Many thanks go to brianna-xox, fredfred and Otium for betaing. They improved the story a lot.

Chapter 3: Azkaban

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Auror Alfons Runcorn was fighting to stay awake. As a rookie Auror, he was stuck on the night shift more often than not, and the last hours were always the worst. Even with sun rising, he felt as if he could fall asleep at any moment. It wasn't fair. While he was one of the youngest - newest - Aurors, most of the Corps wasn't that much older than him, or hadn't served that much longer. If he had been just two years older, he'd have been part of that large wave of wizards recruited to replace those lost in the war. And he'd only have had to spend at most one night out of seven on this shift. Not three out of seven.

He snorted. Of course, time in the Corps wasn't the only thing that made a difference. Potter and Weasley were the best example. Shacklebolt's 'golden boys' had been fast-tracked into the Aurors. Their training at the Academy, minimal as it had been, had happened after they had been recruited! Those two had never served on the graveyard shift! And their arrogance! They may have defeated Voldemort, but they flouted every rule and regulation, and looked down on all their supposed colleagues, even veteran Aurors! They kept to themselves, only socialising with their lover, the Minister and Weasley's family. But that would change with Shacklebolt dead! No more nepotism! Dawlish had given them a taste already. Everyone in the Corps knew they were on some muggle-baiting case, in the middle of nowhere.

He was so focused on imagining Potter and Weasley having to do actual work, instead of coasting on their reputation, he almost missed the alert from one of the mirrors he was watching. Then he reacted with such haste, he kicked his chair over when he jumped up, and hit his hip against his desk when he ran towards the wall.

He activated the mirror. "Ministry of Magic!"

"Azkaban is under attack! The wards have fallen!"

He recognised the voice - Timothy Brown, he had been in Alfons's year. "Tim? Who is attacking you?"

"I don't know! They blasted the wards, and toppled the walls! Merlin's balls! I have to get out of here! Send help!"

"Tim? Tim? TIM!"

Alfons yelled, but no one answered, and the mirror soon went dark. He took a deep breath and noticed he was trembling.

Then he remembered - he had to alert the Auror in charge!

He hit his hip again in his haste to reach the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Alfons and all the Aurors on his shift as well as the Hit-Wizards' ready force - all of them young as well - were on brooms at the coast, facing the North Sea. Brannigan, the veteran Auror in charge, was addressing them.

"Alright! Someone's been attacking Azkaban. We've received one alert, then nothing. Apparition is still blocked, so we assume that the wards that were taken down were just those protecting the building itself, not the ones affecting the island. Which means we'll have to fly there. Keep your eyes open, and your Human-presence-revealing Spells and your Shield Charms going - we don't know what awaits us."

Brannigan nodded to the wizards and witches assembled, and mounted his broom. The older wizard truly led from the front, as Alfons had heard others say, taking point. Or so the Hit-Wizards would call it.

Alfons soon was struggling to keep his broom flying straight while maintaining his Shield Charm and paying attention to all the markers his detection spell had created. He hadn't been the best flyer at Hogwarts, he hadn't even made reserve on the Ravenclaw house team. But he'd make do. He was an Auror!

It took what felt like hours to Alfons to reach the prison island in the North Sea. The smoke was the first thing they saw, rising above the island. Alfons heard the broom riders next to him mutter curses. There had been an attack then - he had hoped it was a misunderstanding. Or some prank. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he slowed down a bit, letting others pass him. This was what Hit-Wizards were for, after all.

"Alright!" Brannigan's amplified voice reached the entire group. "We're landing on the eastern shore, then we'll check the situation at the prison proper. Prisoners may have escaped and might still be on the island, so stay sharp now!"

Alfons bent over his broom and recast his Shield Charm and Human-presence-revealing Spell. This was it. His first real combat. Whoever had attacked the island would be more dangerous than the pickpockets he had arrested so far.

The grey-robed Hit-Wizards shot ahead, fanning out in pairs. Show-offs, Alfons thought. As if they had more experience than himself - almost all of them were rookies too. Still, they looked dashing. They were close to the island now. Already inside its wards, he realised with no little trepidation. Soon...

A series of explosions almost threw him off his broom. He managed to stay on it, jerking on the handle. Others hadn't been so lucky. He saw one Hit-Wizard tumble from his broom, waving his arms around as he fell into the sea. Two others vanished in an explosion.

"Scatter! Scatter!" Brannigan yelled.

Alfons hurried to follow the order, diving towards the sea as more explosions sounded above him. He heard screams, and more explosions, and sounds he didn't recognise. His shield suddenly vanished, and what looked like metal or rock fragments flew past him. What was happening?

He flew towards a bank of fog. He could hide there. Before he reached it though, something emerged from it. Something inhuman. It was walking on water, no, gliding. White skin, red eyes, deformed limbs waving… muggle guns?

He tried to jerk away and shield himself at the same time.

He managed neither.

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Hermione Granger wasn't in the best of moods when she arrived at the Ministry of Magic. Not really because Harry and Ron had brought home, as if it were a lost puppy, an unknown magical creature with the power of a battlecruiser. That she could handle with a lecture or two. No, she was annoyed because she wanted to examine the 'shipgirl' at length, but had to check and, if needed, repair the Ministry's wards instead. At least according to Selwyn. Though if the mysterious attacker - she wasn't calling her the 'Bismarck' without more proof than some conjured plane and a dud shell - returned, she'd rather be certain those wards were still in place as well. The enemy might use more exotic attacks. It just took so much time to ensure the work of the Ministry's Curse-Breakers was correct. Yesterday had been an exercise in frustration just explaining a better ward scheme to those fools, after taking stock of the existing standard wards!

"Good morning, Ma'am. You're early." Jonathan nodded at her from his usual place at the entrance.

"Good Morning. I came early because I may have to leave early," she answered. "Chasing down some research material." Which, technically, was true. Hood would be with the boys, ready to be 'deployed' at once.

"About ghosts?"

"Ghosts?"

"There's a rumour that the Ministry was attacked by German ghosts. Grindelwald's legacy," Jonathan said.

She sniffed. "Ghosts wouldn't be able to cause this. They cannot affect physical matter." Really, how gullible were people?

"Poltergeists can," Jonathan retorted.

"Those are not real ghosts." She shook her head. "No, I do not think this is the work of ghosts. And Grindelwald wasn't involved with the Nazis, so I doubt he'd use their planes." If they still had the Resurrection Stone, she would be able to summon Grindelwald's ghost, to check… She shook her head. There was a reason they had thrown the stone away, and it wasn't just the curse on it. The temptation to drag souls from the afterlife to interrogate was too great.

"Ma'am?"

She forced herself to smile. "Just a thought I had, and dismissed."

She dropped by her office, quickly went through her mail and memos, then proceeded to the sealed room where the anchors of the core wards of the building were located - conveniently in her own department. Others would be replacing the basic wards on the upper floors, those which had been destroyed along with the floors they had been covering. Those were basic wards. Easy to cast and maintain. But the old wards, those laid down when the building was built, centuries ago, and to which layers after layers had been added, usually by her predecessors? Those required experts.

Fortunately, Hermione had become quite the expert on wards, during the war. Having to break through some of the oldest wards in Britain to reach the Dark Lord's Horcruxes had made that necessary. She still remembered the surprise on Lucius Malfoy's face when they had entered his office. And when they had forced Veritaserum down his throat. Not waiting until the effects had ended before killing him had been one of the hardest decisions of her life, after what he had spilled.

She shook her head. She didn't have time to relive the war. She touched the seal on the entrance with her wand, concentrating on the passcode. The seal slowly faded into the mahogany wood, then the door started to open. She stepped through, and watched as it closed behind her, ensuring no one else could enter after her. Then she turned around. The floor of the chamber was covered with dust and slabs of stone. Marble, mostly, but she saw some obsidian as well, and even some sandstone - a very odd choice as material to carve runes into, given how soft it was. For stone.

She sniffed. The air was cold and smelled dusty. And faint traces of smoke. Some runes had burned out. Which means at least one ward had been attacked. Which was quite curious, seeing as the basic wards should have stopped all physical attacks, such as bombardment by naval artillery.

She narrowed her eyes and flicked her wand, adding more light to the room as she started to search the stones and plaques. Most were old and exotic, and usually quite specific. No goblin could enter the Ministry as long as a particular ward was still active. No ghost could haunt it either. Nor could undead enter… the lowest five levels. No wonder the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located on the third floor. Or had been - most of it had been destroyed in the attack.

And then, at the very back of the room, she found a marble plaque without visible runes. Closer examination showed the remains of runes. They didn't look like they had burned out though… it looked more like they had been discharged. And quite recently. Which made no sense - this was the room for wards. Permanent protection spells. Not… whatever spell had been cast here.

Hermione frowned. While she wouldn't put it past some of her predecessors to make mistakes, she doubted they would have made mistakes in such a crucial area. No one would risk the building's wards to unknown spells, after all. And it had been triggered during, or at least in close proximity to the attack.

She would have to further research this.

Hermione picked the plaque up after another careful examination. At least she could tell Selwyn that all the wards were fine without lying.

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

The Ministry was in an uproar when Harry Potter arrived in the morning. Late morning. Azkaban had been attacked, the guards presumed dead or captured. Two dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards from the relief force dead or missing. Harry winced when he heard rumours that the two survivors had been babbling about pale creatures walking on water before being dosed with Calming Draughts. If the rumours were true then there was not just one creature attacking Britain, but several.

He needed the memories of the survivors. But that would be tricky. Not even Dawlish, who generally arrived late himself, would miss how those 'creatures walking on water' fit the case he had dumped on Harry and Ron yesterday.

"Potter! My office! Now!" Dawlish's voice sounded through the Auror offices.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't need this. He didn't want this. But it was inevitable. Shaking his head, he made his way towards the Head Auror's office.

"Yes?" Harry entered and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. When he saw Dawlish hiss through his teeth, he snorted. He knew he shouldn't act like this. Hermione had told him many times not to provoke the Head Auror, but the man was an idiot, and Harry couldn't stomach being deferential to the likes of him. Or even polite. Not after the way he and his friends had been treated by the Ministry in their fifth year. Both men knew what they thought of each other anyway.

"Where is Weasley?"

"He's already working on our case. I've just come in to check the mail," Harry said.

"I see." Dawlish took a deep breath. "Have you heard about the attack on Azkaban?"

Harry nodded. "Azkaban was attacked at dawn. The guards are missing, presumed dead or captured, the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who responded to their calls for help were massacred over the North Sea."

"Ten Aurors and eleven Hit-Wizards are dead, Potter! And do you know what the two survivors saw?" Dawlish glared at him.

"Creatures walking on the water according to the grapevine." Harry met the man's eyes without flinching. He had stared down Snape, once. In their last disagreement, before Voldemort had killed the potioneer.

"Yes. Does that sound familiar?" Dawlish cocked his head to the side. "Hm? 'A girl who walks on water'? Does it?" His voice was slowly rising.

"Yes." Harry was trying to keep a lid on his temper himself. If he and Ron had reported what they had seen, two days ago, this might not have happened. He snorted. As if. Dawlish would have sent some idiots to Scapa Flow, and they would have attacked Hood. Or antagonised her until she attacked them. Maybe he should have pushed to become Head Auror, after Voldemort's defeat. Or pushed Ron into taking the post. But even if he had managed that, Harry knew that he wouldn't have lasted long dealing with the kind of people left in the Auror Corps.

"You were sent up there a day ago. Yesterday's report claims that you are still investigating this." Dawlish's left eyelid was twitching. A nervous tic, according to Hermione.

"Yes." Harry nodded. It was even true.

Dawlish placed his hands on his desk and stood up, leaning forward. "I want a full report of what you and your partner did yesterday. And what you didn't. If twenty good wizards and witches died because you skived off work…" He snarled.

"We went up to Scapa Flow, ensured that there was no threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and we're still investigating the matter. We don't know enough to report yet," Harry said, trying to be reasonable. At least as he saw it. "I need to know what the survivors saw to see if it has a connection to our case."

Dawlish exploded. "Bloody hell! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I'm the Head Auror! I'm your superior! If I say I want a report I get a damn report! You don't demand anything! You wouldn't even be an Auror if it wasn't for Shacklebolt!"

So much for his attempt at being diplomatic, Harry thought. He had to suppress the urge to curse the idiot - Dawlish almost sounded as though he was glad Kingsley had been killed. He couldn't understand how Hermione managed to deal with the Ministry brass without cursing them. Maybe she was cursing them on the sly? He ground his teeth. "Dawlish, do you know why Kingsley made Ron and me Aurors as soon as he was Minister, skipping all the training? It wasn't because we asked him to." They hadn't wanted to. All they had wanted was to finish off the last Death Eaters and their helpers, and be done with the whole war. It hadn't worked out like that.

The Head Auror leaned forward. "Why did you join the Corps then?"

"Because he wanted us to be Aurors, so us hunting down the remaining Death Eaters would be seen as the Ministry's action." It had taken some convincing too. Hermione's takeover of the Department of Mysteries had been the main concession, but Harry and Ron had insisted on skipping all but the essential training. And the usual rookie assignments.

Dawlish hissed again. The man understood politics, Harry knew that, or he'd have never become Head Auror. "I see."

"This attack is as bad as what Voldemort did," Harry continued. Worse actually, seeing as far more muggles had died here than in the entire war. Not that Dawlish would care about them. "We're working on it. With, or without these." He patted his Auror robe with his left hand. "We don't care about Ministry politics, or power plays, or pureblood pride. We're going to stop whatever monster did this. But we're not going to risk anyone betraying us to the enemy." Not again. It went without saying that they wouldn't let the Ministry stop them either.

Dawlish stared at him without saying a word, then he slowly nodded. "Alright." The man sounded as if he was pushing each word out through his teeth. "You and Weasley continue your case. But if you find out about any danger to the Aurors, I want to know. Before something like this happens again."

Harry nodded. Dawlish was probably hoping to claim at least some of the success for himself. They'd deal with that once they had dealt with the threat from the sea.

London, Tower Hill, May 4th, 2001

HMS Belfast. Hood knew this ship. They had sailed together, in the war, on a patrol. Soon afterwards the light cruiser had struck a German mine, and had been taken to the dock for repairs. Hood had been sunk before Belfast had returned to service.

And now she was walking on her decks. The last ship left of her time. All the others had been sunk, or scrapped. Hood ran her hand over the railing and wondered if Belfast's spirit was waiting to return as well. Wishing to serve once more. Or had her transformation into a museum ship changed her spirit as well? Unlike HMS Victory, Belfast had been decommissioned. Did such an event change a ship?

"Excuse me!" she spoke up. Ron, who had been watching the river and the sky, jerked, his hand going into his jacket, before he realised she had addressed the guide.

"Yes, Miss?"

"I was wondering... " She pointed at the A-Turret. "Could Belfast be restored to war service?"

The young man smiled. "You're not the first one to ask that. With the rumours of Nazi planes being behind the… attack, a lot of visitors have asked if we could 'fill 'er up and sail on'." He shook his head. "It's not possible. Well, theoretically, we could, but it would be more difficult and complicated than building a new ship. And, well… she's an old girl. Outdated. She'd be of as much use as the Victory in a war."

Hood frowned. "Her 4-inch dual-purpose guns and her Bofors would shoot any Arados out of the sky. And while her 6-inchers wouldn't get past the armour belt, her torpedoes would give Bismarck pause." She'd feel a lot better if she had an escort like this.

The guide's smile didn't change, but she felt his tone was a bit patronising. "Miss, there's a reason we decommissioned this ship. Modern ships can strike planes and other ships at ranges this ship could only dream of." He patted the railing. "She's done her duty."

The battlecruiser scowled and gathered steam to tell the young man just where he could put his opinion, but Ron put his hand on her arm.

"Thank you, sir." The wizard smiled at the man. "A friend of ours was killed in the attack."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Once the guide had left, Ron turned to her.

She scoffed. "All those fancy rockets wouldn't get through my own armour belt. If they even hit!"

Ron didn't say anything, just stared out at the river and the sky again.

"You know, I'm keeping an eye on the sky and the water." She tapped her temple. "My radar's working fine. No one is sneaking up on us."

"We don't know if your radar works on the enemy. Or theirs on you," he said. He looked at her though. "So… did you feel anything?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing." She couldn't sense anything from the cruiser. Belfast was just a ship. A museum ship. She sighed. "I wonder why I was called back, and no one else." If she had to face the Bismarck alone… she would do her duty, but she feared she wouldn't be able to win that battle.

"And who called you back," Ron added. "Or what."

She nodded. "Your friend, Hermione, has some ideas she wanted to test."

He smiled, and she could see how for a moment his body lost its tension. "Yes. That's what she does. She finds out things. Researches. Plans. Without her, Harry and I would have been lost in the war."

"Which war?" Hood was curious. The three people whose home she was staying in - and wasn't that weird, sleeping on a bed, instead of in drydock - had mentioned a war, but hadn't gone into detail. And she hadn't asked.

"They call it 'the Second Blood War'. It was a wizard war, though it spilled into muggle Britain as well, on a few occasions."

"A wizard war?" She imagined people casting spells at each other on brooms, and in the air.

"Yes. There was a Dark Lord, trying to take over Britain. He had tried it twice before, and had been defeated each time. Once by Harry, once by Dumbledore. When he came back a third time, he had learned from his mistakes. He had spies everywhere…" Ron pressed his lips together. "His followers struck, usually at night. And when people made a stand, he arrived in person, crushing them. So many brave people died, until we finally managed to find his weakness, and lure him into a trap. And more people died, taking him down."

"I see." She didn't, not really. She had no clue how wizards fought. But she recognised pain and loss.

Ron was about to say something else when he suddenly stiffened and stuck his hand inside his jacket, pulling out a mirror. "It's Harry." He cast another spell - Hood was getting good at spotting them - and tapped the mirror. "Yes?"

"Ron? Are you with Hood?"

"Yes."

"I'm here," Hood added.

"Good. I have bad news. Our enemy attacked Azkaban in the early morning. The island has fallen, and the responding force was massacred." Harry sounded grim. "The two survivors were in a bad state of shock, but they all agree on one thing: There wasn't just one creature shooting at them, but several."

Ron muttered a curse while Hood froze for an instant. She wasn't just facing the battleship who had sunk her before. She was facing an entire fleet! She fought her fear down. She was a battlecruiser of the Royal Navy! She knew what she had to do.

"Ron, Harry… we need to talk to the Admiralty."

London, Tower Hill, May 4th, 2001

For the second time in two days, Ron Weasley found himself visiting No. 10 Downing Street. Fortunately, his dad had managed to get him, Harry and Hood another appointment. Unfortunately, Harry's news had left the Prime Minister in a bit of a state.

"This Nazi shipgirl has taken over your magical prison island and is now gathering a fleet? And it has massacred the force you sent to retake the island?"

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded.

"Dear Lord! They'll attack London again, won't they?" The man sat down behind his desk, sighing.

Ron saw that his dad was slightly pale as well, but otherwise holding up. He had been the one who found Percy's body when they had stormed the Ministry. Ron had never asked if Umbridge had really fought to the death.

"I think that's a reasonable assumption, sir," Harry said with a grim expression.

"That's why we need to inform the Navy, sir!" Hood cut in. "Even the few submarines, frigates and destroyers that are left can help against the Bismarck."

"Are you certain?" the Prime Minister asked.

Hood blinked. "Why wouldn't they?"

"They are facing a man-sized enemy. Their weapons are not made for such targets." The man pointed at a report on his desk. "I also checked the reports: Neither sea- nor air-based radar noticed the enemy on the Thames as it retreated. Nor did sonar pick it up."

"But…" Hood trailed off. "They can still see her, and if they can see her, they can shoot her! Even near-misses will do damage!"

The Prime Minister smiled thinly. "We 'muggles' can't even see magical houses. We cannot count on being able to see the enemy. And even if we can see them, there remains the fact that none of our ships are made for artillery duels anymore."

"We can test that," Ron said, "with you."

"I'm not like her!" Hood quickly spat.

"But you're a magical shipgirl," Ron countered. "That's hopefully close enough to see what works and won't work with muggle weapons." Hermione had given him a crash course in muggle weapons during the war, in case they were forced to steal some to use against Voldemort, but that hadn't included naval weapons. They hadn't actually used any muggle weapons anyway, though they had patterned some of the traps that had decimated the Death Eaters at Hogwarts after their principles. Draco had been 'turned to chunky salsa', according to Hermione.

"Telling the Admiralty will threaten the Statute of Secrecy," Harry cut in. "The ICW won't like that."

Ron's dad spoke up for the first time: "If that enemy attacks London again, the Statute of Secrecy will be threatened as well. We cannot obliviate the entire city." His smile looked more than a bit forced. "Under these circumstances, informing key muggles about magic is not only allowed, but mandated."

"Not that we'd let the Ministry know anyway," Harry said. "They'd bungle it."

Ron nodded, ignoring how his dad winced. It was true after all - Ron and his friends knew the Ministry had done nothing against Voldemort in their 5th year, and it had fallen quickly when the Dark Lord had returned again in their 7th year. It had been them and the Order who had fought, and finally defeated, the Death Eaters and their leader. And they had paid a heavy price.

The Prime Minister nodded. "Alright. I'll make the calls. Let's hope this will not do more harm than good."

Off Portsmouth, Atlantic, May 4th, 2001

Despite the grave danger they were facing, Hood looked happy, Ron thought. The girl was sailing circles around the patrol boat Harry and he were on. The muggle sailors were taking this better than Ron had expected - they seemed to be living up to their name; apparently they were called the 'Special Boat Service', and it probably didn't get any more special than this. They hadn't asked any questions either, though their muttering when Hood had jumped overboard and stood on the water had been quite loud.

"Alright," their leader, Lieutenant Smith, called from the back. "We've reached the target area. Airborne and naval radar is deployed. Sonar as well."

"I've picked up a plane and a cruiser on radar," Hood's voice rang from the muggle wireless in the back of the boat. "Commencing operation now!"

"Plane's picking her up," the muggle sailor at the radio reported. "So does the frigate."

Ron smiled. If the muggles could see Hood, they should be able to see the Bismarck too. And shoot her.

"I can paint her too," one muggle soldier said, holding up a muggle device. "Damn weird though… hey! It just stopped working!"

"Radar lost her. Both of them."

"Where did that stuff around her come from?"

"Looks like some drones?"

"Robots?"

Ron raised his omnioculars. Hood had summoned her rigging. "Damn," he muttered.

Harry, at his side, agreed. "It looks like summoning her rigging is too much for muggle technology."

"I'm test firing my guns!" Hood announced through the radio. That at least was still working.

This time, Ron was prepared and cast a charm to block the sound in time. So did Harry. The muggles though were surprised when the 15-inchers fired.

"Dear Lord!"

"What the hell was that?"

"Radar's picking up artillery shells!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"It's classified," Harry said, without lowering his omnioculars. In a quieter voice, he added: "Always wanted to say that."

Ron chuckled.

"Test firing finished. Hood standing by for further instructions."

Another voice was heard on the radio. "Hood, this is HMS Kent. Are you ready for the missile test?"

"Affirmative, Kent," Hood said.

"Firing."

Ron searched the horizon. There! A streak was coming towards Hood… and passing her.

"Missiles don't work on her either," Harry said in a flat voice.

"Kent, this was a clear miss. Without evasive action." Hood sounded a tad happier than appropriate for the occasion, Ron thought. But then, she had been making comments about modern naval weapons for a while. "Try your guns!"

"Negative, Hood. We do not have dummy rounds for them."

"It's a 4,5 inch gun, Kent. I'm a battlecruiser, not a tin can. It won't even scratch my armour belt. Fire it!"

Ron glanced at Harry while the two ships argued back and forth. "Chip on her shoulder?"

His friend nodded. "So much for secrecy."

Behind them, the muggle sailors were muttering again. Ron heard 'battlecruiser' and 'Hood' several times.

In the end, it took the admiral commanding the 'exercise' to order the frigate to fire on Hood. The result was not promising either - Hood was able to dodge the shots until the frigate closed in, and even then their accuracy was not that great. If the frigate had been a Chaser, she wouldn't even have made the reserve team of the 'claws. And when Hood was finally hit, it didn't do anything that Ron could see. It was better than the torpedo test though - those didn't even notice Hood.

"Did you see that? I told them, the shells would bounce off my armour belt! So much for outdated, hm?" Hood was beaming when she came alongside the patrol boat. She must have seen their reaction, since she frowned. "What's wrong?"

Ron winced. He hated to ruin her good mood. "You know, the goal of this test was to find out what the Navy could do to help fight Bismarck and her fleet." He grimaced when her face fell.

"And the answer is: Not much?" Hood looked crestfallen. "Bismarck has much better armour than I have."

"We'll come up with something," Ron said. "We always do."

"We're at our best when under pressure," Harry added.

Ron forced himself to smile confidently. Even if he wasn't feeling quite that confident.

But all of them would do their best. They had no other choice.

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Hermione Granger was frustrated. She still hadn't found out what kind of spell had been triggered by the attack on the Ministry. If her predecessors had been documenting their actions and especially their additions to the wards properly, she would have been able to simply consult their notes. But that wasn't the case. At least she knew who had cast the spell: Alois Fickleton, Head Unspeakable from 1841 to 1862. And, though she hadn't found any outside source to confirm this, the last Seer to hold that post.

But even with that knowledge, she had not yet deciphered the runes on the plaques, or rather, their remains. And with Azkaban having been taken over by more of those creatures, the need to find out what exactly had happened was even more urgent. The Ministry certainly would not be able to stop them. Not when they hadn't been able to stop even a single one before.

A knock at her office's door interrupted her examination. "Yes?" she called out, her wand in hand. Some habits died hard.

Katherine entered. "Hermione? I have the notes from our archive you wanted. And the records you wanted from the Ministry's archives."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Katherine." Fickleton's notes, finally! With luck, she'd find out more thanks to them. And the reports would hopefully shed some light on the question of why a German battleship wanted to destroy the British Ministry of Magic.

"I hope you can read them," the Unspeakable added.

"What?" Hermione took the stash of parchment and checked. Then she hissed. "Code… the bloody lunatic wrote his notes with a cipher..." If she were superstitious, she'd have taken this as a sign that all Seers lived just to ruin her plans. Trelawney certainly had not convinced her otherwise during her time at Hogwarts.

"Hermione? Do you have further need of me?" Katherine asked.

Hermione looked up and shook her head. "No, thank you again. I'll have to deal with this."

The other witch left her office, maybe a bit too quickly, Hermione thought. Well, she had to admit that she had been a bit short-tempered these last few days. Some of the clerks in the archives had paled when she had visited, too.

She sighed and stared at the notes again. Fickleton had probably thought he was being clever. She snorted. He certainly hadn't foreseen modern electronics. Her computer, safe from any magical influence in the house of her late grandparents, would make short work of this.

And, she added, with more than a bit of guilt, if the monster returned to attack the Ministry, she'd not be inside.

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 4th, 2001

It had taken her computer far longer than she had expected to crack the cipher. Even using the best programs she could her hands on, it had taken hours. But she had succeeded! So, Hermione Granger was both tired and hungry when she arrived home, but also smiling.

One look at Ron, sprawled on their couch, Harry, brooding in his favourite armchair, and Hood, looking like she had just heard she'd be scrapped, destroyed her good mood.

"Alright," she sighed. "What happened?"

"Modern weapons do nothing against Hood," Ron said.

"Ah." She knew what that meant.

"And Bismarck now has escorts, at least!" Hood said. "I'm up against a fleet!"

"We've checked the memories of the surviving Aurors in the pensieve," Harry explained. "Hood identified two of the additional creatures as light cruisers."

The battlecruiser - and Hermione still had to wrap her mind around that thought - nodded. "Yes. Definitely light cruisers. Or, as today's Navy would call them, 'destroyers'," the girl added with a huff. "I can't fathom why they do that."

"How did you identify them?" Hermione asked.

Hood shrugged. "I just knew. Their weapons, their displacement, everything fit."

"I see." Probably a combination of experience, perception, and some inherent magical ability then, Hermione deduced. She sat down on the couch and leaned against Ron. "I'm not convinced we're facing the Bismarck, by the way."

Hood, who had been pacing, turned around. "It has to be her! The weapons fit, the planes fit. Even my presence fits."

"But why would the Bismarck attack the Ministry of Magic? Or Azkaban?" Hermione shook her head. "I've checked the archives: Wizarding Britain wasn't involved in the Second World War. They were busy preparing for Grindelwald when the Bismarck was sunk. There was no report of magical interference with that battle." Most of the purebloods probably hadn't even realised that the muggles were at war, Hermione thought. "So, why would it attack the Ministry, and not the Muggles?"

"You think there's a wizard involved," Harry said. "Someone with a grudge against the Ministry."

Hermione nodded.

Ron wrapped his arm around her. "No shortage of those. Heck, we three could qualify as well, given what the Ministry did in our sixth year."

Harry took a deep breath. "Did you check…?"

Hermione knew what he meant. Who he meant. "I did. The seal hasn't been broken."

Her friend relaxed some, smiling. Then he leaned forward. "But if there is a wizard behind it - someone creating those monsters - then he's risking a lot. Another such attack could push the ICW into taking action. And why would he attack with one creature, if a few days later he has more?"

"Overconfident? Or blind with rage?" Ron shrugged. "That's what killed the Lestranges."

Hermione nodded, glancing at the plaque on top of the fireplace that held the broken wand of Bellatrix. The mad witch had underestimated her until the end, cackling and not realising how she was walking into a trap. If only Neville had lived to see… she shook her head.

Harry didn't look convinced. "Even if that is true, it takes an exceptional wizard to create such a monster, much less several of them. Such a person would not simply appear out of nowhere."

"There aren't many around who'd fit that description," Ron said. "And I think we can discount Hermione. She would have told us if she was behind this. I think."

She glared at him for that joke and ignored Harry's chuckling. And Hood's stare.

"The well-known wizards and witches are all accounted for," Harry said. Which meant, Hermione knew, that they were dead. "It doesn't add up."

"Possession?" Hermione cocked her head sideways. "If the shade of a dead wizard is using the body of an average wizard…"

Harry looked grim. "Like Quirrel? And Nott?"

"Nott was killed before he was possessed by the ring's fragment. And his skill with magic was greatly diminished." Otherwise, the three of them wouldn't have been able to kill it, Hermione knew.

"He was still better than the original Nott," Ron said.

"We're still missing one fragment. At least," Harry said. "How can we check for that, without my scar?" He tipped his index against his forehead.

Hermione bit her lower lip. "There is a way, but I'd have to use the seal for that. I don't have to break it, but… carrying it around puts it at risk."

"Can you do it in your department?" Harry asked.

Hermione quickly did some Arithmancy in her head, then nodded. "I can do it, but the range is limited. Wouldn't cover all of England, much less Scotland or Azkaban."

"And we're not taking that thing anywhere close to Azkaban," Ron stated.

Harry and Hermione nodded. Hood looked lost.

"And what plans have been made to deal with another attack on London?" Hermione said.

Harry sighed. "Well… most of the muggle weapons seem useless. But we've come up with a few that should work. In the end it hinges on Hood though."

Hermione glanced over to the girl. Hood straightened and pushed her chin up. "I'll beat her or I'll die trying."

Hermione nodded. She and her friends were very familiar with that sentiment.

North Sea, Azkaban, May 5th, 2001

She surveyed her escort. Her fleet. All were fueled up and ready. Or as ready as they could be. She frowned when she saw Narcissa pass. The light cruiser looked as she should, but she was flawed. Weaker than she should be. Fully dependent on the power she had poured into the witch. She was a light cruiser, but with the soul of a witch, not a ship. Like her sister ship, Alecto, who was passing her now.

Still, they would serve. They had been blooded as well, fighting the Aurors of the Ministry. And she had learned from her mistake. As evidenced by the next ships who sailed past. Leberecht Maass and Max Schultz. Now these were proper ships! They had the experience, the instincts, and the hatred caused by having been sunk! Fueled with the souls of the debris of Azkaban, they had risen anew, ready to serve and fight.

Four ships. And herself. A flotilla, not the fleet she desired. For a moment, she reconsidered attacking. There were other ships out there, waiting to be called to fight again. Narvik was the grave of so many. And Oslo. But that would take time. She scoffed. There was no need to wait. The Ministry couldn't stop her, and the muggles were worthless.

Besides, there were her 'experiments'. Creatures, not even ships, much less the boats she wanted. Mishappen. Warped. But still able to fight. Like undead sea lions, they swam past. A fitting association, she thought, given their destination.

She raised her arm. The flotilla rallied around her, forming up. Leberecht Maass and Max Schultz were the first, sailing in front of her. Narcissa and Alecto were slower, securing her flanks. And the creatures gathered behind her.

Smiling, she called up a storm to hide their passage. When she entered it, she was singing.

"Denn wir fahren gegen Engeland, Engeland."