AN: Wow. This chapter was somewhat hard to write. Especially given the need to switch from Ginny to Moore to Sulu and back to Moore to Ginny, and so forth. Hope it meets expectations, though, since my fight scenes are a constant source of self-doubt.

Cheers,

Marquis Black

Previously...

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."

As though commanded by the mood of the battlefield below, the sky itself seemed to shift from a clear dusk to a stormy night. Black clouds gathered above Hogwarts Valley, and little by little, rain began to pour down, until it was a heavy sheet of precipitation that weighed heavily on the combatants littering the field.

At the main gate, the remainder of the Third Company had managed, without the leadership of its Captain Allan Moore, to capture the gatehouse about ten minutes after his departure. The result was the opening of the gates and the massive influx of Imperial troops into the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As though spurred on by this apparent defeat, the enemy began its move as well, with the golem army stationed in front of the second gate springing to life as it marched steadily to meet the Imperial army midway on the field.

Yet, despite the obvious monumental clash that would result of these two fighting forces meeting head to head, it was not the main event, in Allan Moore's humble opinion. The main event, as it were, was the one he was following with his eyes from behind his cover in a small thicket of trees near the Forbidden Forest, where he had placed his injured comrades out of the way.

Before him, fighting with a skill he had never in his life seen before, was the Assassin Mistress Ginevra Weasley and her apparent counterpart in Riddle's forces. The two assassin women had been continuously exchanging blows for the past ten minutes at unbelievable speeds. So much so that he was left stunned and speechless from the impressive display of skill. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping and his attention from being so completely lost in the fight before him. It wouldn't be good if that happened, considering his unadvisable position near the Forbidden Forest.

Still, it was the best he could do on short notice and distinct lack of other options, and it gave him and his injured mates a first-row view of the amazing fight between the two master assassins.

For her part, Ginny was totally and completely absorbed in the fight. Her eyes had never once strayed from her target, and though the other woman was matching her blow for blow, she was not yet tiring out, which surprised her. It meant that the woman had managed to hone her own skill to Ginny's level, thereby expediting as little magic as necessary in each blow.

Seeing an opening, Ginny thrust in her left retractable blade towards the woman's midriff while the assassin was busy still deflecting her right blade. As expected, however, the woman kicked off the ground and, in a surprisingly capable demonstration of acrobatics, bent her body forward, her legs completely spread out, making Ginny miss with her blade and instinctively forcing her to pull back her left arm as her opponent lashed out with a sweeping kick that she only barely blocked with her forearm.

The redhead gritted her teeth as the blow hit her with some force, which only a steady supply of magic towards her arm had prevented it from breaking under the obviously-enhanced blow. Taking advantage of her opponent's mid-flight position, Ginny violently pushed away the leg from her with her blocking forearm, hoping that the sudden impulse would throw off the woman.

The immediate reaction did not disappoint Ginny. The woman's eyes, barely noticeable under the obscuring hood, had widened considerably when Ginny had performed said stunt, causing her to suddenly be forced to the left, leaving her mid-riff completely exposed. Taking advantage of the apparent weakness, Ginny brought her right blade forward, a grin on her face as she relished the idea of ending this pest.

Unfortunately, it seemed that although the enemy had been taken by surprise, that did not mean she had lost her wits. Still mid-flight, the woman nonetheless saw the blade coming right at her mid-riff, intent on severing her in two, and acted appropriately to evade it. Shooting her rear leg forward, the woman's foot connected with Ginny's right forearm, causing her to go into a spin from the force of the impact.

Almost simultaneously, both women hit the ground, hard. Yet, neither stayed there for more than a second, almost instantly recovering elegantly to their feet. Upon impact, Ginny had taken advantage of going down arms first and had shot her lower body upwards, flipping onto her feet. Her opponent, for her part, had decided to violently criss-cross her legs from her lying position on the ground in order to gain momentum and then used it to get into a crouching position, rising from it then to a ready stance.

Neither women wasted any time in judging the other side, merely shooting at each other with almost reckless abandon. Steel clashed against steel as the two women danced around each other, their prosthetic blades clashing every second or so. Sometimes, the blows were so violent that sparks shot out from where the four blades met each other. Yet, it wasn't just the blows themselves that would decide the fight—footwork was equally important.

Showing a level of skill that would put professional dancers to shame, the two women circled each other without missing a step. Ginny would sometimes execute spinning turns, usually preceded by one blow and then followed by another in an effort to dodge her opponent's defenses and hopefully get a chance to hit the woman's exposed left or right sides.

Clang. Clang.

The blades of the two women met in a confusing array of metallic death between them as they pressed forward with all their might in order to overcome the other. Neither side budged an inch, though the ground at their feet was beginning to give way to the increasing amount of pressure being placed on it by the two's flaring magical enhancements.

Her hood down, Ginny's face was unmistakably scrunched in focus and determination, her teeth grit and her eyes glaring holes into her opponent, whose own face was unreadable due to her hood staying up. Even so, both women could feel the other's breath on their face, so close were they as they pushed and pushed, hoping that the other would give way eventually.

"Not bad, little girl!" said the black-robed woman, respecting her opponent's strength.

Ginny allowed a vicious grin to emerge from her focused look. "Better than you, in any case!" she taunted with false bravado. In truth, she knew that they were evenly matched, but she wasn't about to admit that in the middle of a fight.

Ginny saw the flash of an obscured grin under the woman's hood. "An empty taunt, girl, and you know it!" A burst of magic later, Ginny felt the pressure against her blades increase significantly. Not to be outdone, she did the same, and the deadlock was restored.

Ginny smirked. "If that's all you can do, then I'd say this match is in the bag, hag!" she kept up the taunt, hoping to make the woman make a mistake through emotional displays. She knew the woman probably wouldn't, but it was never wise to burn one's bridges before even attempting to cross them.

"Hmph!" scoffed the woman, suddenly disengaging one of her deadlocked blades and swinging for Ginny's head.

Ginny couldn't help but smirk. "Amateur move, you fucking bint!" she shouted, bringing one of her two blades out of the deadlock as well and, ducking her head in the process, aiming for a clean stab of the woman's chest.

Which was why she was surprised when she saw the knee coming up at her. A swift glance up noted that the woman was grinning viciously.

"Gotcha!" the word rang in the air.

Ginny grunted in frustration as she barely avoided the incoming knee by forcing her head to the side, unfortunately losing her footing in the process. She knew more than saw the immediate follow-up stabs that the woman launched down at her the moment she had avoided the knee, and took advantage of her horizontal falling position to push herself away from the woman, ending up rolling on the ground for a few feet before she ably rolled onto her feet, blades extended downwards and away from her, ready to be used once more. She quickly jumped backwards several times in order to increase their mutual distance.

She was suddenly made aware of the falling rain when she felt a particularly fat droplet of water hit her nose, causing her split-second discomfort. It had totally escaped her that it had been raining for the past twenty minutes, so focused she had been on the fight. Re-analyzing the field's conditions with this new information on hand, Ginny felt an idea emerge in her head. It was risky, but could, if successful, give her a critical opening in the woman's defenses. While anyone else might have thought the odds of success too low for application, Ginny was of the firm belief that 0.001% chance of success was as good as 100%. Only 0% would ever make her reconsider.

With a flick of her wrists and an excited, vicious grin on her face, she confounded her opponent by retracting her blades back into her robes, instead crossing her arms towards her mid-riff and pulling out her two pistols from her belt. They weren't ME bullets, however, so the guns were of the modern kind. Two Beretta 92's, 5.9" barrel variants made their way into her grasping hands.

With a taunting wink at her opponent, Ginny launched herself forward, her front foot digging into the muddy ground so much that a two-inch high amount of dirt had bunched up behind the sole. Just as the woman brought up her blade defensively, Ginny surprised her by shooting out her front leg and sliding down onto the ground, using the muddy soil as transportation as she slid forward, her two gun-hands lifted up and aimed at her opponent.

The woman had only a split second to cross her arms before her and so raise a basic anti-projectile shield before Ginny let loose a hail of bullets, all of which expectedly got flattened by the firm projectile shield. Just as Ginny had expected.

As the ground between her and the woman went to less than a few feet, her grin widened as she shot both guns one last time before flinging them aside and unsheathing her left-arm blade with a distinct mechanical hiss, her body rising to her still-sliding knees in the process. The woman had less than a second to notice what Ginny had been planning all along and act appropriately. Unfortunately, even with magical enhancements, that was too little time.

Ginny felt her blade sink into the woman's side for less than an inch before the woman jumped away, ending the effectiveness of Ginny's attack, though the trail of flying blood in the air told the redhead that her gamble had succeeded. Not giving her opponent a chance to attack her while on the ground, Ginny quickly jumped onto her feet and then moved back a few meters in order to observe her enemy's reaction to being wounded.

For a moment, neither woman moved—Ginny's eyes were firmly locked on her opponent's figure, while her Dark counterpart was slightly hunched over, a hand on her new wound in what Ginny guessed was a move to stem the flow of blood. Proof of good training, if anything.

As the seconds ticked by, Ginny wondered whether the woman was going into shock from the wound, though the redhead couldn't fathom why; the wound wasn't that bad. She'd personally gone through worse, and a minor healing spell was probably enough to take care of the gash.

It took a few more seconds, but the woman finally moved once again, removing her hand from the wound. There was no wound there anymore, leaving Ginny impressed. Even with her own skilled spellwork, scarring was generally left behind—not so in this case. It was as if the wound had never existed at all.

She didn't dwell on the impressive feat of magic, however. The fact that the woman had taken care of her wound told the petite redhead that the fight would renew soon enough. Ginny ran through all her options in her head, analyzing what she had gathered of the woman's fighting style and trying to find the best way to overcome it.

Deciding to mix things up a bit, she shot an arm into her robes and drew out a handful of throwing knives, all of them held between her fingers expertly. With a violent, horizontal flick of her arm, she sent about twenty of the knives at the woman, following up the throw with a run at breakneck speed, retractable swords hissing forth from within her robes. The knives would end up blocked, she knew, but if she was lucky, they would force the woman to focus on the projectiles long enough for her to strike.

As Ginny had predicted, the woman started deflecting the knives, but not with her blades. With simple flicks of her wrist, she seemingly deflected the knives with her mind. Unfortunately, that still seemed to require focus, so Ginny saw a clear way ahead as she dove behind the knives at her opponent, both blades raised in order to strike.

"Gotcha."

The one word sent alarms through Ginny's head, and it took all she had to force one arm down so that its retractable blade blocked the incoming strike with the flat of the blade, breaking the steel weapon in the process. Her other arm, however, had no such luck.

Having foreseen Ginny's attack, the woman had taken the last throwing knife's blow in her arm and sidestepped so that Ginny would be facing her left shoulder first. When she had brought up her left arm to impale the redhead, she had also started a swinging blow with her right.

Predictably, the woman's right arm retractable blade hit Ginny about an inch off the joint, not exactly severing her arm, but at the very least rendering it useless unless she applied emergency medical treatment ASAP.

Pain shot through Ginny's nervous system as she felt the cold steel bury itself in her shoulder, ruthlessly tearing through muscle and skin until she felt it protrude the back of her shoulder and remain there. Even in mid-air, Ginny knew she was in deep trouble. If she tried to wrench herself off the blade, she risked severing her arm entirely. Her only real option was to move backwards, but that was something incredibly difficult to do mid-air.

A controlled burst of magic to her front was her only choice if she wanted to keep her arm relatively intact, but she knew that given her current pain-induced condition, she could make a mistake that could aggravate the wound.

On the other hand, she wouldn't be Harry's wife if she didn't possess a slightly reckless frame of mind when it came to odds.

Pushing down the pain ruthlessly, she brought up her right hand and aimed it straight at the woman's chest, gathering as much magical energy at her palm as she possibly could. She was about done making her preparations when she felt a sudden jerk in her body. Clearing her gaze from its pain-induced fogginess, she realized that she was being held up by her robes by her enemy. Absently, Ginny noticed that her second blade seemed broken as well.

Under the hood, she could see the woman's vicious, triumphant grin as she held up her foe, blade still impaling the redhead's shoulder.

"Nice try, girl!" she complimented mockingly. "But not good enough! Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice..."

Grinning sadistically, the woman twisted the blade ever so slightly, making Ginny involuntarily whimper as copious amounts of her nerves became alight with pain. The woman's grin widened at the reaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said mockingly. "Did that hurt?" She twisted the blade a bit more, and tears began to form at the redhead's eyes. It was an involuntary reflex, but the woman seemed to enjoy it as though she had managed to break Ginny's will to fight.

She pulled Ginny closer to her hood, and Ginny could, through her tearful eyes, see the vicious glare that she was being shot by her enemy.

"This is nothing, nothing compared to the pain you've caused me, you filthy bint!" hissed the woman viciously.

Despite her current predicament, Ginny's interest was sparked by that comment, derogatory though it was. Her opponent had unveiled a vital piece of information; she was someone who had probably been negatively affected by her previous assassination work during the war with the Death Eaters. Granted, that profile would fit any number of people, considering that the people she had killed were relatively well-connected and in high positions of power.

Ginny wondered which of the hundreds of dead bodies she had left behind was connected to the woman holding her up. The voice sounded familiar, but Ginny couldn't place it; as though it was some distant, far-off memory.

Memory...

Ginny's brain went into high gear. Memories from her days in Hogwarts flooded her consciousness, as though prompted by some subconscious memory related to her current predicament.

Memory...Memory...

Ginny could feel the answer just beyond her grasp. She was nearly there; if only the woman would give her a few more milliseconds to go through everything.

Memory...Memory...

...

…

A memory of a day at Diagon Alley with her family hit her like a freight train.

A boy and his mother.

Draco.

She walks just like a Malfoy.

Draco's mother?

Ginny's eyes widened spectacularly as the revelation hit her. Barely seconds had passed since the woman had insulted her, but Ginny now fully understood what was going on here. And as a desperate plan formed in her conniving mind, she was fully intending to use every inch of information she had to get out of her current situation.

"Narcissa," Ginny hissed, understanding colouring her tone.

The woman show no overt reaction to the redhead's words, but the slight, barely noticeable twitch in her left shoulder was enough to tell Ginny she had hit the bulls-eye. Seemingly resigned to the fact that her cover was blown, the woman flicked her head backwards, cancelling the attaching spell in the process, and thus letting the hood fall back, indeed revealing Narcissa Malfoy.

Age had treated her well, Ginny had to admit. She didn't look a day over forty. Her blonde, almost golden coloured hair was arranged in a severe bun, and Ginny had to strain her eyes to find a single wrinkle in Narcissa's face.

That struck her as odd. Ginny knew that magic-users aged slower than normal folks, but there was simply no accounting for this much ageing retardation, short of massive plastic surgery and/or magical makeup—the latter of which she could not detect on her opponent at all, and the former of which she highly doubted Narcissa would dabble into, being a Muggle practice.

"You're good, girl," conceded Narcissa, her eyes revealing the slight amount of surprise she held at being discovered with so little clues. "How did you know?"

Ginny gave a pained, yet defiant grin. "Memory's an impressive thing."

Narcissa scoffed irritably at the redhead's continuing defiance. In her opinion, she had won the battle, and would soon revenge herself by taking the blasted Potter boy's whore's life. Nothing would come between her and her vengeance—not even the girl's pathetic attempts at gathering magical energy in her left hand; as though she couldn't tell what was going on!

Narcissa wanted to laugh victoriously at her triumph, but her relatively recent entry into combat service for her Lord had taught her to be prudent about these situations. Her Lord was not as he used to be—he did not demand extended torture or any sort of megalomania in his followers. All he wanted was for the job to go according to his plans and for his men to not screw up.

Voldemort might not have been the kindest person around, but he was most rewarding to those who followed his basic tenets: Obey and Follow.

Her orders regarding the redhead were just as simple: Kill her.

So Narcissa knew she couldn't screw around with this. She didn't have the luxury of taking her time in torturing the admittedly beautiful assassin that also served as the Iron Duke's link to sanity. Her Lord had confided in her that he suspected that her death would drive him not only over the edge, but into a totally destructive, indiscriminate full-out rampage. Such a thing would inevitably and assuredly deal a lethal blow to the morale of the Empire and forever shatter the Iron Duke's reputation, leaving the way open for total destabilisation.

In a highly ironic way, it wasn't the Duke who was the most important piece of the chess board, but the petite, redheaded woman Narcissa was now holding up, her life hanging in the balance.

Finally deciding to end the little wretch's life, Narcissa violently pulled out her remaining retractable blade from the redhead's pained frame and readied the final blow, aiming right for Ginny's throat. She locked eyes with the redhead and couldn't help but be infuriated by the utterly defiant and feisty look she was giving the blonde. This wasn't how she wanted the little tart's life to end! She wanted whimpers! Screams! She wanted her to be begging for mercy!

Narcissa gritted her teeth in fury. She knew she had to deal the final blow, but she could also feel her own personal desire for vengeance clamouring for satisfaction, which one final blow would not give. Maybe it wasn't necessary for Ginny to die just yet.

The moment of indecision cost Narcissa dearly—more than she had ever expected. With all the suddenness of a lightning bolt hitting the ground, a shot rang out in the field and Narcissa felt her right arm jerk sideways as the sound of metal breaking filled her ears.

Her remaining blade had been shot off.

Narcissa's training was nothing to sneeze at, however, and she immediately snapped her head towards her new attacker, finding herself completely and utterly shocked as she gazed upon the figure of the Muggle Captain that Ginny had saved before their fight, a standard combat rifle in his hands, its muzzle still emitting smoke from the shot.

Ginny's training was nothing to sneeze at either, though. Silently thankful for the split-second distraction, she suddenly poured all the magical energy she could muster at a time into her left hand and then let it loose on Narcissa's slender frame, hitting the older woman right in the chest. The blast of concentrated magic forced Narcissa off her feet and made her fly backwards, letting go of Ginny from the violent backlash.

Ginny's own eyes were temporarily blinded by the flash of concentrated magic being exploded at point blank range. She had wisely erected a shield with her right hand just as she had lost contact with her magical discharge, and had thus saved herself from the most lethal bits of the explosion. Either way, though, she was on her back on the muddy ground, several meters away from where she had been hanging at Narcissa's mercy.

Her whole body ached, and she knew damn well why. Besides the force of the explosion, she had also consumed a lot of magic in that little trick—enough to physically drain her as though she had run a marathon without any prior training.

She was only dimly aware that Captain Moore was standing behind her head and looking down at her.

"You look like shit, Your Grace," he stated bluntly.

Ginny couldn't help the grin that formed on her face at hearing the unbelievably crude assessment of her condition. "I feel like it, too," she admitted somewhat bashfully. She noticed that the rain had stopped falling on her face, and squinting her eyes, she saw that Moore was slightly bent forward, so that his wide frame stopped the rain from hitting her. "Thanks."

Allan smiled lopsidedly. "For the save, or for being your umbrella?"

Ginny laughed. "Both, I guess."

Allan extended a hand, and Ginny grabbed hold of his forearm instead, pulling herself up to her feet with her good arm, while the other still hung somewhat limply from the nasty gash in her shoulder. She gritted her teeth in pain.

"Stupid bint got me good," she hissed painfully as she grasped at her bad shoulder and fed some healing magic into the wound. It would take a while, considering the amount she had already expended.

Allan, in turn, looked over to where Narcissa's body lay still on the ground. The body was still smoking from the explosion, and though he couldn't see her face, he had no doubt it would hold a surprised expression. Most people did, when they were killed so off-guard this way.

Allan turned his attention back to the Duchess the moment he heard the sound of fabric being ripped. To his surprise, she had completely torn off her right robe sleeve and was now using it to bind her wounded shoulder, using her teeth as a grasping force when tying the knot securely. Allan was surprised. He knew she was an Assassin Mistress, but then most aristocrats tended to be assigned to such positions due to their social position, not necessarily their skill, and when he had returned to help the little redhead, she had been at the mercy of her opponent. Additionally, he had missed most of the fight in order to get to the front gate and acquire the rifle he needed. The fact that she knew how to bind her own wound so expertly, however, suggested she was not all talk at all.

"I'll have you know I have the highest individual body count in the entire Imperial Army," she suddenly said out loud, as if having guessed his thoughts by the look on his face. She grinned slyly at him. "Would you like a demonstration as to why?"

Allan was no idiot. He didn't have to look very carefully to notice that the look in her eyes was that of a seasoned killer. He had little doubts now that in a one-on-one fight, he would end up face down on the ground, probably drowning in a pool of his own blood. "Nah, I'm good, Your Grace. I'll take your word for it," he said instead, smiling lopsidedly.

Ginny chuckled to herself as she mentally kept the flow of healing magic going towards her wound. It was no longer lethal, but if she wanted the probable scar to be as inconspicuous as possible, she needed a lot more time of constant healing. A break in the process would probably get her off track and leave significantly more visible scar tissue. It wasn't a mobility deterrent or a hindering scar by any means, but Ginny silently feared the idea of exposing a scarred body to her husband, even if behind closed, sealed doors. Despite his reassurances and her own pride as a warrior, she couldn't help but feel insecure when she assessed her relationship with him. He never seemed to stop rising, becoming more and more of the mythological figure his persona of the Iron Duke had been elevated to, while she lingered behind, remaining at best his shadowy right hand, silently eliminating the obstacles in his way to the greatness she thought he rightfully deserved. Maybe it was silly, but she never felt good enough for him.

Of course, the only way she managed to put aside those traitorous thoughts was for her to keep succeeding in her own missions. Every time she returned victorious from an assignment, she could see the pride in his eyes, and that made it all worth it.

Whatever her next thoughts were, she didn't manage to complete them as the hair on the back of her neck suddenly rose, a chill running down her spine like a lightning bolt. Something was wrong.

She shot her eyes towards where she knew Narcissa's body to be, and was rewarded with the sight of nothing. There was no body—just the loose earth she had dug up while she had skidded to a halt. Immediately, she turned to Allan, who was looking at her oddly.

"What is it?" he asked, curiously.

Something gave off a metallic flash just behind and over Allan's left shoulder, and Ginny's eyes widened. She instinctively moved over towards Allan, hand outstretched.

"MOORE!" she yelled, expectedly seeing the broken fragment of a retractable sword lunging down towards Allan's back, Narcissa's golden hair now visible to the redhead. "MOVE!"

Any other man would have just stared at Ginny, but Allan was a veteran of over a dozen battlefields. He had been saved by heeding countless such warnings, and his body has thus been trained to instinctively move on order. As such, he was extremely lucky when, instead of getting a broken blade shoved through his back and into his heart, he merely had the edge of his shoulder slashed deeply as Narcissa shot past him, arm outstretched.

"SHIT!" cursed Allan, quickly turning around and, while running backwards, shot off a few rounds at Narcissa, who deftly dodged them by moving out of their way. "I'm hit!" he informed Ginny, although the redhead needed no such report—she had seen the spray of blood after Allan had been grazed by the blade fragment.

"Back to back!" barked Ginny, and the two nearly slammed their backs together, watching out for each other's blind spots. Ginny gave her own visual range a quick sweep before allowing a brief glance at Allan's bleeding shoulder. "Moore, sound off!" she ordered.

Allan scoffed irritably. "Bitch'll have to do better than that to take down Allan Moore!" he said confidently. He then paused before adding, "Hurts like hell, though. Don't worry, I'm not out of combat readiness just yet."

Ginny grinned. It was good to see that Allan wasn't too confident to admit being hurt. Many other soldiers had died due to such boasting. "Good to hear, Moore," she said pleasantly, resuming her scan of her environment. "Watch out for ripples in the air. She might be using Disillusionment charms to get a surprise attack in."

She felt Allan's body shift slightly as he nodded. "Got it," he acknowledged. "What if she's retreated, though?" he asked, trailing his rifle left to right, his trigger finger ready to pull back the moment he got a target.

Ginny considered that. What if Narcissa did retreat? Did that mean she was more wounded than she had made it appear? Wouldn't that be great news. Certainly, that'd give Ginny the time she needed to get rid of her subordinates' bomb...

Ginny froze. Her eyes shot towards where she had last seen the device in question.

'Where's the bomb?'

Ginny's eyes widened significantly as she turned violently on her heel to face Allan. "Moore, did you happen to see what happened to the bomb?"

Allan looked at her confusedly. "Bomb? What bomb?" he asked.

Ginny waved her arms around, describing its look to the soldier. "Oval-shaped, grey-purple colour, four spikes at the bottom to keep it upright...?" she told the soldier, who thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"Sorry, ma'am, but I haven't seen anything that looks like what you just described."

Ginny was downright perplexed. She had seen the bomb a ways away from where Allan and his men had engaged Narcissa. It had been sitting on its side about forty meters away from the fighting, and Allan and his men had never come within its blast parameters, given the lack of a blast crater, so there was no reason for the bomb to have disappeared completely for no visible reason.

'I've got a bad feeling about this...' she thought, thinking through all the different ways Narcissa could use such an explosive to make her life harder. Quick as lightning, she whipped out her wand and pressed it against her temple, seeking out Sulu's aides.

Once she established a connection, she quickly got down to business. "John, how much of the army is through the gate?" she asked via the connection.

There was a pause, which Ginny imagined was Sulu asking for the information, before Sulu's deep baritone voice replied, "The entire army is through the gate, Ginny; myself as well."

Ginny felt like sighing in relief. That was good news.

She paused her thoughts.

Was it good news?

All of a sudden, Ginny was struck by a horrible feeling in her spine, as though her body was telling her that she had missed the obvious.

Certainly, if the enemy had detonated the devices during the Imperial Army's march into the valley, then the casualty rate would have been horrific. However, if the devices were detonated after the army had crossed into the valley, that meant they were cornered.

Ginny swore explicitly, both out loud and over the communication link. She could hear the sounds of surprise from both Allan and Sulu, but she didn't care. She quickly turned on her heel, looking up at the valley entrance—specifically, the mountain sides that flanked the main gate.

"John!" she cried over the link, "Get the army to move forward! At least a mile in!"

"What?" came back Sulu's reply. "What on earth for?"

Ginny glared at the image of Sulu she had conjured up in her head. "There's an explosive device ready to be detonated on either of the main gate's flanks. The explosion will bury whatever's beneath!"

Now the swearing was coming over from Sulu's side of the link, and mere moments later, Ginny could see dust clouds forming at the base of the main gate, no doubt a sign that the army was on the move, as per Ginny's request.

Now the redhead could only hope that her warning came soon enough.

Hogwarts Main Gate...

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

Sulu was yelling himself hoarse as he motioned for the troops around him to get as far away from the main gate as they could at a sprint. Of course, everything had to be organized enough that the troops wouldn't end up trampling each other to death, but either way, Sulu needed them as far from the gate as possible now.

Not for the first time, Sulu wished that the Anti-tech ward had been brought down already. Having the Airship transports on hand would have made the situation entirely more easy; not to mention that having a few Airship batteries on hand would have made the issue of a detonating bomb bringing down the mountains on either side of the gate a moot point, since they would have just vaporised the surrounding are to ensure the army's safety.

More importantly, it would have meant the presence of fast-moving land vehicles—something that hadn't seen action in the Dark Wars for over ten years; the magical concentration of the battlefields was just too much for the vehicles to take. Recently, however, W&W Corp.'s Warfare R&D division had managed to put together a form of shielding on them, but only enough that they would function under non-warded situations. That sort of magical concentration was simply too high for any form of shielding.

So now Sulu was left with evacuating his men the old fashioned way—by foot.

"MOVE IT!" he roared, his baritone voice making his order sound only more intimidating and unquestionable. "MOVE THOSE LEGS, TROOPERS!"

Sulu had to guess a worst-case scenario of less than ten minutes to get his people out of danger, and he knew that wasn't enough time—not by a long shot. He needed maybe ten more minutes to get his front liners to reach the safe zone, and maybe five minutes more to get most of his men out of the danger zone. He himself could run a mile in five minutes, but the point was that if he pushed everyone to their max speed, he'd end up with a stampede rather than an orderly manoeuvre, which would likely end up with casualties.

Sulu noticed that a few of the sergeants had taken it onto themselves to stay behind as well, guiding their men forward with profanity-laced orders. Well, whatever it took to get the job done, right? In any case, it seemed like the brutal orders were doing their job—the men were sparing no time in high-tailing it out of Dodge. That would work in their favour, given the lack of time.

The youngest ever General of the Imperial Armies (some might say, also the first) checked his timepiece. About four minutes had passed since Ginny had contacted him, and maybe thirty percent of his troops were nearing the safe zone, with more close behind—making Sulu's calculations way off target. At this pace, he and the rest of his people would have enough time to leave the area as well with time to spare.

Of course, Sulu was also no stranger to Murphy's damnable "law," and so was on constant alert for anything that could mess up his army's escape from the blast zone. Sulu clenched his jaw in irritation at the thought of his army having to do this at all. Why hadn't Ginny told him previously that there were explosives to begin with? He would have halted the assault until the devices were taken care of.

Sulu paused. Maybe that was why? Ginny knew that Sulu would stop the army's advance and didn't want him to do so, probably confident enough that her assassins would be able to handle the extra hazard. Plus, Sulu could admit that if he'd stopped the attack, the defenders would have undoubtedly figured out that the Imperials had sensed something afoot and taken further precautions with their devices.

The dark-skinned general looked up as he heard the cry of a bird. He could barely spot it, but recognized it enough to know that it looked like some sort of falcon. He was surprised, despite himself. Most wildlife, if not all, avoided battlefields like the plague. Yet this bird, for some reason, flew from beyond the gate—from whence the Imperial forces had come—and crossed right into the valley, proud and majestic in its flight.

A portent? Sulu liked to think so. The falcon—and eagles too, actually—were all iconic of the Empire. While the British lion was still number one in iconic symbolism, the bird of prey was also gaining a reputation for Imperial power; much like in Imperial Rome, in fact. Maybe it was an Empire thing.

In any case, it oddly gave Sulu a sliver of hope. It was an irrational belief, he knew, but somehow, just seeing the proud avian creature fly straight into the death-filled valley made something within him steel itself for the hardships ahead. Stiffening his back and sweeping his left hand outward, he reiterated his orders to the men.

"FORWARD!" he cried, his voice the voice of a proud and unshakeable commander of the Empire. "SOLDIERS OF THE EMPIRE, FORWARD!"

Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe they each had their own reasons, but whatever the case might have been for it, the soldiers who heard Sulu's command seemed to draw their morale from his deep, baritone order.

The pace was picking up, and the last of the rear-line soldiers had moved at least half the necessary distance. It was time for him to leave. Nodding to the other people who had stayed behind to guide the flow of troopers forward, he tapped his right boot into the ground thrice before dashing forward, his posture immaculate and his speed fluid and rapid. Within a minute, he had caught up to the rear-most soldier.

Just in time, too, as his perception of the world around him suddenly lit up as though the sun were at high noon. Sulu didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened—the resounding blast from high on up told him enough. The bomb had gone off; just when Ginny said it would. No doubt, its perpetrator was furious at having lost the opportunity to bury most of the Imperial Army, but as a moderately gifted strategist himself, Sulu knew that not burying the passageway into the valley would be even worse for the defenders. Effectively, although still alive, the Imperial Army was now cut off from supplies and reinforcements.

The sound of rock falling and crashing onto the gate told him to pick up the pace, and the dark-skinned general complied without a sound. Seeing their commander in such a hurry, the other men around him followed suit, pumping their arms up and down, weapons still in hand, as they high-tailed it out of the debris radius. Sure enough, within a few more minutes, they reached the main army, whose rear-line was simply standing there, watching their only way out of the valley get buried underneath a ridiculous amount of rock.

"Shit..." Sulu could hear one of the soldiers say through gritted teeth. None of the soldiers would admit it, but the fact that they were now trapped shook them drastically. They literally would have their backs against the wall now, and if they didn't manage to beat the enemy, there would be no retreat; only death.

Sulu wasn't about to let the situation degrade into mass panic, however. He hadn't been one of the Five Warlords for nothing, after all. Turning to his men after watching the rock fall settle at last, he swept out a hand imperiously, his piercing stare brooking no opposition to his next commands.

"All forces, back to the entrance!" he ordered, to the amazement of all.

Several officers pushed their way to the front upon hearing the order—likely in order to protest—but the troops were already mechanically forming ranks and marching back. The pace was slower than their run, but still quick enough to avoid combat with the golem army that was making its way towards them.

Sulu watched the cadre of officers nearing him with an impassive stare. He knew what their protests would sound like—in any other situation, he would have voiced similar ones to his superiors, if he had any—but he could not afford dissent in his officer corps.

"Speak your minds, gentlemen," he ordered briskly. He wanted this over with as soon as possible.

The officers, having probably guessed that he would be unsure of his own decision, were struck by the total confidence in the British-African general's stare. This was the Congo Lord at his best, and they were quickly reminded of it. After a moment of indecision, during which Sulu's patience seemed to visibly wither, a lone, courageous Colonel stepped forward to voice his comrades' objections.

"General, if we move back to the debris field, we will leave ourselves with no room for manoeuvring once the enemy arrives to offer combat!" the Colonel stated plainly, his face long and grim. "We respectfully ask that you reconsider."

Sulu gazed at the man with some visible respect. He had been disappointed that his officers were so quickly cowed by his attitude towards the situation, but now felt some of that disappointment dissipate at the show of courage from this Colonel. He thus felt he owed the man a reason for his order.

"Colonel, if we fight in the open—even with our superior numbers—our casualties will be high," said Sulu gravely. "We are long passed the time when we lined up our men on the field of battle and exchanged volleys. We must not remember our pre-Coup teachings. We have a highly equipped and mobile army, and the debris field will provide plenty of natural cover for our men."

Sulu paused now, gazing at the slowly advancing enemy behind his retreating troops. He silently calculated their rate of movement before continuing his explanation. "Given my current calculations of the enemy's speed, we should be able to reach the area and set up at least some lines of defence before the enemy arrive to offer combat. Furthermore, since we held back many of our Shielders in the gate offence, we can have them dig up some trenches for the men. At very best, we shall be provided with ample cover."

Sulu once again paused, gazing at his officers critically. The Colonel seemed to have accepted his explanation, and was now looking at him with admiration. That seemed to be the reaction of most of the officers, but Sulu could see still a few disgruntled faces. Not surprising—not many remembered how war was fought before the Empire had first fallen. It had been so long, even Sulu himself had felt the need to brush up on modern tactics before attacking Hogwarts.

"Gentlemen, we cannot afford to bury our heads in the past," he rebuked the rebellious officers. "There was a time, yes, when we could afford to line up our troops and win despite the casualty rates, but that time has passed. Our weaponry has evolved since then, and it is no longer necessary to sacrifice our men needlessly. Thus, we will adapt our tactics to fit the situation; is that clear?"

Properly chastised, there was no more opposition from his officer corps as they all gave their assent and moved out to relay the general's orders. Sulu was once again left to himself—even his aides were running around, probably getting the men organised and readying them for redeployment.

Sulu gazed up at the darkened sky. Night had been falling for a few hours now, and the lack of sunlight, added to the vast expanse of cloud cover above, made for a very gloomy mood to the battle. He absently felt a breeze pick up, playing with his uniform as it made the loose ends of his greatcoat flap about.

When the attack finally came, Sulu knew it would be just as dark. His men would have to strain their nerves and alertness to be able to fight off what was likely to be a massive, wave after wave assault from the enemy forces.

His hands clasped behind his back, the dark-skinned general simply kept his gaze up at the sky—unconsciously hoping to see the bird of prey from earlier. It would certainly be reassuring. After a few minutes of absent gazing, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the feeling of someone tapping on his shoulder, and he quickly turned his head to see who it was. One of his aides. The resolute look on the young woman's face told him enough—the men were on their way and they were likely the last to leave.

Sulu gaze the gloomy sky one last glance before turning to his aide and nodding, straightening up his protective helmet as he did so. "Let's go."

Silently, the two walked briskly to catch up with the retreating body of Imperial troops.

Ginny was panting as she made her way towards where she had seen the bomb go off on the mountain side. She knew Narcissa had been responsible for the blast, and was only glad that the Imperial army was able to dodge the destructive effects of it in time. Other than that, Ginny was downright pissed.

Her laxity had allowed Narcissa to even make her way out of combat with the device, when she shouldn't have been able to if she had done her job right. Worse was the fact that Ginny felt incredibly underarmed. She had lost both her retractable blades, and she had run out of ammunition for her two handguns. She had, maybe, a couple dozen throwing knives, but that was an optimistic estimate.

She couldn't well go and get rearmed, either. Assassin supplies were meant to be distributed strictly according to missions, so she had never once needed to abort her mission to get more weaponry. Unfortunately, they hadn't counted on something actually being able to take Ginny on one-on-one and settle it to a draw.

'An arrogant mistake,' thought Ginny gloomily. How many times had Harry told her never to assume that there wasn't someone around to properly challenge her for the title of the best?

Behind her, she knew that Captain Moore was trying to keep up, but the soldier was quickly fading to a dot in the horizon as she dashed at full speed towards her prey. She appreciated the man's offer of assistance, but this was far beyond personal now. If only for her pride as the Empire's master assassin, she needed to take down Narcissa on her own. Her pride, and the pride of the Imperial Assassins, demanded it.

'Speaking of which...'

Ginny deftly threw herself aside as a flurry of knives encrusted themselves in the ground she had, just seconds ago, been treading. Mid-flight, Ginny quickly drew two throwing knives and held them out in a reverse grip. Out of weaponry she might be, but whatever she had, she knew how to use them in any fashion she needed.

Sure enough, Narcissa Malfoy landed a few meters away from Ginny, already in a crouch and a handful of throwing knives in her outstretched hand as it reared back for another throw.

'So she's not pulling any punches this time...' noted Ginny as she once again was forced to dodge the incoming knives with all the grace and agility that her profession demanded of her. In retaliation, she let loose two Concussion hexes via her outstretched left fist. Using her wand at this point would be detrimental to her own offensive abilities, even if the power of the spells would increase dramatically.

Besides, she just needed to magic in order to force Narcissa into making a mistake.

Ginny rolled on the ground sideways as she was forced to evade two retaliatory Reductor curses, which made for quite the amazing craters in the ground. Narcissa was obviously no magical slouch—her spells each seemed to have the power of a condensed ME round. That posed a problem for the petite redhead.

Ginny knew a direct hit would cause massive damage to her small body, whereas her own magical strikes would do considerably less. It essentially cemented Ginny's tactics—dodge until Narcissa made a mistake, then strike physically.

"Stop jumping around, you little rabbit!" snapped Narcissa as she let loose another barrage of knives.

Ginny swiftly side-stepped the incoming projectiles and, pressing her rear foot deep against the soggy ground, launched herself forward at full speed, quickly closing the distance between Narcissa and her before the blonde could throw more knives.

As planned, the older woman drew her own knives and brought them up to block Ginny's strikes. Quickly, Ginny was pushed off of Narcissa and the two began a deadly dance around each other, slashing, stabbing, and parrying as needed. They twirled around each other with the grace of ballerinas, lashing out as often as they both could, only to find their counterpart ready for the blow and waiting with a retaliatory strike.

Eventually, it was Narcissa that broke their little dance by suddenly kicking out at Ginny following a blocked slash. Ginny was no amateur, however, and easily blocked the blow, using the blocked leg to push her lower body into a sweeping move that Ginny hoped would throw the blonde off guard.

For a second, it worked. Narcissa was obviously surprised by the ingenious follow-up, but was no slouch either and, letting go of her knives, brought her arms down beneath her head and pushed herself away from her opponent in an amazing impromptu back flip, barely avoiding getting cut in two by Ginny's follow up strike. The look of utter surprise on the redhead's face was matched by a smug smirk from the blonde aristocrat as, for a second, both Narcissa and Ginny's eyes reached the same height level.

The moment quickly passed, however, and soon enough Ginny and Narcissa were once again at each other's throats. Having launched themselves at each other, the two met halfway, hands clasped against their counterpart as the struggle devolved into a primitive test of strength. Narcissa was taller, but Ginny was scrappier, so whatever advantage one had, the other was able to counter, leaving the two women glaring at each other, teeth grit as they pushed against their opponent with all their might. Small mounds of mud were building up behind their feet as the force of each other's strength pushed them down into the mud and away from each other.

Neither woman was about to give up, however, and they were so focused on beating the other that they had both thought of the same thing and, in a desperate bid to win the battle of strength, slammed their heads together, only to find that the other had done the same, thereby extending the contest of strength to their necks as well.

Trickles of blood flowed down their foreheads, however, as the impact of the two foreheads became apparent, yet neither woman let go of the other's gaze.

"Insolent insect!" hissed Narcissa, her face's pale skin obscured by the presence of muck and her own blood.

"Pesky whore!" snapped back Ginny, her own skin a mix of red and brown—blood and mud.

Fire blazed in both women's eyes as anger surged through their systems, and the two once again renewed their efforts in winning this particular contest. Neither side budged. The logical step, at this point, would be to quickly disengage and take advantage of the opponent's surprise, and both women knew it. Yet, neither side was about to give up in this symbolic contest of Imperial authority versus Magical supremacy.

"My Lord will kill you all," promised Narcissa through her gritted teeth. "And I'll be there to enjoy the scene!"

Ginny scoffed, a cocky smirk on her muddied face. "Please. You're all as pathetic as your cause!" she taunted.

Narcissa's eyes flashed with anger, and Ginny could feel a build-up of magical power increasing in the blonde's hands.

'So she's playing that game, huh...' she scoffed irritably. Her own magical reserves would near depletion soon if this fight dragged on this way, and she knew Narcissa's own reserves were significantly larger than her own.

Quickly thinking up of a plan, Ginny did not match Narcissa's own build-up of magic in her hands. Instead, she gathered a scalpel-sharp amount of magic in her hands and, before the blonde had a chance to unleash the explosion that Ginny expected, sent it surging from her hands and into Narcissa's.

There was a sharp cry of pain before a thin spray of blood from the back of Narcissa's hands jetted out, smearing her face with her own blood. Two razor-thin ,red lines had appeared on the back of the blonde's hands, where Ginny's surgical strike had cut right through, like a hot knife through butter.

Instinctively, the blonde withdrew her hands and placed them under her armpits, protecting the wounds from further damage—all the while jumping backwards to avoid a follow up attack. That was incredibly wise of her, as Ginny had followed up with a densely-packed magical punch aimed at decapitating the older woman. Instead, the redhead missed and ended up hitting nothing but air.

For a moment, neither women moved, both of them processing their respective situations and rationalising a due course of action.

For Ginny, it was simple. She couldn't win—not anymore, anyway. While the twin surgical strikes had not taken much effort to perform, the magical punch had. Her magical reserves were quickly dwindling to zero, and all she had left would be barely enough to get her out of her current fight—if Narcissa didn't give chase.

For Narcissa, however, it was a little more complicated. She still had enough magic to attack maybe twice more, if the attacks were both average-powered, but after that she'd be fast approaching magical exhaustion, which would leave her to the mercy of whoever came across her unconscious body firs—that was not acceptable. Furthermore, she had not fulfilled her mission, mainly due to her own selfish need for vengeance (and she accepted this); her master would not be pleased. On the other hand, however, he had explicitly told her not to put herself in undue risk. One on one combat with a worthy opponent was alright so long as escape was possible thereafter. Her master did not have as many servants as he once did—human servants, at least. He didn't want to lose one of three he did have, as a result.

Eventually, it was Narcissa that broke first. She had no idea how much more the scrappy redhead could take, and wasn't about to risk capture just to find out. Scoffing in irritation, Narcissa shot her arm into her robes and, grasping on something, vanished the next second from sight.

Ginny was left shocked at her opponent's sudden disappearing act. She had fully expected Narcissa to keep fighting to the death. Instead, she had been granted an unexpected boon, and she fully intended to take advantage of it.

"Assassin Mistress!" she suddenly heard someone calling. Ginny turned around and watched, a small smile on her face, as her most recent companion, Captain Moore, came running up towards her, his rifle-wielding arms pumping up and down as he sped towards the woman he considered his ward.

When she caught a better look at his face, however, Ginny's amusement melted into concern. He looked positively exhausted, the poor man! He had sweat rolling off his face like a cascade, which told Ginny that he'd probably refused to slow down his pace until he reached her. A foolish, if touching move.

Allan practically collapsed upon reaching Ginny. His fatigue had reached such a point that he fully missed a step and slipped in the fresh mud, landing face first in the mucky ground and slid to a halt at Ginny's feet, his rifle still nonetheless clenched tightly in his left hand. He was breathing heavily as he lay on the ground, and barely felt Ginny turning him onto his back, except for noting that he was suddenly able to breathe easier. He was barely conscious when she cradled him on her bent legs.

"You alright there, Moore?" asked Ginny with a slightly amused smile. She wiped a bit of the mud off Moore's face, and grinned when she saw a tired, but confident smile underneath the mud.

"It'll take a lot more than that to bring Allan Moore down, ma'am," he said with confidence, although it was clear just by his voice that he was on the verge of losing consciousness.

Ginny couldn't help but giggle at the man's bravado, and let him rest on her knees until she was sure he was out like a light. Then, taking great care not to wake him, Ginny pumped some magic into her body and quickly lifted the much larger man onto her back, carrying him piggy-back.

She glanced behind her at the sleeping face of Moore and couldn't help the fond smile on her face from blooming. The man had risked a lot to come help her, and she truly appreciated it. She'd have to talk to Harry about properly rewarding the man for his bravery.

That was when Ginny heard the boom.

Like a bomb going off at close range, it almost deafened her, and it was a sheer miracle that Moore was not woken by its intensity. Unlike a bomb, however, there was no destruction following the auditory burst of noise. Instead, the whole grounds were suddenly awash with strobing light flashes that varied in colour.

Looking up, Ginny saw the sky lit up by something that resembled an aurora borealis, and she suddenly understood what had caused the explosive noise. She let a happy and proud grin light her face.

"You did it, Bill," she whispered to herself.

With now renewed urgency, knowing what was to come, Ginny looked towards where the main gate of the Hogwarts Grounds used to be. Taking a deep breath and, her face scrunched up in concentration, she rocketed off towards her awaiting and cheering comrades.

Post-AN: As always, please review and tell me if something's inconsistent with previous chapters or even just to say you liked it. Always gets me in a great mood when I read those. - MB