try firing with it. Without a second thought, he cast it aside, reaching to his left side to draw a standard-issue straight-sword that was mandatory for all Second Legion members, in case they ever needed to go into close combat.

This was bad, and Allan knew it. He was so-so with a sword, only. After all, guns usually did most of the work, and swords were pretty much outdated. Still, he silently thanked whoever had the forethought of assigning his Legion close-combat weaponry.

Allan glanced around. His men were still surrounding the woman, and his two fallen men seemed to have snapped out of their stupor and were participating in the surrounding action. All of them had their still-functional shotguns levelled at the woman. Allan raised his sword and pointed it straight at the woman, his face grim and serious, even though he was internally fighting with himself in order to crush the fear he truly felt.

"I am Allan Moore, Captain of the Third Company, Second Legion of the Imperial Army," he announced bravely. "You are surrounded; lay down your wand and any other weapons and surrender!"

He only had to glance at the woman's amused eyes to know that she would never do any such thing. Even if she did, they told him that it would only ever be used as a ruse to then stab them in the back. Fortunately, no such tricks were apparently on the woman's mind, as she laughed beneath the black cowl that covered her features. Her slim, athletic figure was imperceptibly shaking from mirth, too, which somewhat offended Allan.

"What an amusing proposal, Mister Moore," she drawled out his name slowly, sensually even; and yet, absolutely full of mockery. "You seem to think you can beat me. I wonder where you got such a silly idea?"

Before he could blink, the woman disappeared from his sight and the next thing he heard was the scream of one of his subordinates. Allan snapped his head towards his left, and could only watch helplessly as the woman essentially used his subordinate as a landing platform, digging her high heels into the poor soldier's body as well as a wicked looking sword.

The soldier's body hit the ground with a dull thud, and just as quickly, the woman disappeared from view once again, just as the other soldiers tried to avenge their fallen comrade by blasting her out of existence. Somehow, inexplicably, she managed to dodge everything they fired at her, and practically dancing her way towards his men, Allan saw her use the wicked looking sword, seemingly surgically attached to her arm (judging from the fact that she wasn't using her hand to wield it), to slash at his men's limbs or bodies. Not all of them received fatal wounds, to his relief, but he knew they were severe enough that they would bleed to death soon if he didn't get them medical aid. Regardless, the woman had, in mere seconds, dispatched or incapacitated all five of his subordinates with little effort on her part, considering the total absence of signs of fatigue.

Allan gritted his teeth, his grasp on his sword tightening considerably. "Monster!" he hissed out. That was the only label he could think of, frankly. Nothing else seemed applicable to what he had just witnessed. His grip on his shield, too, tightened as he brought it up, raising his sword behind him, ready to strike as he began a blind, headlong charge towards her.

And yet, he hadn't taken more than two steps forward before he felt his body abruptly stop, something cool and metallic pressing against his neck painfully. Without having noticed, the woman had slipped from his vision and had managed to capture him, one of her hands on his chest almost gently and the other at his neck, the blade protruding from within her black robes just about ready to slit his throat. He involuntarily shivered as he felt her breath at his ear.

"So eager to die, Muggle?" he heard her whisper, and Allan couldn't help but gulp nervously. The serrated blade pressed against his neck a little more. He felt a painful prick in his skin and knew he was bleeding—insignificantly, but still bleeding. "Say the word, and I'll send you to the hereafter."

Allan didn't know where he was getting his courage, but he nonetheless felt it as he retorted, "Do your worst, witch!" he hissed. "Imperial soldiers do not beg for their lives!"

The blade pressed a little more against his neck, but Allan's expression remained defiant, staring seriously at the sky above, practically offering his neck to his captor. He then heard a disgusted scoff emerge from his captor's hood.

"You Muggles are all the same," he heard her whisper harshly into his ear. "Full of vim and verve, but no skills to back it up!" The blade pushed a bit more against his neck—there was a small, thin horizontal line of blood flowing down towards his uniform now. "We wizards...we are the superior race! And not you, nor your previous Duke," she spat the word out disgustedly. "...will stop us from taking our rightful place at the top! My lord will see to it!"

Allan rallied what little courage he had left in order to reply, but he felt oddly satisfied when he did. It felt right to have the last word against this monster that held his life captive. "Voldemort is finished! The age of wizards and normal humans living apart is over! This age belongs to the Blessed British Empire, and its message of harmony through order!" he snapped back defiantly.

He heard an angry hiss behind him, and he knew he had thoroughly pissed off his captor. Allan closed his eyes, making his peace even as he felt the blade's serrated edge dig deeper into his skin. Any second now, she would violently pull back the blade, undoubtedly ripping his throat apart in the process. Well, if he was going to die, then he would go out memorably, he decided.

Snapping his eyes open, he looked to the sky and shouted out what he assumed to be his last words.

"MY QUEEN!" he roared, catching the woman off guard, by the way the blade had suddenly jerked slightly at his impromptu speech. It pained him, but he did not falter. "LONG LIVE YOUR BLESSED RULE OVER OUR HOLY BRITISH EMPIRE!"

He was barely finished speaking when he heard the woman behind him hiss angrily in response. "Fine! Die for your miserable Queen, Muggle!" she yelled into his ear, the blade at his neck moving slightly as her arm tensed, ready to rip apart his throat with a single pull.

Allan could hear her begin a kiai when he suddenly felt the blade get pulled off his neck and the woman's body heat behind him disappearing suddenly. All the sensation he felt at his neck now was the wet feeling of his blood flowing down. Absently placing a hand there to futilely stop the blood flow, he looked around to see what had happened.

His captor was standing a good twenty feet from him, her mouth—the only feature he could see from his position—curled into an angry snarl, her body tensed up and in a battle-ready stance. She was glaring at something beyond him, though, he could tell. Turning around to see what she was staring at, he was surprised to see a figure in a matching outfit to his opponent's, except this one was completely white from head to toe, with the exception of a red sash at the figure's waist.

The white-robbed person walked over to him calmly and stopped only once it had passed him by a single step.

"Are you alright, soldier?" asked another feminine voice, equally melodious to his captor's. What differentiated it, though, was that it felt warmer, and yet he could feel the underlying steel that spoke volumes of her skill.

Allan kept his gaze away from her figure, not daring to make eye contact for some reason. He merely nodded, his throat hurting, but it seemed that the white-robed woman noticed his nod.

"Good," she said. "Gather what is left of your men and retreat to the gate. I will take care of this one," she said, meaning the black-robed woman.

Despite already agreeing to her order, Allan couldn't help but challenge her authority to order him around. Not many could, after all. "May I know who is ordering me to do so?" he asked, not impudently.

He heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed and glanced back, seeing a straight sword peeking out from the white-robed woman's left sleeve. Her free hand had gone up to lower her hood, revealing a mane of red hair that billowed softly in the breeze, otherwise framing pale white skin.

"Assassin Mistress Ginevra M. Weasley-Potter, Duchess of Halifax, soldier," she said with authority, knowing full well that she had shocked the man into speechlessness, even though she didn't actually look back at him. She kept her gaze on the woman before her. The one who had murdered two of her agents. She reached down to her side and lifted a cross that was hanging from her sash, dangling it in front of Allan's face. It was a cross made up of four daggers-like shapes, with a circular halo surrounding the middle.

"By the battlefield authority vested in me by the Assassin's College of the Imperial Intelligence Service, I am ordering you to retreat from this battle, Captain Moore, Third Company, Second Legion," she stated authoritatively, her eyes never leaving her opponent's figure. "I have trash to take out, and you're getting in the way."

AN: Originally, I was going to post the fight between Ginny and her Voldie-aligned counterpart in this same chapter, but considering the amount of time I was taking just writing this chapter until now, I decided to give you guys a break and use the next chapter to give the fight its deserved due. Look forward to it, and please remember to review. Sometimes, I make mistakes, and I feel grateful whenever these mistakes are pointed out to me so I can fix them quickly.

Cheers,

MB