AN: Next chapter! Enjoy!

Hogwarts Grounds…

The effect of the Magical Shockwave Type 5 was not felt as harshly on the ground as it had been in the air. No one had been brought to their knees by the event, but they had all realized its significance when every piece of electronic equipment they possessed shorted out within seconds of each other. Once again, as it was before the Anti-Tech ward had been taken down, the Imperial Army was left with no way of communicating with each other. This presented itself as a big problem for the ground elements of the Imperial forces, seeing as how they were divided into two groups that now had to manoeuvre themselves independently of each other, completely incapable of coordinating with their counterparts.

The Second Gate was where the problem was most obvious. Unlike the elements under General Sulu, the Imperial forces at the Second Gate, under the command of Brigadier Neville Longbottom were vastly outnumbered by the golem forces, which, although they were slowing down their attacks, were nonetheless still a very real threat to their capture of the important strategic location. It was all they could do to hold on, in fact, as the waves of enemies kept falling on them.

But that wasn't their most pressing concern, oh no. Ironically enough, it was their own forces that were concerning them mostly.

More specifically, the fact that their ships were falling from the sky.

"INCOMING!"

Neville threw himself to the ground as another Imperial fighter jet came screaming down through the sky, barely missing the gate and instead ploughing right into the path that led up to the castle proper. To their luck, none of them had actually hit the gate itself, or else they would be facing a massive breach in their already tenuous defences. They hadn't been as lucky with the casualties, though.

Ten of his people had died due to either getting their bodies crushed by the falling fighters, or the debris that followed the crash. The wounded numbered ten times that. Even worse, none of this took into account the amount they'd already lost to the fight to keep the Gate.

As it was, from about 3,000 initial defenders—reinforcements included—about 2,500 were left standing in any shape to fight.

Their enemy was maybe five times that number. Or more. He had no way of telling, really. To him, it was just one big, incredibly irritating mass.

"Any chutes?" he asked impassively as he got back up, just in time to see another fighter crash right in the middle of the aforementioned mass.

The ADST next to him nodded. "We've managed to get eyes on about fifty chutes within our lines, sir," she reported evenly, her helmet off since it wouldn't work without its electronic equipment. "About three dozen were sighted over General Sulu's lines, sir, but we also have reports of thirty or so dropping in the middle of the enemy forces."

Neville sighed. Those men would be killed on sight, he knew. There was no way to save them, unfortunately. He was at least grateful that the rest had fallen into friendly hands. He could always use more manpower to protect the gate, even if these flyboys were probably woefully unequipped to fight a land war.

"Any injured?" he asked, following up on the report.

The woman shrugged, her bob-cut hair bouncing slightly in the process. "About ten or so suffered burns when their equipment practically exploded on them. No fatalities though, thank god," she reported. "They should be ready for combat in an hour or so, at most."

Neville nodded. "Good, good." He glanced in the direction of the defenders on the ramparts to either side of him. Some of them had begun to slouch from exhaustion. "Send in the next rotation. Get these men out of here," he ordered.

The woman nodded in affirmation and then turned, cupping her hands around her mouth. "ROTATE!" she yelled out. "FOURTH GROUP, OFF THE RAMPARTS! FIFTH GROUP, GET YOUR ASSES UP HERE!"

Neville sighed. If only the communicators weren't fried, they wouldn't have to resort to shouting their orders at each other. This way was just tiresome, in his opinion, and a bit of an assault on his ears, as well. Still, it was quite fortunate that the ADST had such powerful lungs, for everyone in range seemed to hear the order and immediately moved to comply.

"You should be a drill sergeant, corporal," he told her after she'd stopped shouting, unclasping his hands from his assaulted ears. "With such lungs, I doubt there'd be a single trooper dumb enough not to obey orders."

The trooper gave him a dirty look. "I like being in the midst of it, sir," she retorted. "Drilling newbies is for the birds."

Neville had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling her that, according to one figurative meaning of birds in that expression, she was such a candidate. Instead, he opted to keep his attention on the defence of his gate. The fifth rotational group (out of a total of 5) had just got to their positions, allowing their predecessors to evacuate to the relative safety of the ground behind the magically reinforced stone walls.

He had to wince when he saw this group's first casualty—a slicing curse to the face. It wasn't a pretty way to go at all. The man's comrades, however, were quick to retaliate, as all 499 of those left alive opened fire on the mass of golems at the foot of the gate, mowing down their numbers considerably. Even as they tried to ram the gate with a variety of tools or spells, the unending stream of fire from the gate defenders ensured that the gate suffered minimal damage, and any attempts to scale the walls were quickly eradicated by concentrated firepower.

Neville particularly enjoyed watching the troops man the heavy machinegun emplacements. Without the need for pause, the heavy weapons tore through the enemy ranks as though they were tissue paper, killing them not through pinpoint accuracy but through sheer overwhelming damage.

Neville looked towards the south, where three pillars of smoke were rising from behind the valley's surrounding mountains. His rearguard had told him that they'd seen three Imperial Airships careening down towards the ground, which stung Neville deeply. Whatever had knocked out their communicators, he knew, was now also responsible for the deaths of the crews of all three of those ships. The only good side to that particular bit of news, he knew, was that the entire fleet had not come crashing down—that would have been a cataclysmic disaster for the Imperial forces.

Neville suddenly felt tired. Nodding to the ADST he'd been keeping company, he made his way past her, giving only a single parting comment, "I'm going to catch some rest. Send for me if you need me."

He failed to see the ADST's nod, but that didn't bother him—he simply assumed it was given. Starting down the staircase that led to the ground, Neville observed the rest of the defenders, all of them resting, awaiting their turn to go to the ramparts.

Most of them had separated into their rotational groupings, but not all of them. Some chose to mingle here and there, thus keeping themselves always active. A few others had bunched up right against the walls and were taking naps, taking full advantage of the gate's shadow to keep themselves cooled off during the day.

Two days, Neville realized. Two days they had been keeping this gate under Imperial control, against overwhelming and impossible odds. Yet, still they stood; proud and strong. They had suffered their fair share of deaths—that much was true, but still the Union Jack flew from the ramparts, defiant in the face of a tide of nightmarish darkness.

And yet, there, amongst the resting men, was the testament to their sacrifice. Graves, lined up on the cliff facing the south, marked the final resting places of their fallen brethren. For the regular soldiers, their tombstones were their broken rifles, while the ADST set up the fallen soldier's rifle with his/her helmet on top. In the middle of this sombre reminder of the cost they had suffered for holding the gate, a tall, ADST battle standard flew—what they hoped would be a permanent reminder of those who gave their lives for Crown and Empire. Its motto was fitting, too, as a grave marker.

Loyal Even In Death.

Neville had wondered, at first, as to why soldiers would set up such a depressing sight within view of the place they were bound to defend with their lives. Someone outside the service would probably posit that it could only serve to deteriorate morale, but after some careful consideration and examination, Neville knew this was not so. Rather, the fact that the makeshift graveyard was in full view of the gate served to bolster morale, in a twisted way.

If nothing else, it served as a stark reminder of the consequences of defeat.

But for the more experienced soldiers, the grave was a source of indignant fury that they channelled into offensive skill against their opponents. Each and every person buried in their small cemetery was a fallen brother or sister, and for the ADST detachment of the First Legion especially, each fall was akin to an insult, which they all took personally.

Neville turned his eyes back towards the rampart, though just for a glance. It was seeing the ADST's in action that reminded him why they were always considered the best. They were stalwart, both the men and the women, and disciplined in a way that made everyone else pale in comparison. The First Legion lived and breathed combat, and their loyalty to the Crown was this side short of absolute fanaticism.

Hell, they had barely registered any shock when the electronics in all their equipment went dead. Instead of panicking, they simply pulled off the extraneous equipment and got right back to fighting, never once missing a beat. In comparison, Neville had to calm down almost every one of his subordinate officers, lest they lose control over their troops.

Neville shook his head, freeing himself from that line of thought. He hadn't come down from the wall to brood—he needed his rest, damn it all! Looking around, he found a nice, shaded area at the foot of the wall and, seeing no one else near said place, he walked over and plopped himself on the ground, adopting a sitting posture against the wall. He would have laid down entirely, if it were not for the fact that he needed to be able to get on his feet quickly in case of emergency.

Not that it was possible to fully rest in this place, anyway. With the constant sound of explosions and gunfire, it was already a miracle anyone could sleep in the vicinity of the gate.

Still, Neville had to make due, so, trying to empty his mind of all thought, he closed his eyes, shifted his back around in order to get as comfortable as possible, and slowly, but surely, fell asleep.

HMIS Invincible…

Harry's awakening had caused quite a stir.

Heck, even that was an understatement.

The slumbering hero of the Empire had been given up as a lost cause by many of the higher brass present at the engagement. Thus, when he was reported to be awake, the Invincible's communications crew was bombarded with audience requests from every other ship that was still in the air.

And yet, Harry had turned them all down, settling instead for a nice, passionate kiss from his wife; a change of clothing, as his uniform was now all wrinkled from having been slept in; and a wash and shave, considering that he'd gone without doing so for two days.

By the time he'd returned, the bridge had regained some sense of functionality as the crew was put back to work by Admiral Wolf, who refused to accept Harry's awakening as an excuse to stop doing one's job.

Thus, when Harry returned to the bridge, he was smiling pleasantly at Wolf, who was standing at attention and snapped off a salute the moment Harry had walked in.

"At ease, Admiral," he replied, saluting back. "Well done, getting the men back to work."

Wolf merely nodded stoically, instead moving on to more pressing concerns. "Sir, we lost three ships, Vanguard-class, when Riddle's awakening loosened that MS Type 5. Other ships are also dealing with damaged electronics," he reported. "They are asking for orders, sir."

Harry had only one ear focused on listening to Wolf, however. Most of his attention was held by his wife, whose chin he was lifting an infinitesimal amount with his left index finger. "Miss me much, darling?" he asked seductively, a sly smile on his face.

Ginny's own eyes sparkled. "Unbearably so," she replied immediately. "I'm glad you're fine, dear."

Wolf, so ignored by his superior, coughed loudly at the display of affection between the Duke and Duchess. Typically, he wouldn't interfere, but he had a fleet in chaos on his hands, and he'd lost all communication with ground forces—even if the occasional scouting fighter reported that they were still there.

Despite the cough, however, Harry never even turned to look at Wolf. Even so, he immediately fired off a few orders in response to Wolf's problems. "Admiral Wolf," he started, "please have the platform at the very front of the ship prepared for a magical ritual. Secondly," he continued, "once the ritual is done, open a communication channel using the encrypted frequency, to be connected to all personnel with the Black Operations tag attached to their dossiers. Lastly, inform the remainder of the Legion on board to prepare for deployment."

Wolf knew better than to question the Duke's orders, even if they seemingly ignored problems such as the lack of communications equipment, and so quickly relayed the orders to the appropriate communications crewmen. "Extract the ritual platform from the bow on my mark!" he ordered. "Shield officer, platform shielding status?"

The woman in charge nodded at him. "Ready to power up, sir."

Wolf nodded. "Extract the platform!" he barked. "Energize the platform environmental shielding!"

"Extracting platform, sir!"

"Platform environmental shielding activated, sir."

"Status report!" he demanded.

"Platform integrity at 99.9%, sir!" reported the hull diagnostics officer. "Environmental readings report wind speed has dropped down to ground-level, and oxygen levels are green."

Wolf nodded once, pleased with the report, before turning back to his superior, who was once again sitting in his command chair, albeit it very much awake this time around. "Preparations for the ritual platform have been completed, Your Grace," he reported dutifully. "Is there anything else you require immediately?"

Harry shook his head. "No, thank you, Admiral," replied Harry, smiling. With minimal effort, he pushed himself onto his feet and, offering his arm to his wife—which she took—turned to leave. "I shall prepare the necessary rituals for the completion of the next two orders, Admiral. Please be ready to transmit what I've said the moment the ritual is confirmed as having succeeded."

Wolf had a niggling question on his mind, however. "What about our ground forces, sir? They've been cut off from all communication," he stated. "Using our magical links would be highly inefficient—well, that and we sent most of them down to the surface with the ADST drops," he amended.

Harry smiled. "If the ritual goes right, then communications shouldn't be a problem, Admiral. The moment that communications normalize again, however, I would like it if you would inform the ground commanders that we need their lines painted with infrared."

Wolf didn't even need to ask why. The implied order was crystal clear to him. Turning back to his duties, he set out to make the appropriate preparations for the order that he knew he was going to be given the moment the friendly lines on the ground were painted with infrared, just as Harry left the room without another word.

Harry's revival had a predictable effect on the ship's population. As he'd walked down the corridors towards the bow of the ship, he'd been nearly assaulted by more than a hundred people who, zealous in their faith of the Empire, had tried to touch him as though some sort of religious icon. Thankfully, with the help of his wife, Harry was able to keep them all at bay, his present mission too important in his mind to allow himself to greet every single one of his admirers individually.

He gave himself props for the act he'd put on in the bridge when he heard the communications were down and that three Imperial Airships had gone down. To be truthful, he hadn't expected that from Riddle, and that the Dark Lord had done so implied an ingenuity that troubled Harry. He still had faith in his plan, however. No amount of surprises would ever make him doubt that. However, if Riddle wasn't as pigheaded about adapting his own strategies to meet Harry's, then going from planned stage to stage could be potentially more costly than Harry had first envisioned.

Oh, the Dark Lord would fall—no doubt about that. It would just cost the Empire another thousand or so lives, was the problem. It wasn't like the tally was low as it was, either—he guessed they'd lost about as much, if not more, than the Russians had in both World Wars combined as a result of the Dark War. So far, the consequences of such losses had been mitigated partly thanks to what amounted to a propaganda blitz of global proportions, and partly to the blind thirst for vengeance that the British people across the globe were feeling. However, that didn't mean he was about to throw millions to their deaths blindly. That wasn't part of the grand plan.

Nonetheless, morale demanded that he keep up his act of absolute confidence and cool demeanour. It was only after Ginny and he had entered a deserted hallway—in fact, the last one before the exit hatch to where the platform was—that he allowed himself to relax a little, letting out a sigh that instantly told his wife something was wrong.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked quietly, knowing that pushing him to tell her immediately would just backlash against her. She had been together with him long enough for that to be common sense.

"Riddle's smarter than I gave him credit for," he admitted, his free arm rising to cup his chin pensively. "I hadn't thought of using the castle as a magical amplifier, but apparently he did. Wolf is right to be afraid—if Voldemort got the kinks in the process straightened out, the castle itself would become a fearsome weapon."

Ginny cast him a worried look. "Shouldn't we storm the castle, then?" she asked. "Neville and his men are at the second gate, you know. They could probably take the castle."

"But not Riddle," Harry countered. "Riddle is too powerful. He would likely rip the attacking force to shreds."

"Why hasn't he, then?" she asked bluntly, stepping into his path to prevent him from avoiding her question. "He's right there. He could easily get out of the castle and retake the second gate. Why hasn't he yet, despite being awake?"

Harry frowned at his wife. "It's not so simple, love," he protested. "Since we got the old man out of there, Riddle needs to stay put in order to keep his precious golem army on the move. Even so, his connection to them is probably tenuous at best, considering he's not the Transfiguration master that Dumbledore is," he reminded her. "If he abandoned the connection outright to fight Neville's lads…"

"And lasses," interjected Ginny with a playful glare.

Harry nodded, giving his own smirk. "…and lasses," he amended, "then there would be no obstacle for Sulu's army to overcome in order to reach the castle."

Ginny still didn't look confident. "What about his…you know?" she asked, and he did indeed know. "Why not use them instead of the golems? That way, he wouldn't have to stay put."

Harry shook his head. "That would require time. The ritual he would need to perform would prevent him from controlling the golems, and if the Imperial Army is able to cross the fields of Hogwarts undeterred, then the combined strength of Sulu and Neville's forces would undoubtedly overcome the castle's immediate defences, leaving him open."

Ginny looked at her husband's face searchingly. "Do you know of a way to counter his plan?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't want to be one of those people who assumed Harry had a solution to everything, but seeing as how he was the puppet master of this whole campaign, she needed to be sure.

Harry gave her a slow nod. "I believe so. Part of it is what I'm about to do. The other part of it comes in three stages," he told her in a rare show of open frankness. "I'll need your help with the third part, though. Up to it?"

Ginny's face could have literally glowed with the happiness she was exhibiting at being so openly included into her husband's plans. It had been the first such time that he'd personally come out and said that he needed her help. Usually, it had been more of a command than a request, and so this instance basically made her entire day.

"Of course, love," she agreed without hesitation, any previous feelings of abandonment utterly gone now. "Anything."

Harry smiled, kissing her lightly on the lips as a show of thanks. "Thanks, Gin," he said honestly, before walking around her towards the hatch. "Time for the ritual. Fancy a look?" he offered, his hand on the hatch activation switch.

Ginny smiled back at him. "Always."

Harry smiled in return, activating the hatch release. With a hiss, the thick hull plating in front of him made a loud thudding sound as it was released from its locks and then pulled sideways into the hull, leaving the way open towards the outdoors.

Remarkably, there was no sudden rush of wind, despite the ship's altitude. This was not because there wasn't any, but rather because of the environmental shielding that Wolf had enacted the moment the platform had been extracted from within the ship. It basically created a self-contained environment within the platform that protected anyone on it from the hostile elements of the upper troposphere.

Harry's stride towards the centre of the circular platform was unerring and confident. He knew exactly what he was doing. Ginny's was less so, unsure as she was of what exactly Harry was planning to do. As such, she stayed by the hatch's frame, looking out at her husband's form as he went to the exact middle of the platform and then sat down into a lotus position.

Harry only gave her a single warning before he began, falling into silence immediately thereafter.

"Watch."

Almost as soon as he'd spoken the word, the sky seemed to fall into pitch black, despite the fact that it'd been sunny not two seconds ago. Ginny watched in awe as the platform, too, began to experience changes. Around where Harry had sat, a thin line of bluish energy raced around him, forming two perfect concentric circle around his position; one immediately around him, the other about a foot away from the first. The second circle wasn't done, however, as a line of that same energy raced away from where it had completed its circular form and began to design new symbols around it.

A crude, wing-shape here. Two connected circles there. Crosses interspersed here and there.

The symbology was lost on Ginny, of course. She had never, in all her years, both as a witch and as an Imperial agent, ever seen anything quite like the symbols that Harry—or, at least, she assumed it was Harry that was doing this—was creating.

The blue energy only finished its drawings when it finally created and completed a final, large circle that encompassed everything else it had drawn. The resulting art was quite beautiful, if nonsensical to Ginny, though she suspected that the drawings were more than just irrelevant doodles. She could sense the power that they were emitting, and it was impressive indeed.

Her attention was taken, however, by the fact that Harry had begun to speak, still in his lotus position. It wasn't any language she had ever heard of, however. It was full of hisses and growls, all of which served to make her believe that the magic being summoned was ancient indeed. It wasn't hurried, or violent. Instead, it sounded seductive, and commanding.

In fact, it was as though the blue lines of energy were responding to his every word, their luminescence growing with every syllable, until they lit up the environment against the pitch black that had miraculously descended on the platform. And then, Harry began to speak in English once more.

"…The Maker wills it, and it is done," he incanted. "From blackness, light. From death, life. As with the grass and the trees, the ant and man, the sea and the mountains, let Creation mould its vast powers and make humanity's creations whole again."

"Metal and lightning," he continued, the luminescence of the lines settled at a comfortable glow. "Hammer and fire. Let that which these tools and sources combined to create be made whole again. Let the work of Man return to its former glory, and let the tools we use to face our foes be restored such that we may deliver victory unto our Enemy."

He then lifted his head slightly, his closed eyes facing the black sky. "May the Maker's will be done, and may my request be fulfilled. May Creation spin its powers in our favour, and may Man's destiny be achieved."

Ginny blinked as Harry ended his incantation, his head lowering down to his chest, the light of the energy lines not making any changes. She had somewhat expected them to glow brighter until the magic was finally released, but no such event had happened. Instead, the glow seemed to dim little by little, until it was barely noticeable at all. Just when she'd believed the ritual to be a failure, however, Harry's head snapped back up and his eyes shot wide open, replaced by blue fire of the same colour as the energy lines. When he next opened his mouth to speak, however, Ginny could barely recognize his voice.

"Thisssss…we…asssssk…" he practically hissed, his voice hoarse and venomous.

And then, the glow did become brighter, all at once, almost blinding Ginny with its rapidity and intensity. She was forced to look away, her arms up to protect her failing sight as the glow pushed back at the darkness until it was no longer there. Then, just as she thought she could see no more, she felt it. A blast of magic unlike anything she had ever experienced before, washing through her like a furious tidal wave. So intense was it that she fell to the ground, spilling backwards from the blow, her eyes barely squinting through the light. She could hardly see anything happening on the platform, but what little she could told her that her husband was no longer sitting. He was floating.

Floating about a foot off the platform, in fact. His arms were limp at his side, his whole body acting as though it was being pulled up by some invisible hand. It was, to Ginny, a rather unnerving sight.

"HARRY!" she yelled, but found she could barely hear herself. Whatever the ritual had done, it had effectively drowned her out.

And yet, it apparently set something off, because the glow then almost immediately disappeared, as did the strange blackness around the platform. Instead, the day's actual weather was now visible, as was the sun. Harry was no longer floating, either—he was on the ground, apparently breathing heavily.

"God damnit I hate these types of spells," he said weakly in between heavy breaths. "Always kick the wind right out of you."

Ginny's jaw had dropped about an inch from the magical spectacle, but was quick to recover as she sped to her husband's side and slid into a kneel beside his prone figure. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

Harry smirked at her. "I'll be fine. It's mostly fatigue," he assuaged her. "Should be right as rain in half an hour, maybe," he said with a chuckle. "By the way, be a love, yeah? Get Wolf on the intercom and tell him to proceed with the second stage."

Ginny looked unsure; she didn't want to leave him lying there on the platform by himself—not if he was injured and he was just telling her he was fine to prevent her from worrying. Harry, however, knew her well enough to predict this line of thinking, which he responded to by giving her a comforting smile.

"Ah, my love, trust me," he told her with a playful smile. "I'm not lying to you about this, dear. Please, get Wolf to follow the plan. It's important."

Finally deciding that Harry was probably going to be alright, she quickly walked back into the ship and sought out the nearest intercom. Pressing the activation button with her thumb, she spoke into the speaker with a clear and audible tone.

"Assassin Mistress Ginevra Molly Weasly-Potter, Personal Serial Seven-Seven-Five-Charlie-Bravo, attempting to contact the bridge."

A small bulb on the intercom flashed green as her code and identification was processed successfully, and she heard the telltale click of the connection going through.

"Bridge control. How may we be of assistance, Mistress Potter?"

Ginny went straight to it. "My husband reports that the ritual should have been a success and is asking that the Admiral proceed with the plan, over," she dutifully reported, glancing out towards the platform, where Harry was just now getting back up. "He says that it's imperative that the plan proceed immediately," she added for effect.

"…Roger that, Mistress Potter. Admiral Wolf has acknowledged receipt of instructions. Out."

Ginny let go of the intercom's activation button and turned to see her husband enter the ship once more, pressing the hatch's activation button as he came in. Ignoring the sliding mechanism that would hermetically seal the ship once again, he instead gave his wife an inquisitive look.

"Did Wolf get the message?" he asked.

She nodded. "He should be activating the plan right about now," she informed him.

Harry gave her a sinister smile. "Good. Then we need to get to the bridge ASAP."

Ginny gave no response, instead falling into pace behind him as he led the way back to the bridge, a much more confident stride in his step now that his plan was well under way.

Hogwarts Grounds…

"I say again," the transmitters were patching through, "His Grace has awoken and restored all electronic devices. The Imperial fleet is advancing into position—evacuate any and all personnel from target areas. Bombardment commences in ten minutes."

Sulu had been stunned dumb when the transmission came through the radios. Most of his troops had thrown them away the moment the shockwave had rendered them useless, but he had kept one near him, mostly due to the fact that he couldn't be bothered to have someone remove it when he and his men were fighting to keep the Imperial lines secure.

If the transmission was genuine, however, then he needed to get his lead elements into the trenches immediately, lest the bombardment consume them as well. Since most of them would not have radios, Sulu settled for another method of signalling them to fall back.

He quickly turned to his closest aide and pointed at him. "Stevenson!" he barked. "Send up a red flare! Have the lead elements fall back to the furthest trenches we have and stay there!"

The adjutant, knowing full well why the order was given, wasted no time in speeding off to carry out the order. They had all see what the Basilisk gun was capable of, having one of their own already set up behind their lines, but they had never actually seen a full aerial bombardment by the Imperial Airfleet, and those Airships were crammed with Basilisk guns.

Sulu's gaze turned heavenward. He could not see the mighty Airships themselves, so high up were they and hidden by cloud cover, but he knew they were there. He only hoped that by the time they were in position to cast down their heavenly wrath, his men would be out of the way.

Hogwarts Grounds Imperial Front Lines…

Sergeant Edward Cain of the 12th Imperial Legion was, as most people in his Legion were, a Harrisburg volunteer. This meant that he'd joined the army after the coup, and more importantly, after the Battle of Harrisburg. To the rest of the army, he had no doubts that he and his Legion-mates were all a bunch of FNG's, but Edward had felt such pride in volunteering that he didn't mind the grumblings of the veterans from the other Legions, who often complained about how the new guys would end up getting them all killed.

Even so, and with a few months of preparation, Edward had never truly grasped the concept of warfare, he realized belatedly. He had imagined, as had many others, that war was pretty much like the Battle of Harrisburg—full of heroic last stands, staunch defences, and so forth. He had never actually considered that battle could be anything else, and this was a lesson he was being forced to learn right now.

He and his platoon had been sent to the very front of the line to try and push the golem army back a few yards, so as to give the Warders the time they needed to advance the Imperial trench lines. This meant using the craters left behind by the Basilisk gun's occasional bombardment as cover, given that other than that, it was pretty much flat ground from their lines to the Second Gate.

So far, things had started off pretty badly. His Lieutenant, a pretty little thing called Margaret Sewell, had taken a slicing curse to the face, and had to be medivacked out of the firefight urgently, leaving him in command. This was particularly bad news for Edward, since Lieutenant Sewell was an honest-to-God war veteran of the Fifth Legion who'd opted to transfer to his Legion in order to guarantee the availability of good leadership even amongst the newer military units. Edward, on the other hand, was about as green as spring grass.

Still, a coward he was not, and he wasn't about to leave his men directionless. Standing in the middle of one of the deeper craters left by the Basilisk gun's bombardment, he looked around and saw most of his platoon taking cover rather than returning fire. He couldn't blame them, given the incessant barrage of spells that were coming their way.

That didn't mean they could stay there, however. The Warders were counting on them to keep the enemy back long enough for the trench works to get completed. Thus, Edward knew what he had to do, even if he had to be the first one to do it. Pulling off an ME grenade from his belt, he took two steps forward up the crater slope, pulled out the pin with his teeth, and flung it out of the crater, towards the awaiting enemies. Even as the grenade sailed upwards, he brought up his rifle and, keeping it at hip-level, poured off a few rounds at his assailants, yelling in a frenzy as he did so.

Spells whizzed by his head and body as he miraculously didn't get killed for his insane show of bravado and heroism. It was only when the ME grenade hit ground and exploded—taking out two dozen enemy troops in the process—that Edward turned towards his men, the loosened earth from the explosion still raining down behind him.

"Come on, then, you sorry sacks!" he roared. "You maggots want to live forever?!"

It was a cliché, he knew, but a time-honoured one, and it worked just as well for him now as it did in all those movies. Inspired by their (possibly) insane sergeant's seeming imperviousness to get hit, the thirty or so remaining members of the platoon rose from their craters and opened fire on the enemy troops, taking down quite a few of them thanks in part to the confusion that the ME grenade had caused. Following such an example, numerous more of the platoon imitated him, and it was soon raining down ME grenades all over the place, causing massive blasts within the enemy ranks.

Edward pulled out a cigar from his jacket pocket and set it firmly between his teeth, lighting it up with the heated barrel of his rifle. It was another cliché, but he figured that they only ever became clichés due in part to their repeated effectiveness. He watched as his green troops decidedly punched a hole in the enemy ranks, and they were about to capitalize on it when he was suddenly tapped on the shoulder. Turning his head sideways, he glanced a young private from his platoon pointing towards the sky behind him.

"What is it, private?" he growled through his teeth.

"Sir, a flare!" the private pointed out, "Command is ordering us to pull back!"

Edward couldn't believe it, even as he turned around and confirmed it himself. Just as he was coming into his position; just as his men were starting to act like the Imperial soldiers the veterans complained they would never be, Command was pulling them off the line?!

"Fuck!" he yelled angrily. There was no way to fight Command on this, he knew. An order was an order, lest the 12th Legion become tainted with his insubordination. Quickly pulling out a whistle from inside his uniform, he blew it with all his might and waved his hands at his advancing platoon.

"FALL BACK!" he roared. "TO THE TRENCHES! FALL BACK!"

His troops seemed as dismayed as he felt, but he would brook no hesitation. "SMITH!, HENDERSON! MOVE IT! ALL TROOPS FALL BACK!" he kept yelling, marching up and down the scattered line until he was sure everyone was obeying, simultaneously ignoring the spellfire that kept missing him by a hair's breadth. "WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR?! AN INVITATION?! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

It was only when the last trooper had disengaged from the enemy that Edward finally began his own trek to the trenches, covering his escape by firing off sporadically at the enemy ranks. It was insane, he mused, how the enemy's troops just kept falling and still coming at them. How many had they already killed, and how many would they have to kill in order to finish this fight?

That same question burned within the minds of every Imperial soldier.

And then, without warning, the sky was lit on fire.

Hogwarts Second Gate,

Two Hours Ago…

Neville had been woken up quite suddenly from his nap. The trooper that had been shaking him seemed to be shaking as well, fear all over the young man's face as he kept repeating something that he was only slowly beginning to process in his mind.

"…is breaking, sir!" the young man kept repeating. "Sir, do you understand me? The gate is not going to hold!"

This time, Neville finally realized the young man's message and instantly shot to his feet, already sprinting towards the gate, the soldier right behind him. Neville couldn't believe that things had just taken such a horrible turn for the worse. The Second Gate, according to pre-Battle intelligence, was the single most heavily warded fortification that the castle had, barring the castle itself. There simply was no reason for the gate to be crumbling.

Yet, standing in front of the magically reinforced steel gate, Neville couldn't deny the trooper's report. The gate was indeed starting to bend backwards, the constant assault finally taking its toll on it. There was no time to lose.

Neville spun on his heel to face the soldier who'd reported the problem. "Pass the word for all troops not currently on the walls to begin reinforcing this gate!" he ordered. "Have them bring up stone from the cave and whatever else they can find to block this doorway!"

"Yes, sir!" the soldier said, snapping off a salute and then running off to relay the order.

Neville, for his part, turned his attention to the damaged gate. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and, pulling out his wand, pointed it straight at the doorway. "Reparo!" he incanted, and a jet of magical energy raced towards the damaged gate, hitting it but otherwise making no discernable difference.

The Brigadier narrowed his eyes. It had been too simple a trick, he supposed. He would have to unleash the big guns. Stowing away the wand, he instead brought up both hands and, having them face the door palms-up, he tried the incantation once again, tapping deep into his magical reserves. "REPARO!"

This time, there was some effect as two beams of magical energy raced from his hands and connected with the gate. The gate began to straighten itself out thanks to the spell, but it was obvious to Neville that the only repairs being made were of a structural kind, not magical. The magical defences themselves were withering under the continued assault, which meant that while the gate would be structurally sound, its magical reinforcement would eventually die out, leaving it highly vulnerable to systematic magical and physical assault.

Neville finally gave up his magical repair when the gate was fully restored to its previous integrity, but the decaying magical reinforcement made him lose none of his previous disconcertment. They were still in a very bad state, especially if the gate fell before Sulu's army managed to reach them.

His musings were broken when he noticed the first team of troopers pass right by him carrying rocks, no doubt from the cavern as he'd ordered, and placed them right against the gate. Then another squad, and another followed them, until each of the rotational teams had dropped off some sort of material to feed the barricade. Even so, the amount of material barricading the gate went up no more than three feet off the ground and two feet from the it, barely enough to deter the enemy advance. Thankfully, they seemed to realize this en masse, and so quickly went back to the cavern and wherever else they found their material of choice to block the entrance.

For the next two hours, that was all that Neville occupied himself with. Directing the teams as they came with more and more material, he had them pack the rocks and wood tightly, making sure that there were no structural deficiencies in the barricade that could collapse the whole thing in one hit. It was a tiresome task for his men, but they kept going at it, the stakes far too obvious for them not to.

At this point, Neville had opted to get back on the ramparts, anxious to see how the men there were faring. Taking the staircase two steps at a time, he was quickly at the top, just in time to see an Imperial regular take a blasting curse to the chest, flinging the man backwards towards the edge. Quickly summoning his wand to his hand, Neville shouted out another incantation, "Accio!"

The man jerked sideways as Neville's spell grabbed him just as he was about to go over the edge. However, instead, the man crashed right into Neville, who had jumped sideways to avoid falling down the stone staircase. It was only when they had stopped sliding on the stone ground that Neville realized that his actions had been fruitless—the man had been killed by the blasting hex on impact. Pushing off the corpse, Neville quickly got to his feet, ignoring the offered hands from nearby soldiers. A quick scan of the battlements told him that this particular rotational group had suffered quite a lot during their tenure. He could see at least twenty corpses along the wall, and several more seemed wounded.

The ADST corporal he'd talked to earlier was alive, he saw, but wounded, given the bleeding gash over her left brow. She didn't let it hinder her work, however, as she kept yelling off orders and intermittently fired off several rounds from her assault rifle into the assaulting crowd at the feet of the gate.

"Corporal!" he shouted, jogging towards her. The woman looked up from her assault at his call. "Status report!"

The woman returned her gaze to her work. "We've got twenty down, thirty injured, sir!" she told him brusquely. "Fucking dolls all of a sudden started assaulting the gate like it was going out of style; took down five men before we realized this was different from their usual lemming attacks!"

Neville nodded grimly. "I know," he told her. "The gate's losing structural integrity. The others are reinforcing it with whatever they can find, but we need more time," he pressed.

The woman shrugged. "We're giving them all we've got, sir. Ain't nothing more I can do for you," she told him honestly, taking down another three golems with a well-aimed burst.

"How long, do you think?" he pressed again. "How long till defences fail outright?"

The ADST gave him a grim look. "One hour, maybe. Less if the ammunition runs out. After that, it's in the Maker's hands," she told him. "Even so, I'd get ready for a last stand, sir. If that gate breaches, there won't be any of us that'll be able to get away."

Neville nodded just as grimly. "I know, we're—"

"What the hell is that?!" someone shouted, interrupting Neville and catching both his and the ADST's attention.

Looking up at the sky where the soldier was pointing, the two caught sight of the sky reddening at a spectacular rate. It was, Neville realized, as though the sky had been lit on fire.

HMIS Invincible…

Harry was back on his chair, calmly observing the holographic display of the battlefield. Specifically, his eyes were set on the holographic projections of the Airfleet, which was quickly moving into aerial bombardment positions above the battlefield.

"Sir, we've got positional confirmations from the Black Watch, Implacable, Relentless, and Empire. The Victory, Zeus, Zama, Churchill, and Ascension all report that they will be in position within three minutes," reported one of the communications crewmen. "The Aurora, Magnificent, Augustine, and Belisarius are all holding back at the coast, as per your orders."

Wolf nodded gratefully, turning his attention to the helmsman. "Helmsman, how much further till we are in position?" he asked.

The helmsman punched in a few keys on his keyboard and read the information that flashed onto his screen before answering. "Twenty seconds till in position, Admiral," he reported dutifully. He then turned to his co-pilots. "Three degrees starboard, lads."

"Three degrees, aye, sir."

Harry ignored the din of the control room, focusing intently on the holographic display. So far, Riddle hadn't done anything to stop the Airfleet from moving onto the battlefield, as he thought the older man would. Harry wasn't fond of admitting this, but he was slightly nervous at the man's inaction. Did this mean that the castle wasn't going to work for another MS 5? That would be great news, but there was no empirical evidence to suggest that. So far, he had to assume that Riddle had an ace up his sleeve that even he wasn't aware of.

Just then, his attention was broken by Ginny's warm breath hitting the left side of his neck. "Dear, we have visitors," she practically purred into his ear, making him shiver imperceptibly.

Wheeling his chair around, he watched as several people entered the bridge at that moment. At their head was Ron Weasley, followed by his wife and parents, and then Frank Longbottom and Mad-Eye Moody, who were half-carrying, half-dragging Dumbledore.

Harry sighed. This couldn't possibly end well.

Indeed, Ron's ears were reddened from suppressed anger. "What's this we're hearing about a bombardment of Hogwarts?!" he demanded.

Wolf, who already hated it when normal people entered his bridge, was practically fuming as he saw the ex-Order once again trample their way into the bridge. "That is none of your concern, Mister Weasley," the Admiral snapped off, retaining only a modicum of politeness towards the intruders. "These are military affairs, and you were not called to the bridge, so please vacate the premises!"

Both Ron and Molly Weasley seemed about to launch into a tirade when Hermione pushed through them and appealed to Harry directly, standing right in front of him.

"Please!" she asked. "You can't do this!"

Harry seemed half-amused. "Can't I?"

"I get it that you hate the ex-Order, but punishing us by vaporizing an institution that has been around for thousands of years is not the way!" she continued.

"Sir, we are in position," called the helmsman.

"Power up the ventral Basilisk cannons!" yelled Wolf.

"Gunnery crews are being notified, sir!"

The gaggle of orders being flung around seemed to make Hermione only more desperate.

"Please!" she begged, falling on her knees. "Hogwarts was our home! Our place of learning!"

"Sir, please listen to her!" Arthur Weasley spoke up then, adding his plea to hers. "If Hogwarts falls, a millennia of magical history and knowledge would be lost forever!"

Harry made no move to stop the order, merely giving them a curious half-smile. The Weasley patriarch turned his attention to his daughter.

"Ginny, please! You know the worth of Hogwarts Castle!" he tried to reason with her. "Have you no good memories of it? Have you forgotten all that you learned there?"

Ginny shrugged. "It's just a school," she retorted simply. "Stone and mortar. Nothing that can't be rebuilt."

"It won't be the same," Frank interjected then. "You can rebuild something over and over again till the cows come home, but it'll never be exactly the same as before."

Moody nodded. "I agree. We've already lost so much of our heritage, do we really have to destroy the last piece of it?" he asked rhetorically. "I hate Riddle as much as the next guy—hell, even more—but even I can see that this is just too much!"

"Sir, the remaining ships are in position," the communications crewman notified Wolf, who nodded back before turning to Harry.

"Your Grace, all ships are in position and awaiting your order," he reported dutifully.

This was it. The moment were everything was decided.

Dumbledore, who had been silent until now, wearily released himself from the grip of his two former comrades and took a shaky step forward until he was right in front of Harry, his former hope for the Magical World.

"This is unreasonable of you, Your Grace," he noted sombrely. "You can take Hogwarts any other way, but you would rather reduce it to dust?"

Harry's gaze was unshakeable as he stared right up at the older man. "My way saves thousands of lives," he replied firmly.

"And mine saves the last vestiges of a proud culture. A culture you have let into your Empire, might I remind you," he added. "How will they react when they hear the Empire has eradicated any remaining links with their past?"

Harry smiled sinisterly. "They will build a new future, Dumbledore," he replied simply. "Or they will die. Just like Hogwarts will die."

Dumbledore's wand suddenly flew into his hand, taking everyone by surprise. "I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace," the man said regretfully, taking a few steps back. "But I cannot allow you to do this. STUPEFY!"

The immense, powerful jet of magical energy had very little distance to travel, but to the utter surprise of everyone, it was easily batted away by Harry, who stood his ground. The Imperial guardsmen around the bridge then lifted their weapons and aimed them at the group of mages. They only stood down when Harry waved them off.

Closing his eyes, Harry chuckled, then laughed outright. "You presume yourself so powerful, Dumbledore?" he asked jocularly. "You think yourself so supreme over us that you can dictate whether or not we can or cannot do something? FOOL!"

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore's wand was ripped out of the old man's grasp, landing gently in the palm of Harry's hand, where he proceeded to snap it in two with the sheer force of his grip.

"You are a relic, Dumbledore," he sneered, letting the pieces fall to the ground in front of Dumbledore's very shocked eyes. "A pitiful remnant of a deceased time. The Empire will take it from here, if you don't mind."

Harry turned towards Wolf, who looked quite satisfied with the unfolding events. "You may fire when ready, Admiral. Rend the very surface unto glass!"

Wolf had a wicked smile on his face. "Gladly, Your Grace."

Even as Wolf turned to give the order, Harry turned back to the ex-Order delegation, all of whom had reached for their wands in between Dumbledore and Harry's confrontation. With another wave of his hand, all the wands flew out of their grasps towards Ginny who proceeded to tuck them safely away within her robes with a smirk. In response, Harry suddenly increased the magical output he was emitting and focused it all on the group, forcing them to their knees as he moved to the side, letting them all see the holographic display of the battle.

"Now watch," he told them. "Watch as I destroy the last obstacle to the Empire's path to glory!"

And then Wolf gave the order. "FIRE ALL CANNONS!"

It was as though the world had ended.

Tearing through the sky, the massed shellfire from the Airfleet rained down onto the ground with the force of meteorites, ripping the earth asunder as they hit ground. Whatever the impact of the shells didn't kill, the fire and explosions that followed did.

The Imperial Army, having received the Airfleet's warning, was safely hiding out in their trenches as the Airfleet proceeded to vaporize their enemies, their own lines being safe thanks to the infrared strobes they had set about their furthermost trench works. They watched silently as the ground between them and the Second Gate was blasted apart, and they could see the occasional golem pieces flying about just before being consumed by the subsequent fire.

Nothing would ever grow on those grounds ever again, such was the magnitude of the destruction.

It wasn't just one volley, either. The Airfleet kept up their barrage with impunity, blasting the earth away until they had practically hit bedrock. The very earth shook as each shell hit ground, ripping up earth that hadn't seen the light of day in hundreds of years and vaporizing even the smallest and most robust of bacteria.

The heat was also unbearable, even to the hiding frontline Imperial troops. It got to the point where the front lines were entirely evacuated as the integrity of the soil around it became more and more unstable and the heat more and more dangerous. The ten furthest trenches were completely drained of troops as they all bulked at the very back of the Imperial camp, near the debris that had once been the only way into the valley.

At the Second Gate, things were even more precarious. Having felt the third shell impact the ground with such terrifying results, Neville had ordered everyone off the walls. The result was essentially a frenzied retreat off the ramparts until everyone was huddled behind the gate's protective walls. Even as the Airfleet knew not to target the Second Gate, however, their shells, combined with slight alterations in trajectory due to wind, did sometimes hit not far from the gate, causing the barricaded door to tremble slightly every time, even as some soldiers took refuge within the cavernous passageway behind the barricade.

Those who did not take refuge inside the cavernous orifice could barely stand to look at the sky, which had turned reddish orange in a testament to the intensity of the bombardment. Sometimes, it was even difficult to see at all, with all the explosions causing massive flashes that rendered some of them blind for a few seconds.

It was, all in all, a terrifying spectacle to behold.

HMIS Invincible…

"…reports indicate that all surface targets have been neutralized, sir."

Wolf smiled in satisfaction. The fleet had performed its role well, with the ME shells doing their two-fold job of tearing the wards apart and vaporizing the enemy golem army. All that the video displays could show at this point was numerous smoking craters that dotted the battlefield, with the exception of the area of the Second Gate and General Sulu's forces. There was nothing keeping the two ground forces from linking up now. "Very well, cease fire."

"Ceasing fire, aye sir."

Wolf turned to Harry and gave a crisp salute, secretly relishing the devastated look on the ex-Order members' faces. "Your Grace, I am glad to report the destruction of the totality of the enemy's ground forces."

Harry nodded gratefully before returning to his command chair. "Good. Do you remember the communication package I ordered you to put together, Admiral?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It is ready to go on your command."

Harry nodded again. "Good. Send it out at once," he ordered. "Then, have the First Legion board their insertion vehicles. Have them ready to deploy upon confirmation of mission completion by the Black Operations personnel."

"Yes, Your Grace, as you wish."

Harry then turned to Ginny. "Love, if you don't mind, I'd like you to go prepare with the First Legion now," he told her. "I'll meet you there when it's time to go."

Ginny smiled and nodded, giving him a peck on the lips before leaving the bridge, the ex-Order wands still in her possession. Harry then turned to the crippled wizards and witches and smiled.

"You have now seen the might of the Empire," he told them. "You can, as the old man did, try and stop us, and thus be destroyed," he offered. "Or, you can cease and desist your treacherous activities and work with us towards a brighter future."

"The choice is now yours."

Post-AN: Before anyone asks why the Second Gate didn't seem to get the memo that the Airfleet was about to turn the ground into Swiss cheese, remember their location. Being right outside the castle meant they got the MS 5 at point blank range, frying their electronics even beyond the repairing capabilities of Harry's ritual (which, by the way, I'm still not satisfied with; any help on making it sound better is gladly appreciated).

As always, please review! - MB