AN: First chapter of 2010! Anyway, the end of the Narcissa v. Ginny fight!(?) and, setting the stage for the final few chapters, the awaited Awakening. As always, please review, and enjoy. - MB

Previously…

Viktor was pretty much on the edge of consciousness at this point, but he did know he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. His vision blurring up and dulling by the second, all Viktor could make out as the darkness overwhelmed him was that two black-robed figures were engaged in a sort of dance-like session in the middle of the boarded transport, which was still on its way up to the Invincible.

And then, nothing; he was out like a light.

The fighting in the body-infested cargo hold of the Imperial transport had not stopped for a second since it started. Despite the apparent loss of five Imperial servicemen, neither combatant had stopped trying to kill the other—nor did the pilots deter from their ordered course up to the Invincible.

In what seemed to be a prime moment of déjà vu, the two women found themselves nose-to-nose as their retractable blades crossed in front of their chests.

"Still alive, I see," observed Ginny with a cocky smirk.

Narcissa scoffed. "As if I would get taken down by the likes of you!"

With some effort, the two women disengaged from their deadlock and spun on their heels as they took a step back, giving them each about ten feet between them to move around.

Ginny was worried. The cargo hold of the Imperial heavy transport was not the best place for this sort of confrontation, but with her back to the hatch, there was no way to make Narcissa, who was standing before the holding cells compartment hatch, to leave the transport. Fortunately, she also knew that Narcissa couldn't kill off the pilots or kill the old man, seeing as how the former were necessary for her to get back on the ground safely, and the latter was the retrieval target. That made things easier for her conscience, at the very least.

It was a pity that Viktor and his section had been involved in this mess, but Ginny supposed it was unavoidable, given the high-priority status of the old man. Someone was always going to get hurt.

"You know," she said as she started to circle around the room, trying to find a way to flank Narcissa, "I can't help but wonder how exactly you plan to get out of this mess…"

Narcissa smirked, following Ginny's circling pattern. "What do you mean?"

"Within minutes, we'll be reaching the Invincible, and I can guarantee you that the situation back here has been reported to the ship's bridge, so there's likely to be a non-too friendly welcoming committee waiting for you," Ginny reminded her, carefully observing Narcissa's reaction.

Narcissa scoffed again. "That just means I need to take care of this before we reach the ship," she said plainly.

'Confidence, damn.' Ginny thought. Narcissa didn't seem the least bit worried about succeeding in her plan, which meant that she had a trump card on her that she didn't previously. That was dangerous stuff for assassins like Ginny. It easily could make the difference between life and death.

Then, suddenly, Narcissa jumped sideways, and Ginny quickly countered by jumping the opposite way. Narcissa, however, made no other move other than giving a triumphant smirk.

"You're not about to catch me with such a simplistic trick, girl," she said with a smirk. "Trying to get my back to the open back so you can throw me out? Please—an amateur move."

Ginny grinned. "Says a lot about what you think I think of you that you thought that's what I'd try," she taunted, somehow pulling off that interesting tongue twister of a sentence flawlessly. "Freudian slip, dear?"

Narcissa snarled at the implied insult—thus reaffirming that she didn't outright inherit the inbred genes of the Black family—and launched herself forward, her retractable blades glistening from the crimson, liquid blood they were drenched in. Ginny easily parried the blow, twisting out of the way as the metal from her own blades met with Narcissa's.

Narcissa was quick on the uptake, however, and quickly followed up every blow with another, twisting and turning on her heel as she tried to drive Ginny against a wall. Ginny was not about to fall for such a trick, however, and quickly took a momentary lapse between blows to throw herself sideways, landing in a roll and then turning to face Narcissa, who abruptly turned to face her, an ugly snarl on her otherwise remarkably beautiful and aristocratic features.

Despite her situation, Ginny couldn't help but take part in witty repartee. "You know," she said, bending backwards in order to dodge an incoming slash. "I can't help but feel jealous of how young you've managed to keep yourself looking, despite getting on in years. What's your secret? Some sort of cream?" she asked, again dodging a blow. "Maybe it's baby eating? After all, you do sort of strike me as the type of person who'd engage in cannibalism for the sake of superfluous beauty."

Narcissa let out something akin to a screech of pure exasperation as she launched blow after blow at the agile redhead, who kept dodging the blows with grace—and not a small amount of luck. With every blow, Narcissa was coming closer and closer to hitting her, and Ginny was painfully aware of that.

"Touch a nerve?" Ginny asked regardless, an unrepentant grin on her face. "Maybe it's simply make-up, then? Maybe underneath all that powder, and lipstick, and eyeliner there's only wrinkles and old."

Ginny ducked as a knife flew right where her head had been and imbedded itself in the metallic hull. In response, Ginny launched two right back at Narcissa, who deftly deflected them with her blades with relative ease.

"These fights of ours," continued Ginny, still grinning mutinously. "Really do get tediously repetitive, don't they? I stab, you stab. I throw, you throw," she dodged another blow. "I swear, if I started dancing the waltz, you'd probably jump right in—try to outdo me."

Narcissa sneered, momentarily stopping her unrelenting attacks. "Why would I need to outdo you, girl?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Joining the conversation at last, are we?" she asked sardonically. "And here I was wondering whether or not I'd have to talk for the both of us!" she then mock shivered. "That would've been awful, that would. My 'screechy, uptight aristocrat' voice can break glass, or so I'm told."

She tilted her head to the left just slightly, enough to allow two more knives to sail past her head harmlessly. She raised her raised eyebrow a little higher. "Seriously? We're back to that?"

She ducked sideways as three more sailed right through where she'd been. When she'd gotten a firm grip on the ground with the soles of her boots, Ginny looked up and smirked. "Dear Lord, woman! Where do you keep those stashed?"

"Don't you ever shut up?!" screeched Narcissa.

It was the moment Ginny was waiting for.

Just as Narcissa had begun to open her mouth to let out her pent-up feelings of exasperation and hatred, Ginny's left arm had begun to lash out, so that when Narcissa had stopped speaking, her flattened out hand struck Narcissa in her exposed throat, while her right arm was already well on its way to deliver a punch to Narcissa's right-hand ribs just as the blonde was grabbing her own throat as she coughed like it was going out of style.

Ginny wasn't finished with the two blows, however. With Narcissa bending over from the blow to her ribs, Ginny took advantage of the move to spin on her heel, and in so doing bring up her right leg and knee her opponent in the chin, simultaneously giving Narcissa a concussion and smashing her head against the bulkhead. In a street fight, that would have been sufficient of a beatdown to convince Narcissa not to get up again, but Ginny knew better than to assume as such. Flicking her wrists, she felt the grooves of her vambraces' inner device click into motion as they shot out the two retractable blades that hid within her sleeves.

There was absolutely no hesitation in Ginny's execution. Without sparing Narcissa's form a wondering glance or thinking about the consequences of taking Narcissa's life, Ginny launched herself onto her foe and, in one smooth motion, stabbed both of her blades into Narcissa's chest. Then, for good measure, she withdrew her blades and, with a grunt, fell forward again as she stabbed into Narcissa's wide, pain-filled eyes.

By now, Ginny was breathing heavily, the adrenaline of her well-executed plan wearing off. What she had barely registered previously was painfully obvious now. Pretty much all of her front was covered in blood. Even under her hood, Ginny had specks of blood staining her porcelain skin. Running a glove against her cheek would be counterproductive in that respect as well.

There were more pressing concerns, however. Ginny turned to face the rest of the bulkhead. The downed members of Viktor's fireteam needed medical assistance ASAP.

On the other hand, first things first.

Ginny grabbed a hold of Narcissa's robes and dragged out towards the ramp. There, she gave her nemesis a final look before, with a shove of her boot, she threw the blonde aristocrat over the edge, her robes flapping madly in the wind as she fell down towards the battlefield. The threat being done with, Ginny blindly slammed her fist into the hatch activation button and, watching the back of the ship seal itself, then pressed the intercom activation button on the bulkhead.

"This is McNab—what the hell happened back there?" rang the loudspeaker.

Ginny ignored the question. "This is Assassin Mistress Potter," she spoke clearly and concisely. "By the battlefield authority vested in me by the Assassin's College of the Imperial Intelligence Service, I am taking over the protection of this vessel from Corporal Krum. Please be aware that Corporal Krum and his fireteam are in critical condition and need medical assistance immediately," she reported. "I say again, ADST fireteam escort is down and in critical condition."

The response was immediate. "Copy that, Mistress Potter. We are alerting the Invincible's docking bay to prepare for emergency landing. ETA ten minutes."

Ginny nodded, though she held reservations as to whether the team would last that long. "Very well. Quick as possible, mister McNab."

Without bothering to wait for an answer, she walked away from the device, quickly heading over to where the newest member of Viktor's team—Victoria, she thought the woman was called—lay on the metallic floor, blood still flowing from her chest wound.

A quick check told Ginny volumes about both Victoria's prognosis and Narcissa's beliefs. For Victoria, it was sheer dumb luck on her part that Narcissa's blade had not nicked anything irreparable. That wasn't to say that she was out of the woods yet, however. Considering the rate she was losing blood at, she had maybe ten minutes before she became anaemic and then finally passed on from blood loss. That was a problem she could help with, however, and with the help of a torn fragment of her robe, she bandaged the wound as tightly as she could after having removed the chest plate.

In regards to Narcissa's beliefs, on the other hand, Ginny immediately understood that the woman had little to no regard whatsoever for non-magic folk. Had it been any of her own assassins, Ginny had no doubts that Victoria would have been killed with the first shot outright. Narcissa's blow, by contrast, was basically sloppy, in assassin terms. Clearly Narcissa had deemed the ADST squad as little better than pests and had thus dispatched them with the bare minimum effort. It was a rookie mistake that would have, had Narcissa been weaker, undoubtedly cost the woman her life, if any of the troopers had managed to retain consciousness.

The rest of the squad, however, was little better off than Victoria. A quick check of their wounds told Ginny that the other girl in the group would need critical care within minutes of their landing if she was to pull through; that the taller man would probably have nothing more than a concussion and a traumatized spine; and that Viktor needed some heavy duty surgery performed on him due to the shredded nature of his left leg. Hell, Ginny had some doubts as to whether the leg would be saveable at all.

A shake throughout the ship told her that the transport was going through some of the more violent areas of the aerial combat raging over Hogwarts. McNab soon confirmed this hypothesis via the intercom.

"Mistress Potter, please buckle down—we're heading right through the bulk of the fighting now."

Ginny didn't need telling twice. After securing the downed forms of the fireteam, she went to the nearest seat and quickly buckled up, her hands tightly grasping the arm rails next to her. It wasn't long before the whole ship was rocking every which way, the force of the explosions in midair pushing against the transport violently.

Even so—little by little—the transport ship continued its slow ascent towards the Invincible.

Mid-air…

Charlie pulled on the reins of his dragon mount as he desperately tried to swerve out of the way of an incoming Imperial transport—probably filled with wounded, he gathered. He and his Dragon Lancers had just been activated for combat a few minutes ago, and already he had lost two of his 100-strong airborne wing—no mean feat when it came to the Imperial Dragon Lancers of Harrisburg fame.

The only thing he was thankful for at this time was the fact that their mechanical communicators were working spectacularly—something they had not had during the Harrisburg siege. With a single, soft tap to the earpiece, he had activated a communication channel to the entire squadron.

"This is Lancer-One," he spoke concisely, so as to minimize confusion. "Split into sections on my mark!"

Charlie only absently acknowledged the chorus of assents that his people were sending back at him. Instead, he focused on the rapidly approaching airborne battleground beneath him. He wanted to time this perfectly, so as to minimize the chance of losing more of his people before they even got to fight. The first two had been the result of a tragic mid-air collision with two of the enemy's own dragons, who had been attempting to flank the Imperial fighters from above. While the flanking attack had possibly saved the lives of a few fighter pilots, it had still cost him two good Lancers.

As they approached the twenty meter mark from the midst of the fighting, Charlie raised a gloved hand and quickly brought down, signalling his flyers. "Mark!" he barked through the comm., just in case they hadn't seen the hand signal.

Like the veteran flyers they were, the large mesh of Dragon Lancers pulled out of the squadron formation and quickly broke into the much smaller teams of 2 that consisted of a flying section. Charlie's own wingmate was a familiar face: Caroline Foster, once the leader of his Wing's Drake Squadron. She had since promoted her own former 2iC to squadron leader, however, and had been handpicked by Charlie to become his wingmate—a task she both revelled in and excelled at.

"Foster, on me," he was brief with his order, focusing instead on pulling the reins of his dragon, Zeke, so that they would tail after two enemy dragons who were harassing a pair of Imperial fighters.

"Roger that, boss," he heard through the earpiece, and he could just imagine the excited grin on the former ballet dancer's face.

The two Lancers expertly pulled in behind the enemy dragons, with Charlie's own Welsh Green leading the way, while Foster's crimson Norwegian Ridgeback followed closely behind. Letting go of the reins with his left hand, Charlie unclasped a silver-coloured cylindrical item from his belt and, with a flick, had it deploy into a two-meter long cross-spear. Knowing his wingmate, she had probably already had hers ready for combat since the wing split.

"I got the left one," he told her.

"Copy that, boss. The right one's mine."

Without a word being spoken, the two simultaneously broke their two-man formation and charged their respective prey, taking full advantage of their rear position to take the two enemy flyers by surprise. Charlie was practically surgical with his attack. As Zeke neared the enemy dragon, Charlie had him bite down on the other dragon's tail and pull, causing the surprised and pained beast to writhe a bit, though still move backwards. At that precise moment, as the dragon's handler was turning to see what had caused his mount to go berserk, Charlie struck out with his lance, skewering the golem through the head while Zeke used his claws to rip apart the other dragon's wings. Within seconds the enemy flyer and his mount were out of the fight, and Charlie was one kill closer to achieving Ace status.

Turning his head to see how Foster was doing, Charlie was unsurprised to see his fiery wingmate battling it out with the dragon's handler on the golem's own mount. She and her Ridgeback were well suited to each other in that sense—they both loved theatrics. That being said, they were also deadly opponents, and Foster wasted no time in slicing up the golem and then delivering a fatal stab to the back of the confused dragon's head. With a brief whistle, he saw her jump off the dead dragon and gracefully slide onto her own dragon, Ruby.

"Two down, a crapload to go." He heard her cheekily state over the comm.

Charlie nodded to her in agreement and lifted his spear to point the way. "Best not to waste daylight, then," he jibed back. To his suppressed delight, two such targets zoomed into view beneath him.

Of course, Foster being the more predatory of the two of them, she brought it up first.

"Two more rabbits down under, boss!"

Charlie grinned. American though Foster was, she was far more vicious than any of his British-born Lancers, and most of that were directed feelings of vengeance for her days in an internment camp. Regardless, the perennial American volunteer was a deadly ally to have, and Charlie relished in the opportunity to have her serve at his side.

He tapped his earpiece. "I've got the right one, you get the left one?" he asked.

"Mixing it up a little, boss?" came her coy reply.

Charlie grinned, and he felt Zeke rumble in anticipation. "Always. Ready?"

"Always."

"Let's get the show on the road, then. Dive, dive, dive!"

With a roar from Zeke, Charlie felt his stomach suddenly shoot up as his dragon plunged downwards, its reptilian head showing a vicious snarl as it lunged down at its prey. Next to them, Charlie could see Foster and Ruby in a similar position, the American woman holding her lance underneath her arm like a jousting knight.

His focus was violently redirected back to his target, however, when he was barely able to pull the reins in time to have Zeke swivel sideways, just barely avoiding a screaming Imperial fighter that was passing by, its tail on fire and the pilot inside very much dead, apparently.

"BOSS!"

Charlie was breathing heavily, only barely managing to realize that Foster had screamed for him.

"I-I'm fine! I'm fine!" he reassured her over the comm.

"Don't scare me like that!" she scolded him.

Charlie thought the reprimand a bit silly, to be honest. How could he have possibly engineered the whole situation as merely a way to rile her up? Not to mention, it was partially her fault that he had almost become intimately acquainted with the blasted apart cockpit of an Imperial fighter. If only he hadn't been looking at her, the whole situation might have been avoided.

Of course, that brought up all sorts of uncomfortable questions, so Charlie, being Charlie, instinctively crushed down all of them.

Instead, he focused all his energies on killing his designated target, a task that Foster seemed to have focused on well before he did, judging by how fast she was approaching her target. Charlie groaned out loud, and Zeke let out a disapproving rumbling. Foster's approach was far too open to counterattack, and the way she was so far ahead of him and Zeke made it certain that if the two enemy dragons made a sudden turn to strike at her, he wouldn't be there to help her for a couple of minutes—which, in the air, translated to a whole damn lot of time. From the growl coming from Zeke, Charlie also surmised that his dragon was similarly peeved with the way his crimson-coloured counterpart was acting.

Leaning down, Charlie patted the side of Zeke's jade-coloured neck and whispered into his ear. "I guess we're going to have to bail out the girls, aren't we, Zeke?"

The Welsh Green rumbled his approval, and with a mighty flap of its webbed wings, the two were bolting towards the impending battle between Foster and the two airborne golems was about to break out.

As Charlie had feared, their two new targets were not as easily caught off guard as the previous two, and when Ruby snapped her mighty jaws onto her designated dragon's tail, the other quickly turned back and attacked right back, catching Foster off guard.

"Here we go," he whispered into Zeke's ear as he bent down, his feet firmly planted against their saddle-pads in preparation for his admittedly insane stunt. "You help Ruby, I've got Foster's back."

Charlie didn't need an audible response from his dragon to know that the beast approved. Ruby, still struggling with her initial target, was fighting a losing battle, while Foster herself was also struggling to avoid getting killed by the golems' spellfire.

For this upcoming stunt, however, Charlie needed exact timing. If he started even a second too early, he would end up plummeting to his death—the same if he started too late. Thus, his eye on the ball, he waited for that exact moment before, with a grunt, launching himself forward, off of Zeke and towards Foster and her two assailants, his lance high in the air.

With a fierce battle cry, Charlie surprised his target as he fell down onto him, lance piercing the golem's neck and thus severing the head. Foster and the remaining golem also looked at him surprised as he pulled out the lance from the back of said golem's dragon—which was seconds away from having its neck ripped off by an infuriated Zeke. Since death was not in his immediate agenda, Charlie quickly evaded death by gravity by jumping lightly onto Ruby's back, landing right behind Foster, who barely avoided slashing him with her spear as she deflected away another spell.

"Boss?!" she shouted in surprise.

Charlie smirked, though his eyes remained on the remaining golem. "I've been doing this a lot longer than you have, Foster; remember that," he said calmly, before, with a snarl on his face, he spun on his foot and brought down his lance, smoothly slicing off the remaining golem's head.

With its handler dead, the remaining enemy dragon was at a loss as to how to proceed, and was made quick work by a vengeful Ruby and a smug Zeke, his jaws still dripping with the first dragon's blood. As the two dragons meted out their vengeance on the lone enemy dragon, Charlie quickly jumped into his own saddle, knowing full well that tamed though they were, dragons were jealous creatures about their riders.

Hovering in the sky, Charlie turned his head to see Foster's bowed in shame.

"Sorry, boss," she apologized. "I was reckless."

Charlie didn't answer her. Instead, he casually threw his lance in her direction, causing her to widen her eyes in surprise, only to feel it brush right past her ear and then, with a sickening sound, plunge itself into something behind her.

"You were careless, too," he said calmly, nudging his head in her direction. Zeke gave a similar reproachful grunt.

Foster turned her head to see an inanimate golem being pinned to his convulsing dragon, Charlie's lance deeply impaled into its back. The dragon—an onyx-coloured Ridgeback—was in spasms for a few more seconds before it tumbled down towards the ground.

"Accio," Charlie said simply, and the lance disengaged itself from the dragon's back and flew back to Charlie's awaiting hand. He glanced at the bloodied blade once before swinging it to his side and clearing most of the liquid from the lance, and then gave Foster a critical look. "That's how it's done, Foster."

Foster grinned despite herself. "You got it, boss."

HMAS Invincible…

Ginny's stride towards the bridge was brisk and almost impatient, with ship personnel scurrying out of her way as she made her way down the metallic halls, barely giving any of them her attention. It wasn't that she meant any disrespect or that she saw them as beneath her—that was Narcissa's gig, after all—but she was anxious to check up on her husband. Word had it that he had fallen into a trance for the past day and a half, and no one had seen fit to tell her.

Slightly frustrated, she mashed the upwards button of the lift that led up to the bridge, quite possibly damaging the light bulb behind the plastic covering beyond repair. She waited for a few seconds, her foot tapping impatiently against the ground as the Roman numerals that denoted the ship levels changed one by one, quickly approaching her level.

Ginny was torn. On one hand, she felt hurt that Harry had once again left her out of his plans—if this was indeed part of the plan. Why did he not trust her? Why did he keep her at arm's length all the time? Why did he trust his generals and admirals more than her, his life partner, the mother of his one and only child? Had she somehow lost his trust? Had she unknowingly betrayed his confidence? The thoughts tormented her.

On the other hand, she brushed aside these concerns and focused solely on the fact that Harry loved her enough to trust her with some of his most important and dangerous assignments; that he loved her enough to marry her and, despite his absurd wealth and power, stayed with her; that, despite the fact that he pushed her away from some of his plans, he chose her for his most secret and dangerous military project.

Was she being obsessive? She certainly didn't think so. She just wanted validation, in the end. Validation that their love—a love that had emerged out of close friendship and a mutually traumatic experience—had not been a farce. Was that truly too much to ask?

The doors to the lift hissed open, and she was surprised to see Bill inside, who looked at her with equal surprise, and not a small amount of joy.

"Firefly!" he greeted her happily with a hug, pulling her into the lift. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Ginny smiled inside her oldest brother's embrace. He always made her smile with his nickname. "I came to see Harry, dummy," she replied.

Bill grinned as they broke apart the hug. "Ah, yes—our very own Sleeping Princess."

Ginny's smile turned into a frown. "You knew?" she asked, a little angrily.

Bill looked surprised. "You didn't?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, I didn't know!" she exclaimed frustrated, suddenly thankful that they were in the lift—where no one could hear them argue. "No one told me—Harry didn't tell me!"

Bill raised an interested eyebrow. "Oh? Interesting," he noted, cupping his chin pensively. "Though not that surprising, in hindsight."

Ginny glared at her older brother, a comment away from hexing him. "What is that supposed to mean?" she hissed.

Bill raised his hands defensively. "Hey now, sis, I didn't mean anything by it, and you know it," he chided her gently, his sharp gaze softening as she relented from her aggressive stance. "Harry didn't tell anyone, sis. I personally found out when they asked me to check up on him after he wouldn't wake up on the bridge."

Ginny gave her brother a confused look. "Are you saying we were all kept out of the loop?" she asked dubiously. "What was Harry thinking?"

Bill grinned ruefully. "I rather gather that he thought this up on the spot, to be completely honest. I fed the crew a story about him being meditating via chess plays, but I'm honestly not entirely sure what he's actually doing," he finally admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Ginny's complexion returned to worry and doubt. "What can you tell me?" she asked, pointedly aware that they were quickly arriving their destination.

"His heart rate is stable and we've been keeping him well fed via intravenous equipment, but what's most impressive is his mind, Gin," he told her. "Typically, it's consistently functioning at high levels, but the moment he went into this…trance of his, it's spiked constantly. It's like every neuron in his brain is functioning simultaneously—and the most amazing thing is, his brain hasn't overloaded from it, despite this going on for the whole time he's been out."

"Has anyone else besides the bridge crew seen him?" she asked demurely, leaning against the side of the lift.

Bill nodded. "Some of the Captains from the other ships have come to see him, just to confirm the rumours, as well as others from the top brass that are present," he told her honestly. He then lapsed into silence for a moment—long enough for Ginny to look at his face searchingly—before continuing. "I've also brought our parents and the…others to him."

Ginny goggled. "What?!" she exclaimed. "Why?!"

The elevator finally dinged on the bridge level icon's lighting, just as Bill was replying.

"His orders, prior to going into the trance," explained Bill as he walked out the lift, Ginny shortly behind. The two of them then made their way down the whitened hall towards the bridge door hatch. "Part of the IIS plan to crush the spirits of the remaining Order members, remember?"

Ginny looked sheepish. "Honestly, I'd forgotten," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "With all the insanity going on down on the ground, it completely slipped my mind that we'd brought them along for the ride."

Bill smiled conservatively. "Yes, well, they've been…a delight, really," he said evenly.

Ginny laughed. "That bad, huh?" she commiserated. "Let me guess—Ron hasn't stopped yelling since the whole thing started?"

Bill nodded. "He's been a right terror in the brig's mess hall. The supervisor hasn't stopped complaining about the amount of damage our dear brother has caused to his mess hall," he told her with a wry smile.

"I can only imagine," Ginny said, returning the wry smile with her own. The two of them then went silent as they stood before the door that led to the bridge proper.

Bill was silent only for a couple of seconds before turning his head to look at his sister. "Having second thoughts?" he asked.

Ginny hesitated. "It's…odd," she admitted. "I feel almost like it's the first time we went out for a date, to be honest."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "That was a decade ago," he noted. "He was still in school, as were you."

Ginny nodded. "I know…" she agreed. "But it somehow feels that way. I mean…with everything he's been doing behind our backs…it almost feels like we're just now getting to know him, isn't it?"

Bill shrugged. "Some might call it operational discretion," he told her plainly. He then reached into his coat pocket and took out one of his twin brothers' all new healthy cigarettes and lit up, breathing in the magical herbs' healing smoke. "After all," he said, teeth gritted from holding the cigarette long enough for him to put his packet back in his coat. "The more people he told, the more people that could either try to convince him otherwise or leak it."

Ginny glowered at him half-heartedly. "He couldn't have thought we would leak that information."

Bill shrugged, blowing out some of the excess smoke as he held his cigarette between two fingers. "Maybe he thought that we would try to discourage his plan, then," he suggested.

Ginny giggled, despite her previously gloomy mood. "Now that is something I would do, if the idea was insane enough," she admitted.

Bill grinned as he reached for his key card in his coat pocket. He held it up, cigarette back in his mouth. "Ready to meet your adorable husband, then?" he asked teasingly.

Ginny nodded. "Open the door, you prat," she said with a smile.

With a swipe of his key card, Bill activated the door's sliding mechanism, and the sight of the bridge almost immediately came into view, the room bustling with activity. It was a sort of organized chaos—an interesting contradiction in terms, though apt in describing the scenery before Bill and Ginny.

Ginny herself barely noticed, however. Her eyes were fixed on the command chair at the centre of the room, elevated above all the other workstations. Typically alone and austere in decoration, it was now surrounded by medical equipment, with tubes hanging down as they crowded the unseen figure sitting on the chair.

Almost unconsciously, she felt herself move forward, one step at a time, her gaze fixated on the back of the command chair. She barely noticed anything else, her gaze set in perfect tunnel vision. The din of the bridge's chaotic activity was no more than a dull buzzing sound to her as she approached the chair, a heavy dose of anxiety building up with every step she took closer to the chair.

Finally, she reached out to the chair and, with one hand on it, came around it and looked down at the sleeping face of her husband, still garbed in his distinct red uniform, the golden insignia of a shining star hanging from his neck—the symbol of an Imperial Knight of the Imperial Order of the Golden Dawn. He was one of the three only such members of this brand new chivalric order. The other two were, of course, Admiral Staples and General Sulu, the two other men who had helped with the restoration of the Imperial throne.

"He looks so peaceful," she commented out loud absently, her free hand caressing his cheek.

Bill, whom she hadn't noticed follow her to the chair, nodded from the other side of it, cigarette between his fingers.

"His whole body's at rest," he confirmed. "It's only his brain that's running at Mach bloody Seven."

"Will it hurt him?" she asked, her hand toying with his silk-like hair.

Bill shrugged, taking a drag. "Who's to say?" he answered honestly. "Never been a case like this before that I know of. But, since it's Harry, I'm going to place my bet on him coming out of his little coma the picture of bloody perfection."

Ginny frowned up at her brother. "Does Fleur let you talk like that around her?" she asked pointedly.

Bill smirked. "Of course not; which is why it's a good thing she's supervising the fine-tuning of our combat vehicles in the hangar and not here," he said shortly before blowing out some excess smoke.

Ginny smiled a bit before returning her loving attention to Harry. "I didn't see much when I came in; are the others here?" she asked calmly.

Bill nodded—not that she could see it, though. "They're practically being restrained by the guards at the right hand side of the bridge right now," he told her. "The moment you came in, it looked like Ron and mum were going to start a stampede."

Ginny made no move to acknowledge what he'd said, though Bill knew she'd heard him. This was confirmed with her following request.

"Let them come, but don't let them make a huge fuss," she told him. "My Harry needs his peace and quiet," she said, smiling lovingly at the unconscious form of her husband.

Bill gave her a look before turning his attention to the guarded people in question, nodding to the guards to let them go. Very slowly, the Imperial Marines did so, taking a step back and to the side in order to let the ex-Order members through their human cordon. As though understanding the terms of their conditional release, the group slowly made their way towards the command chair, either ignoring or silently acknowledging the dirty looks they were getting from the rest of the bridge crew as they passed by the work pits.

Once they were within arm's distance, Bill raised his hand and the group felt their feet suddenly stop moving. He gave them an easy, lop-sided smile by way of explanation.

"Sorry," he apologized with a completely unrepentant tone. "But that's as far as anyone's getting to the boss man."

Ron seemed about to protest, but Hermione quickly stilled her husband by grabbing onto his arm.

"Ron, don't," she hissed pleadingly.

Bill's smile widened. "Smart girl," he praised, before turning his head to the side to look at his sister, who was still caring for her comatose husband. "You wanted to see them, Firefly?"

Ginny paid him no heed for a moment, instead leaning down and kissing Harry on the forehead before straightening back up and facing the group. "I see you're all well," she said plainly. "Do you know why you're here?"

Deciding that she was probably one of the most level-headed people in the group, Frank nudged Hermione in the back to speak up. Glaring back at the older man, Hermione nonetheless complied.

"Bill told us," she confirmed. "The Empire wants us to abandon the idea of subversive activities against the state, and this battle is supposed to do that."

Ginny cocked her head to the side, a slightly impressed look on her face. "A good summation if I've ever heard one," she conceded. "But do you know how?"

"No," admitted Hermione. "To be honest, there's a few of us here who don't even know why we're here, to be honest," she added, looking back at Frank for a while. "I mean, Frank here was a principal backer of the dissolution of the Order, and yet he's still here."

Ginny smiled. "When the Service was collating the data on intended targets for—shall we call it re-education?—the parameters for said targets were pretty wide. As a result, the IIS decided that anyone who'd been part of the Order and didn't currently perform some sort of job that established their integration into the Imperial community had to be re-educated," she explained, before shrugging and half-heartedly smiling. "Sorry."

From the look on Frank and Moody's faces, they were more or less understanding in their reactions to this piece of news, though they certainly did have a good deal of disgruntlement showing as well. Not that she blamed them.

Ginny then noticed a familiar face amongst the crowd. "Draco!" she greeted with a smile. "I see they picked you up as well."

The blond man nodded his head shortly in response, but made no other sign.

This didn't deter Ginny's smile, however. "I met your mother, you know," she informed him.

Draco's ears perked at this pronouncement, and a flicker of interest flashed in his sombre eyes. "Is she dead?" he asked bluntly.

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe. Last I saw her, she was on her way to make a crater into the ground," she told him. "I might have also stabbed her several times, so it's a good bet that she's well on her way to meet your father in the after-life."

Draco nodded sullenly, oddly enough making no overt show of grief at the news of his mother passing away. "Pity. I'll have to make arrangements, then," he said instead.

That seemed to set off a memory for Ginny, because she then moved her attention back to Hermione. "Oh yeah!" she exclaimed. "Viktor says hi, by the way."

Hermione's expression was blank. "Viktor?" she asked, before quickly making the connection. "As in, Viktor Krum?"

Ginny nodded, smiling easily. "He's part of the new troops that got sent down a couple of hours ago," she explained. "I saw him on the ground. Literally and figuratively, as it turns out," she added after a moment's contemplation.

While Ron seemed to fume with jealousy at the thought of his wife's former paramour, Hermione was more interested in Ginny's latest commentary.

"What do you mean, literally on the ground?" she asked carefully, a cold feeling coming down her spine.

Ginny sighed. "He and his team are badly hurt. Narcissa took them down in seconds—didn't even give them a chance to react," she explained. "They're probably in the emergency operating rooms—all four of them."

Draco flinched at the information that it was his mother that had caused the mentioned damage. "Sorry," he muttered barely audibly.

Hermione, however, was showing pure horror on her face as her hands came up to cover her mouth in shock.

Ginny sighed once again. "Yeah, it wasn't a pretty sight," she said. "I daresay that transport's going to need a thorough cleaning to get all the blood out."

Ginny had to stop herself from grinning as she watched that last throwaway make her Order audience look a bit queasy. Sure, she wasn't feeling particularly hostile towards most of them, but she still took great pleasure in teasing them.

"Anyway," she continued, jabbing her thumb in the doorway's direction, "you can go visit him after you're done here. I'm sure he'd like to see some more familiar faces."

"When would that be?" asked Moody gruffly. "We've been told squat about how we're supposed to swear off the old ways."

Ginny grinned. "Ah, yes. Your present, you mean."

That threw them for a loop. "Present?" asked Ron, somewhat confused—thereby speaking for the rest of the group quite accurately.

Just then, Bill put up his hand to his ear, before nodding and whispering a few words and then turning back to Ginny.

"He's awake," he stated simply.

Ginny nodded gratefully, her eyes still on the group, searching their faces for any changes in expression. "Thanks, Bill."

"Who's awake?" pressed Ron, deciding that he'd remained silent for damn well long enough. He was bursting with questions—and not a few insults towards his captors—and he was determined to find the answers he was looking for.

Ginny, however, needed no special prodding. With an almost excited and anticipatory smile, she merely said one word, which blew their minds. "Dumbledore."

Of course, this just ripped the lip right off of that particular can of worms. Despite the glares from the bridge crew, the ex-Order members had begun shouting out questions in rapid succession, both drowning each other out and disallowing Ginny a chance to answer anything.

It wasn't until Bill waved over the Imperial Marines—who proceeded to corral the wizards into a tight group—that order was restored, to the relief of Admiral Wolf, who gave Bill a grateful nod before resuming his hands-on captaincy of the Invincible.

Finally, it was Hermione who, once again took the first step forward in getting the answers to their questions. It was quite simple really; all she did was raise her hand like a schoolgirl asking a question. Ginny, of course, humoured her and nodded in her direction, which Hermione took as a prompt to speak.

"Why is Dumbledore here?" she asked. "No, more importantly, what did you mean when you said he was awake?" she clarified.

Ginny smiled at her, somewhat proudly. "That's the Hermione I know," she praised softly, a kind smile on her face. "Always with the right questions."

Bill rolled his eyes, keeping his attention focused on a mechanical tablet that one of the bridge crew had given him for inspection. He was furiously tapping away at its LCD screen with his fingers, merely muttering, "Yes, isn't she just a wonderful little bundle of inquisitiveness?"

Ginny shot her brother a reproachful look. "Be nice, Bill."

Bill made no sign of hearing her in response.

Instead of fighting that lost battle, Ginny opted to answer Hermione's query instead. "What did you think Viktor and his people were doing on the ground?" she asked rhetorically. "Especially since we've air evacuated no one else due to the dangerous ground situation? Have a tea party and got sick of it?"

Ginny shook her head. "It's quite simple really. We had a suspicion about the cause of Riddle's seemingly spontaneous golem army, and we followed up on it. Turns out we were right."

"Dumbledore was forced into creating the golem army?" asked Ron.

Ginny cocked her head to the side pensively. "Not the way I'd have described it, but sure, let's go with that if it makes you sleep better at night," she allowed.

Bill snorted. "Bollocks," he said derisively. "No need to mollycoddle them, Gin. They're big kids enough to know the truth."

"What truth?" Hermione asked immediately, seizing on the opportunity.

Gin sighed. "That we don't think he was forced into doing anything," she said wearily, as if the whole situation was boring her out of her mind. "It is the Service's belief that Dumbledore willingly made contact with and then assisted Riddle shortly after the victory at Harrisburg."

As the Order group was digesting this fresh piece of information, she glanced over at Bill. "There, happy now?" she asked.

Bill shrugged. "The truth is the truth. Our time is too valuable trying to accommodate their irrelevant little feelings," he stated firmly. "In fact, if they're quite done here, now that we've told them, can you get them out of here? The Admiral is looking a little frustrated with their presence."

Ginny merely grinned at his intransigence. "Yeah, yeah," she waved off his concerns, before looking at the Marines. "Escort them out, if you please. If they want to see Dumbledore, take them to the recovery ward. Whoever wants to see Krum can inquire there as well."

The Marine sergeant in charge nodded briskly, saluting her with a stiff arm before barking out the relevant orders to his men. Without paying heed to the protestations of Molly and Percy Weasley, who were seemingly anxious to talk to their estranged family members as they hadn't been able to yet, the group was marched out of the bridge, leaving Ginny and Bill flanking Harry's command chair by themselves.

Bill broke the silence first. "When do you think Harry's going to wake up and end this silly business, then?" he asked. "Ballpark figure, that is."

Ginny smiled, looking out to the clear sky through the bridge's reinforced windows. "When he's ready."

Outside of the bridge, the Order members were all trudging amidst the heavily armed Imperial Marines towards the lift, when Hermione decided to broach a topic she'd been feeling bugged about. Turning to Malfoy, she shot him an inquisitive stare that he immediately picked up on.

"What is it, Granger?" he asked quietly, no reproach or evil feelings in his voice.

"You didn't seem particularly torn up hearing about your mother's death," she noted simply. "Not that I mean to pry, but…"

"You want to know why, yeah?" he finished for her, a weak smile on his face. "And yes, you did mean to pry. At least be honest about that."

Hermione had the sense to look sheepish. "Sorry."

Malfoy let out a soft chuckle. "I guess it is weird, yeah? Not losing it when a parent dies, I mean," he conceded. "I guess I didn't feel much about it because, if I'm being honest with myself—and that'd be a new development, mind you—I probably didn't know my parents at all."

Hermione simply looked even more curious now. "How do you figure?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I always thought it was all about family and honour, you know?" he told her. "That's how I was raised, anyway, at least until '94."

"When the Council of Death first showed itself," she said softly. The group then moved into the lift and Malfoy resumed their conversation, still speaking in low tones to avoid the others butting in.

"Yeah," Malfoy nodded in agreement. "Then, dad became all obsessed about gaining power. Mum was always behind him—she'd never considered not supporting him, they loved each other so much—but it quickly became apparent that family was his number two priority then, even if it took me years to realize that."

Malfoy shivered. "The things he did; the things he showed off to me…I couldn't handle it anymore," he confessed. "That's when I began to have doubts about joining the Council's side. It wasn't about honour and family anymore—it wasn't even about blood, like they said. They used anything and anyone to achieve their ends, and while that's a remarkably Slytherin thing to do, it never seemed enough for them."

"They just kept wanting more and more, didn't they?" Hermione agreed, putting in her two cents.

Malfoy nodded. "It was hard," he admitted. "Watching dad become lost in the addiction to power. Oh, he never stopped loving his family—I'll never believe that—but he lost his way. He wasn't independent minded anymore. Whatever the Council said, he followed. He jumped from bandwagon to bandwagon as the Council's attitude swayed, and that told me the strength of his convictions. It was disappointing."

He took a deep, contemplative breath then. "It's so ironic, in hindsight. Because he backed the Council through thick and thin, my life became more luxurious with every passing day; and yet I couldn't stand it more and more with every new luxury. Eventually, it felt like the whole house was one big reminder of how much a sell-out my father had become, so I took a stand. I decided to make my own view; take stock, so to speak, of what I believed in."

He smiled sadly in her direction. "That's when I realized I didn't want to be like him—a slave to someone else's whims. So, I jumped ship, found you guys, and signed up. When he died, I felt nothing. Not because I didn't love him—I did and still do—but because that wasn't the man who'd raised me; just some shadow of his past self," he explained. "The same applies to mum. This isn't her. There's nothing subtle about her, nothing aristocratic, or caring, or nurturing. Her mind's not her own—it's Riddle's."

"My parents were dead the moment they lost themselves to the people they served," he concluded. "Those people who died on the battlefield later, wearing their faces, were empty shells—void of what had made them family long ago."

Hermione looked at the sulking ex-Slytherin with a shocked expression. She had never, in her entire lifetime, imagined that Draco Malfoy, bane of all non-Slytherins ever, would become this insightful and this mature. This wasn't to say she was attracted to him—Diana help her!—but she felt herself bonding with the young man.

"I hate this war," she said, effectively summing up how the two felt.

"Amen," he agreed.

Unknown Location…

The young man in his chair was watching his counterpart with some interest. He had an idea in mind, and time was running out on his little entrapment plan.

"How about a wager?" he asked suddenly.

The taller, older man glared at him, still trying his best to tear the room apart, with little success. Everything he tried to smash or break would repair itself instantly, as if by magic.

"Explain," he answered spitefully.

The shorter man made no sign of being offended by the tone. Instead, he smiled easily. "A wager; a bet. An agreement made between two people on terms contingent to the outcome of a particular situation; a—"

The taller figure threw a book through his shorter counterpart, to no effect. "I know what a wager is, you pompous brat!" he snarled.

The shorter man laughed. "Right, right. Anyway, here's the deal: this little ploy of mine's about to end. Sad, really, I was getting comfortable with our little chat," he mockingly lamented. "So, in honour of our parting, I figured you'd be interested in making a little bet about how this battle's going to end."

The taller figure looked interested. "What are you proposing?" he asked silkily.

The shorter man grinned—he had him. "I'll bet you that, once we're out of here, it will take me three moves," he raised his left hand, lifting three fingers, "to force you into a confrontation with me."

"And those moves would be…?" asked the taller figure tentatively, wondering if he'd get an answer.

"Ah, ah, ah!" responded the shorter man, waving a finger in the negatory. "That would be telling."

The taller man snarled. "And what happens if you win or lose?" he then asked, still interested.

The shorter man steepled his fingers. "If I'm right, then there's no surprises when we fight. It's all-out from the very start," he explained. "If I'm wrong, then, by all means, keep anything you want in reserve and I'll fight with no surprises. Deal?"

The taller figure gave his counterpart a distrustful look. "How am I to trust you to keep your word?" he asked. "Not that I have any doubts that I shall end up victorious."

The shorter man had to keep himself from jumping about. This was what he was waiting for. "An Unbreakable Vow," he said shortly. "Agreed?"

The taller man scoffed. "With no third party? You're more incompetent than I gave you credit for!"

Now it was the shorter man's turn to scoff. "That's when we're in physical bodies, you ignorant berk," he shot back. "In here, it's all magic. What we have transcends a simple bond, you know. We are irrevocably linked by magic. If we want to make Unbreakable Vows in here, we could keep going until the cows come home and we wouldn't need a third party to activate them. Our magical bond will do it for us."

His counterpart seemed a little hesitant in accepting the explanation, but eventually relented, given that it was a solid argument, insofar as magic was concerned, anyway.

"Fine," he agreed, holding out his wand arm, as was customary with this particular ritual. "It's a wager."

The shorter man's smile had to be restrained before it turned feral and tipped off his counterpart to the hidden elements of his plan. Getting up from his chair, he stood face to face with his mortal enemy and, raising his own wand arm, grasped the man at the offered wrist, the older man doing the same to him.

"Do you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, called Voldemort, agree to the following terms of our wager: that if I succeed in forcing a confrontation between us in three tactical moves, you shall fight in said confrontation without any restrictions whatsoever, on penalty of losing your magic and your life?" asked the shorter man. "And that, if I should fail to elicit such a confrontation, I shall be bound to fight to my utmost, whereas you shall not, on penalty of my losing my magic and life?"

Voldemort stared at his younger counterpart searchingly, as if looking for any signs of a trap. There weren't any. "I will."

Thin, glowing lines entwined the hands of both men, wrapping themselves tightly around their combined wrists and hands. The older man then looked at his younger counterpart with severity and continued the ritual. "Do you, Harry James Potter, agree to the same?"

Without any hesitation, Harry nodded. "I will."

The lines around their hands glowed brighter. The two then, in unison, completed the ritual by speaking the same line.

"Our consent being given freely, we vow to uphold this arrangement, on pain of death."

With that, the lines glowed their brightest, then faded until they were seemingly absorbed into the hands of the two men, who quickly sprung apart.

Harry grinned at his archrival. "Oh, you are so going down, Tom," he taunted confidently.

Voldemort was not one to lose his cool over so petty a taunt, however. "Delude yourself all you want, Potter. I will emerge triumphant in this battle."

As they exchanged their rather childish taunts, however, the two noticed that their feet were starting to get encompassed by a bright, white light, signalling the end of their entrapment. Indeed, the chains that had held back Voldemort snapped open and fell to the ground in a loud clank, causing the powerful wizard to cackle loudly.

"I'm free!" he rejoiced, laughing in a distinctly evil manner.

Harry didn't seem concerned, however. "Enjoy it while you can, Tom. I'll be looking forward to our fight," he said confidently, as the light began to engulf them up to their torsos, making its way up steadily.

Voldemort sneered. "Don't worry, Potter. I'll be waiting. Amidst the broken remains of your pathetic army, I'll be waiting."

With that, the light engulfed their entire bodies, and with a flash, the two men were gone.

Invincible…

The bridge was a scene of utter chaos now. Not the typical, ordered chaos of a military vessel's bridge on a normal day, however; real, utter chaos.

The lights that illuminated the room had switched their colour from incandescent white to strobing red, indicating the high state of alertness throughout the ship. The alert had been sounded by the magical monitor technicians, who had suddenly, and without any warning, mashed his fist into the alarm button, surprising everyone.

"What the hell is going on?" roared Admiral Wolf as he ran over to the technician in question.

"Massive magical spike, sir!" reported the worried technician as his computer screen went haywire with the readings it was being forced to project. "It's off the bloody scale!"

Leaning over the crewman's shoulder, Wolf inspected the monitor himself and quickly agreed with the man's assessment. "Shit!" he swore, turning to the shields technicians. "All shields to full power! Magical Shockwave Type Five on its way!" he roared. "Warn the other ships! All ships to put their shields to full! Recall all fighters!" he ordered in quick succession.

There was no hesitance amongst the crew. A Magical Shockwave Type 5 was one of the most powerful types of magical backlash in existence—enough that, without their shields, even the Airships, at 50,000 feet, would feel the blast hard enough to fry any and all electronic equipment. Fighters, on the other hand, wouldn't stand a chance in hell.

The situation was, therefore, quite desperate. And yet, in the room of utter chaos, three people were seemingly unaffected by the news. One was unconscious, but the other two were not, and they stood vigil by the unconscious one's chair.

"It's time," said Bill, only a tinge of nervousness in his voice. "I can't believe it's finally time."

Ginny, for her part, was all smiles. "First, the basilisk awakens," she said.

Almost prophetically, a cry of alarm burst from the crewman who'd reported the spike.

"Shockwave is imminent!"

"We've lost four squadrons!" cried the flight monitors.

"All shields at full!"

And then the blast hit.

Very little could actually rock an Invincible-class Airship, and yet there they were. The whole ship rocked as though someone had hit the ship with the force of an appropriately sized sledgehammer. The shields held—barely—and so the ship was saved, but that didn't mean they hadn't suffered loss.

Wolf was beside himself with anxiety and rage. "Status report!" he roared, getting up from where he'd taken a spill on the ground.

"We've lost communications with the Chimera, Interceptor, and the Leopard, sir!" reported one of the communications crewmen.

"Four and a half squadrons lost, sir!"

"Shields are barely holding at fifteen percent, sir!"

Wolf smashed his fist onto the surface of a console, though it did nothing to affect its functionality. He was beyond furious at this development. How had no one seen this coming? "What in the name of Hitler's wrinkled balls was that?!"

"Voldemort," was Ginny's quick, simple response from her place at Harry's side. "He's awake."

That statement alone served to chill the crew's spines more than the prospect of facing a MS 5 again.

"More accurately," Bill intervened, "whatever was keeping him out of the fight and collapsed, resulting in the unleashing of a backlash of magical energy he was probably pouring against his constraints to be released."

Wolf paled. "He's powerful enough to unleash an MS Five by himself?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Ginny shook her head. "No. He's powerful, but not that powerful. My guess is that being in Hogwarts reinforced the amount of magic he was pouring into countering the constraints he was under. In a way, you could say Hogwarts served as an amplification dish."

That didn't really serve to ease Wolf's concerns, however. "What do you mean, amplification dish?" he asked angrily. "I just lost three ships to this bloody attack! Do you realize what this means?! He could use the damn castle to shoot us down one by one!"

Bill nodded. "A sound plan on his part, if he's thought of it," he agreed.

Ginny, however, was still not worried, as she felt something within her pump up her adrenaline. It was anticipation, she realized, as her magical core began to resonate.

"I wouldn't worry," she told everyone with a confident smile, her eyes falling to her sleeping husband. "Like I said before: first,the basilisk awakens…"

The bridge began to shake again, violently. Wolf and his crew, including Bill, were hard pressed to stay upright, though Ginny was immovable. Throughout the ship, the same scenes repeated themselves: men and women, Marines and technicians; captives and captors—everyone had to grab onto something to stay rooted to a spot, lest they harm themselves. In the docking bays, the dock workers had to run for cover as crates shifted dangerously about. Injuries were inevitable, given the violence of the ship's trembling. People had broken bones or sprained muscles as they fought to keep themselves upright, with little success.

Even the Queen, whose quarters were amongst the safest in the entire ship, was not unaffected. Sitting on a well grounded chair, she firmly grasped the ends of her chair arms and waited out the trembling, her own instinct telling her not to worry.

"…Harry…" she whispered the one word, blocking out the sight of her guards and attendants scrambling for cover and safety.

Yet, throughout this chaos, Ginny never moved her attention from Harry's sleeping form.

Thus, she watched as every feeding and monitoring line attached to his body was violently wrenched out of his body by some unseen force. Then, even more extraordinary, his closed eyes began to emit a silvery fume, and still Ginny made no show of surprise. She didn't have to. Her core was telling her everything was alright—that this was what Harry had been hiding all this time, and that she should just watch.

She leaned down until she was right above his forehead and smiled. "…And now the dragon awakens as well…" she finished her metaphor by kissing her husband lightly and lovingly on the forehead.

And then, Harry opened his eyes.