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

Chapter 8: Clash of Fleets

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Bismarck snarled while she fired another broadside. The perfidious Albion had managed to render her FuMO 23 search radar sets useless! She was guessing the positions of the enemy ships, which meant she might as well fire blindly! Those cowards were once again using trickery to avoid facing her in open combat!

Even worse, while her own fleet was blinded, the enemy's radar was working, somehow - they had pounded Tirpitz despite the storm hiding her. Bismarck's sister ship was doomed. Her main batteries were disabled and water was pouring into her hull through several leaks, her damage worsened by the force of the storm. Bismarck ground her teeth as she watched Tirpitz struggle in the rough sea. Each time the battleship cut through the waves she was listing a bit more, one step closer to sinking.

She would be avenged, though! Bismarck ordered Max Schultz and Narcissa to sortie from Azkaban, and attack the British from the rear. That should at least disrupt their formation. Maybe they'd even manage to sink a carrier. After Max Schultz had acknowledged the order, Bismarck stopped feeding her power into the storm and addressed the fleet: "Close with the enemy! Flank Speed ahead!"

Her escorts cheered and rushed forward. Bismarck, Scharnhorst and Blücher followed. The other battleship had been hit a few times, but hadn't suffered any serious damage. Now it was Bismarck's turn - a dozen shells stuck the sea around her, the explosions battering her sides, but her hull held.

A close-quarter battle would be brutal, but Bismarck was certain she would prevail - she had held out alone for hours against an entire fleet, their shells unable to penetrate her armour. She smiled, baring her teeth, as she left the storm and finally laid eyes upon her enemies. Her radar was still useless, but her optical rangefinders were the finest ever built!

Her smile widened when she recognised Hood, Repulse and Prince of Wales. Two outdated battlecruisers, and one battleship she had fought before. A pack of destroyers and one cruiser - her fleet could handle them! She'd sink those relics!

Ahead of her, the destroyers were zig-zagging to throw off the enemy's aim as they raced toward the British line. She ordered Blücher to fall back a bit - the heavy cruiser's armour couldn't take as much as her own and Scharnhorst's.

"Concentrate your fire on the Repulse!" The old battlecruiser would be easier to sink than the Prince of Wales. Bismarck would let Hood see her friends get destroyed and know despair before sinking her. She adjusted her course slightly, unshadowing turrets Caesar and Dora, and fired a broadside. Scharnhorst and Blücher followed, though they were still outside the effective range of their guns.

The enemy fired as well, and Bismarck adjusted her course to present a harder target. Her own shots straddled the Repulse, close enough to briefly hide the ship behind the water thrown up by the impact. The British ships were still sailing away, trying to keep their distance from Bismarck. But Prince of Wales was the slowest ship present - sooner or later they'd catch up.

The enemy was focusing on Scharnhorst - of course, they wanted to destroy her with plunging fire at range - the other battleship's deck armour was half the strength of Bismarck's! Scharnhorst took a hit, but didn't falter, and returned fire.

Bismarck's guns spoke again and again. The Repulse tried to manoeuvre, but to no avail - she had her target's measure now. Her next volley scored two hits. Smoke started to rise from the battlecruiser's superstructure. The time the shells spent in the air slowly grew shorter as the distance shrank.

She saw that Scharnhorst received another hit, which ripped into her side. She was leaking oil from her rigging and bleeding from the gash in her side, but even that didn't deter her. Then Bismarck's next volley scored on the Repulse again, and she saw the battlecruiser stumble, veering off to the side before correcting her course again. The British ship was slowing down though - hobbled.

Bismarck grinned. Would her enemy abandon the crippled battlecruiser? She doubted it. And she was correct - the entire enemy formation was now turning to face her, the British destroyers whirling around with such haste, they almost seemed to capsize.

With the British now facing her, the distance started to shrink rapidly. Soon enough Scharnhorst's and Blücher's guns started to tell as well, battering the Repulse. In return, a British heavy cruiser added her fire. Scharnhorst had suffered more hits, but nothing vital had been damaged.

After five minutes, the Repulse was reeling, her armour holed. One of her turrets had been silenced, and the others' rate of fire had slowed down. She was limping and swaying on her feet. Bismarck hissed with glee - revenge was hers!

The destroyers were in range of each other now, and their smaller guns started to rapidly exchange fire. Bismarck didn't pay them much mind - her prey were the three capital ships. Her next volley hit, and one of Repulse's remaining turrets fell silent - jammed or destroyed, she couldn't tell. Scharnhorst's fire struck the battlecruiser's legs, and the enemy was brought to her knees, both legs bleeding now.

"Yes!" Scharnhorst yelled. She turned her head to smile at Bismarck. Before she could say anything though, several shells struck her. Bismarck saw the battleship's head snap back, half her face torn up - half her rangefinders gone, she noted - before turning slightly. Her front was holed, her armour smashed, and one turret had been blown off the rigging.

She wasn't beaten though - not Scharnhorst. Shaking her head, sending oil and parts flying, she screamed, and her remaining two turrets fired - at the Prince of Wales. For a moment, Bismarck wanted to finish the Repulse. She wanted to kill her enemies. Common sense prevailed though - the battlecruiser was finished, she'd be able to sink her at leisure once the rest of the enemies were dealt with. "Focus on the Prince of Wales!" she ordered, her own turrets shifting their aim already.

She'd send that British battleship to the bottom of the sea!

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Ron Weasley cursed as he struggled to keep his broom under control when the water thrown up by a shell that struck close to Repulse washed over his Shield Charm. He was almost pushed into the sea by the sheer mass that hit him, but he managed to pull up in time to avoid smashing into a wave. Veering to the left, then to the right - he knew no one was aiming at him, but old habits were hard to break - he closed in on the battlecruiser.

Up close, she looked horrible. Her clothes were torn to shreds and stained with oil and burn marks. She was on her knees, pushing herself up with one arm, the other limp at her side, oil dripping from deep gashes in it. Her legs were worse - one was almost torn off, the other shredded. He couldn't imagine the pain she must be feeling, kneeling on them. Just before he reached her, a tall wave washed over her. For a moment, he feared she had sunk, but she reappeared.

A mangled part of her rigging tore loose right then, and he saw that her legs were almost disappearing in the sea. He held out his wand. "Reparo! Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!"

A shudder went through Repulse, and he saw her eyes widen, blinking, as she rose from the water. Another wave swallowed her while he circled her. As soon as he saw her head cut through the wave, he cast again. "Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!"

She started to get back on her feet, still swaying, but no longer sinking. Her rigging was still smashed, though - he could see one turret shaking as it tried to swivel, but the other two turrets were dead weight, one of them smoking.

Repulse was saying something, but he couldn't hear her over the noise of the battle. She was smiling though. He twisted around, flying alongside her. "Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!"

Her rigging slowly seemed to restore itself - but her main turrets were still not moving. Well, he could just keep casting repair charms until she was wholly fixed. He and Harry had done it for Hood before. "Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!"

One turret was turning again, the barrels moving up and down as Repulse was turning towards the enemy. Ron tapped his radio button. "Repulse, hold your fire!" he yelled. If he was close to the battlecruiser when she fired her main guns, he'd go deaf and probably crash into the sea!

"Get clear!" was her answer. "Help the others! Repulse re-engaging the enemy!"

Ron had learned enough about battlecruisers and shipgirls to not even try to stop her. Cursing, he turned around and flew away as fast as he could. The shockwave from the guns still battered him, and his ears were ringing despite the plugs in them.

He flew up to get a better picture of the battle. Hood and Prince of Wales as well as Dorsetshire were exchanging fire with the Bismarck and her escorts. They looked fine, for the moment at least. Up ahead, the destroyers were savaging each other, or so it looked to him. He touched the enchanted mirror stuck to his collar. Immediately, yells and screams filled his ears - the Aurors and Hit-Wizards had far less radio discipline than the shipgirls as they darted around the destroyers, repairing them.

He saw one Auror break off, and fly straight at an enemy destroyer.

"Burke! Burke! Break off! Break off!" Ron heard Brown shout.

But the Auror seemed to be past listening. "Take that, you damn monst..."

Ron shuddered - one second, the red speck with a blue glow was flying, the next second it was gone. Direct hit by an anti-aircraft gun. "Damn fool," he muttered, wondering what had possessed the man to charge despite his orders. He pushed forward.

Another one, a Hit-Wizard since they were wearing grey robes, was flying near a destroyer that seemed to be on fire, despite the waves crashing over the struggling shipgirl. He recognised her - Vampire, holding on to her hat with one hand as she was turning around in the midst of a hail of shells, almost toppling over while narrowingly avoided another hit. The Hit-Wizard was close on the destroyer's heels, wand flashing. Just as Vampire straightened up, though, she disappeared in a fireball that engulfed the Hit-Wizard as well.

Ron blinked, then ground his teeth. He knew the destroyers were ships, shipgirls, but they looked and acted like normal sixth or seventh year girls on land. For a moment, he wanted to dive, and destroy whatever monster had just killed Vampire and the Hit-Wizard. He didn't, though. People were counting on him to do his task.

He picked out the closest destroyer who seemed to need help - Sikh, he recognised her by her headdress and darker skin - and started to fly towards her, hoping his corkscrewing and evasive flying would throw off the enemies' aim - the destroyers were so close to each other now that the enemy's anti-aircraft artillery was effective against brooms approaching the British shipgirls. And he had just seen what a hit from those cannons did to a wizard.

North Sea, Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Hermione Granger didn't hate flying on a broom, not really. But she much preferred to stay on the ground. Unfortunately, she was currently in the middle of the North Sea, so unless she wanted to swim, she had to fly. Or float, next to Hermes, Glorious and Courageous. Officially, she was there to support them - repair them if needed. But she knew Harry and Ron had assigned her to the three carriers since they would also stay away from the battle, far out of range of the enemy guns.

She didn't really mind. Not too much, at least. She wasn't cut out to fly a broom in combat, much less when anti-aircraft artillery was firing at her. And, as Ron and Harry knew, but hadn't mentioned, she was close enough to Azkaban to fly there and prepare the ritual to seal Voldemort's soul shard, once the Bismarck was sunk.

Her enchanted mirror chirped and she heard an excited-sounding voice. "This is Morton! Two enemy creatures are leaving Azkaban Island, direction North."

Hermione cursed. Two enemies - that would be the light cruiser and the destroyer that had survived the battle in the Thames Estuary. She tapped the radio button stuck to her collar. "Hermes! Pickets report that the light cruiser and destroyer have left Azkaban and are headed our way."

The carrier turned her head and looked at her, nodding. The three carriers were launching aeroplanes, gathering a strike since the enemy fleet had left the storm protecting it from air attacks. Half of it was already in the air.

"Hood to Hermes: Send the whole strike against those two enemy ships."

"Hermes to Hood: Acknowledged."

Hermione bit her lower lip. She would have preferred if the aeroplanes attacked the main enemy fleet. The carriers could deal with a light cruiser and a destroyer. Between them they had far more guns than the two monsters coming at them, and while the enemy had torpedoes, Hermione could repair the shipgirls. But Glorious was already looking nervous about being caught by another surface force, and Harry and Ron wouldn't want her to risk herself. So she stayed silent and watched as the Fairey Swordfish formed up and took off, followed by Gladiators.

She tapped her crystal. "Granger to Morton: Shadow the enemies, but stay out of their range. Send two flyers to scout the island - carefully." There might be more enemies hiding on the island. And they needed to know if the island was safe for the ritual.

"Ah… yes, ma'am." Morton didn't sound very happy, but Hermione didn't care. They were at war, and everyone had to do their part. And in her opinion, waiting while her friends were fighting for their lives was far worse than risking her own life.

Besides, she thought, following the aeroplanes on her broom, compared to what Harry and Ron were doing, shadowing the enemy was rather safe. Or should be.

It took the Swordfish 20 minutes to reach the enemy, who was steaming towards them. The aeroplanes were slower than a top of the line broom - and Harry had bought her a Firebolt, just so she could outrace most enemies in the air, should she need to - even she should be able to fly straight.

Hermione didn't spot the enemies before the biplanes started to descend. She stopped her broom - carefully, of course, she was no Seeker - and pulled out her Omnioculars, zooming in on the two pale girls racing through the waves.

Both were firing their anti-aircraft guns, and manoeuvring wildly. That would make it very difficult for the torpedo bombers to hit them. Although something seemed off… Hermione focused on the leading girl, who had to be Max Schultz, a destroyer, according to Hood's description. The creature's mouth was wide open, her face a mask of hatred and she seemed to be screaming her lungs out as the Gladiators strafed her, machine guns stitching lines over the girl's upper body.

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw that the shipgirl started to fire her main guns as well - despite how useless those were against aircraft. Was she panicking? The witch drew a hissing breath when she remembered that Max Schultz had been sunk on the Dogger Bank, after hitting a mine, trying to save her sister ship, which had been bombed by their own planes. If she was having flashbacks… "Gladiators, focus on the destroyer in front!" she ordered. "Distract it!"

The fighter biplanes did as ordered, and the destroyer seemed to go berserk, her head shaking wildly as she tried to shoot her attackers down. Hermione saw one Gladiator get hit while climbing after an attack run, starting to burn before it crashed into the sea. But that had bought the Swordfish attacking Max Schultz time to drop their torpedoes. Hermione saw how the destroyer's rage gave way to panic when she finally spotted the torpedoes closing in, saw her trying to evade, turning desperately, and saw the explosions when two torpedoes hit. For a moment, Max Schultz seemed to freeze, one leg blown off. Then she toppled over and splashed into the sea, vanishing in seconds.

The other enemy, a light cruiser they had not identified so far, had been faring better, her wild, erratic course having thrown off the attackers. She also seemed to be ignoring the Gladiators. But the remaining Swordfish were attacking her now. One was hit and vanished into a wave, disintegrating upon impact, the others dropped their payload. The cruiser was luckier than Max Schultz though - only one torpedo struck her, and she managed to limp on, one leg trailing oil and parts, towards Azkaban, harassed by Gladiators.

"One destroyer sunk, one light cruiser, damaged, headed back to Azkaban," Hermione informed the fleet and the Aurors.

"We're pulling the scouts back!" came the hasty reply from the pickets.

Hermione didn't begrudge them their caution - but she wasn't looking forward to make landfall on an island with a light cruiser guarding it. There would have to be another air strike launched to sink her.

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Harry Potter sent another load of Window up above Hood and Prince of Wales, watching the aluminium strips form a cloud which slowly started to disperse. Those two warships as well as Dorsetshire were exchanging fire with the enemy capital ships at closer range now. Prince of Wales was getting the worst of it - part of her rigging was burning, and two turrets had fallen silent, one a wreck of bent and torn metal. Dorsetshire and Hood didn't show much damage though - not that he was an expert.

Although the enemy was hurting as well. He quickly checked through his Omnioculars. One of the monsters was struggling in the heavy sea, barely moving anymore, with most of her rigging destroyed. Another was listing a bit, oil running down her pale body. Her guns were blazing, though. And the Bismarck was sailing ahead. She looked scorched, but didn't seem to be seriously damaged. The expression on her face, full of hatred, made him shudder and he felt as if his forehead itched.

He turned his attention back to the Royal Navy. Another volley from the Bismarck reached Prince of Wales, and the battered battleship shook with another hit, the rest of the shells splashing into the water near her. A few seconds later, three more shells fell into the sea. That had to have been Scharnhorst. Which meant Harry had about thirty seconds to fly down and repair - heal - the battleship a bit, before the next volley would arrive.

He leaned forward and dived. Unlike in Quidditch, he had a Shield Charm up, which made it harder to judge his speed. If he made a mistake he'd crash into the sea, right where tons of explosives would soon hit again. The shockwaves would kill him, even if he survived the impact. But Prince of Wales needed help now.

He grinned and yelled, and sped up even more, flying almost straight down. A few sparks showed where aluminium strips were brushed aside by his Shield Charm. The waves grew larger and larger. Unlike a Quidditch pitch, the sea was not flat either. A few more seconds… now! He pulled with all his strength, struggling to control his broom. Had he misjudged… a wave rose in front of him, higher than the rest. He cursed, and rolled, pulling to the side as well, bleeding speed.

It wasn't enough - he crashed into the top of the wave, and his shield shattered. The water hit him, battered him, almost swept him from his broom, and for a horrible instant he thought he had crashed. Then he broke through the wave, drenched but still flying. Alive! And close to Prince of Wales.

He drew his wand and started to cast.

"Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!"

Before he could cast a fourth time he was past the battleship, and climbing up again. Behind him, the next volley arrived. The explosions shook his broom, and he bent low, praying no fragments found him.

They didn't, and he hastily recast his Shield Charm at a safer altitude, taking deep breaths. That had been close.

"Thank you!" he heard Prince of Wales through the radio.

Her guns - three turrets now, bellowed. Hood's followed. Dorsetshire with her faster guns was keeping up a steady stream of shells. Harry glanced at the enemy again, just in time. He saw the wounded battleship getting hit once, twice, three times, in her chest. Oil and pale flesh flew away. For a second, she gaped, then her upper body vanished in a fireball.

"Scharnhorst destroyed," Hood calmly reported. "Switch fire to enemy cruiser. What's the status of the enemy ships near Azkaban?"

"We haven't spotted the light cruiser," Hermione reported. "She has to be on the island."

Harry cursed. They needed the island for their ritual. A ship would not be stable enough in this weather, and no other land was close enough. He checked the destroyers through his Omnioculars. Sikh and Cossack, easily recognisable due to their headgear, were blazing away at an enemy who was reeling under the assault. Harry could see her rigging was already in tatters, and she was weakly firing back with just one gun. The two British shipgirls had not been left unscathed, but they looked far better. Further away, one shipgirl was being propped up by another while Ron was repairing her. He thought it was Acasta, but it was hard to tell with all the smoke one of them was releasing. He also saw a few more brooms flitting around - but not as many as there should be.

He saw just two more enemies, both burning, under fire from three British destroyers he didn't recognize either - all of them were covered with soot and oil, but sailing parallel to the enemy, their guns firing constantly. Then the enemies suddenly turned, charging straight at the British destroyers.

All three shipgirls instantly focused on the leading enemy. Harry saw the creature shudder under the impact, pale flesh ripped away under the assault. Yet she kept going, on a collision course, a mad grin on her face. Then one shell hit her knee, stopping her. She listed to the side, and before she regained her balance in the rough sea, more shells struck her, and she fell down, vanishing into the sea.

But the other enemy had used the sacrifice of her comrade and was now far too close to be stopped, even as the destroyers shifted their fire. Harry could only watch helplessly as the burning monster slammed into one destroyer - Firedrake, he recognised her now - and the two toppled over, falling down and disappearing into the waves.

Neither resurfaced.

Hermione's voice broke through the rage Harry felt right then. "Harry, Ron - we need to get to Azkaban!"

She was right. They needed to get the ritual ready, and seal the soul fragment once the Bismarck was sunk, or the monster would return with another body. He glanced back at Hood and Prince of Wales, which were now in range of the smaller guns - their secondaries. That would make flying close enough to heal and repair them too dangerous anyway. They would have to finish this battle without him or Ron.

Ron had come to the same conclusion. "Brown, have your people repair the destroyers, then move to support Hood!" Harry heard him order.

"Potter and Weasley, moving to Azkaban," Harry said, tapping his radio and his mirror at the same time. "Good luck, Hood."

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

HMS Hood held her course while at her flank, Prince of Wales was slowly falling back, too damaged despite the magic repairs to keep up with the battlecruiser. Her guns - those left - were still firing though. Ahead, what remained of the Scharnhorst - a few burning pieces of wreckage and oil slicks - were slowly disappearing in the waves. Behind them, Repulse's remaining guns were firing, shells arcing towards the heavy cruiser that was still trailing the Bismarck. They splashed all around the enemy ship, scoring no hits though. Dorsetshire's fire was hitting the cruiser, but if her shells were doing any critical damage, Hood couldn't spot it. Her attention remained focused on the Bismarck anyway. The enemy was concentrating their fire on Hood, and had been doing so for a few minutes already.

Her nemesis was charging towards her, forward turrets firing. Hood grit her teeth and braced for their impact. They were already in range for the enemy's secondaries, but she barely felt the smaller shells that hit her. Four 15-inch shells arced down. Three went wide - Hood had changed course in time. The fourth though hit her port rigging, smashing through one of her 4-inchers. She longed to fire back - her secondaries were already firing rapidly, leaving pockmarks and scorched stains on the pale skin of the monster facing her - but she knew her duty. As long as the Bismarck was shooting at her, her friends were safe. The cruiser fired as well, 8-inchers. At that range, Hood's armour belt could handle them. And it did.

Her own turrets were swinging towards the enemy cruiser, the Blücher she thought, who was manoeuvring to throw off her firing solution. Hood grinned - she was a battlecruiser, built to hunt down and destroy enemies just like this one. She veered starboard, just enough to unshadow her astern turrets. Then her main guns thundered, and eight 15-inch shells flew towards the doomed cruiser. Half of them hit, smashing into the monster. One reduced a turret to a flaming wreck, tearing off part of the rigging it was mounted on as well. Another ripped off a chunk of Blücher's thigh in a shower of oil and metal. And the last two struck the monster's chest, one going straight through it, the other exploding inside her belly. The struck cruiser stopped weaving between the waves with a shocked expression, arms cradling her smoking belly. Her wounded leg was getting battered by the waves already - she wouldn't last much longer.

"Dorsetshire, finish off the cruiser. Repulse, Prince of Wales - switch fire to the Bismarck!"

Hood's own turrets were already swinging towards the approaching battleship. Two more shells hit her, one passing through her arm without doing much damage, the other striking an angling blow to her A-turret, which glanced off. The battlecruiser grinned - at the distance they were now, the danger of plunging fire striking her weak deck armour was gone. Her armour belt was just a little bit worse than Prince of Wales's, and her turrets were even better protected.

Behind her, Dorsetshire started to riddle the crippled Blücher with 8-inch shells while Repulse and Prince of Wales turned to aim at the Bismarck. Hood paid no attention to them. Her enemy was in front, coming straight at her. She bared her teeth, and fired her forward guns. One hit, smashing anti-aircraft gun and setting off some ammunition, the others straddled the Bismarck. In return, a dozen smaller shells hit Hood, ripping into her skin and rigging. She ignored them. She'd sink her enemy, even if she had to use her own corpse to drag the Bismarck down to the depths of the sea!

She changed course. If she manoeuvred just right, she could launch her torpedoes. But the distance was not yet close enough to guarantee a hit. It was shrinking quickly, though. Salvoes from Prince of Wales and Repulse arrived, most of the shells falling into the sea around the enemy battleship. Hood saw three shells strike, but two hit the armour belt with no noticeable effect. Another hit the superstructure though, blowing away a director. Then her own guns finished reloading, and fired. One shell smashed into the enemy's leg, leaving a deep gash. Two more punctured the superstructure, hopefully destroying vital systems. The rest missed.

"Enemy cruiser sunk!" Dorsetshire reported.

Hood briefly glanced over her shoulder. The Blücher had toppled, sinking amidst a spreading slick of oil. "Keep your distance and engage the Bismarck with your guns!" the battlecruiser ordered. The enemy's secondary batteries were still firing, and the cruiser couldn't stand up to them at the range needed for a torpedo attack.

A 5.9-inch shell bounced off her forehead, leaving her dazed for just a second. Shaking her head, she was about to retaliate, when the 15-inchers struck her. Hood hissed in pain when one of her turrets was hit in the barbette, jamming up at once. Another shell found a weak spot in her armour belt and hit three of her boilers. And a third blew through her shoulder, throwing her back. Grinding her teeth, she returned fire, scoring another hit on the enemy's armour belt. Her four-inchers were getting decimated by the enemy's 5.9-inch guns. Panting, she wiped some oil from her face, and pressed on.

The next salvo from Bismarck wrecked her foremast and the rangefinder of her B-turret. Hood had to blink to keep her enemy in her sights. Her six remaining guns fired, raggedly now. Parts of her rigging were on fire. The Bismarck wasn't looking much better though - two more volleys from Repulse and Prince of Wales had struck her, as well as a dozen shells from Dorsetshire. The battleship's skin was scorched, torn in many spots - Hood knew her own skin must look the same - and smoke poured out of several holes in her rigging. But her guns were still firing. More shells hit Hood, and she lost more boilers, slowing her down. She could see Bismarck grin ferally. Her enemy thought she was beaten.

Hood snarled. She wasn't beaten yet! Turning towards starboard, she presented her broadside, and her turrets fired again, seconds before her B-Turret was destroyed by a direct hit below its armored front. But now Bismarck was close enough. Her port torpedo mounts had been destroyed, but her starboard mounts were still intact. Hood began to turn towards port. More shells struck her, one glancing off her head, costing her her radar. Another struck the wrecked B-Turret, but the magazines had been flooded already. Her return fire blew parts off the enemy rigging, finally silencing one turret. And then her torpedo tubes were lined up, and two 21-inch torpedoes shot into the water.

Bismarck was laughing. Her old enemy, brought low! Helplessly floundering under her fire! Her armour was smashed, her turrets destroyed, her rigging wrecked. All that was left was the coup de grâce to put the battlecruiser out of her misery. She wanted to savour the moment of her triumph. Another volley from the crippled battleship fell around her, one shell glancing off her armour belt. Bismarck sneered - once the Hood was sunk, she'd finish off the rest.

The Hood was turning in front of her - as if presenting her starboard side would save her! Bismarck laughed, her turrets reloading, as she lined up the salvo that would finish the enemy. Then she saw the twin trails in the water, and her eyes, so far untouched by enemy fire, widened. Torpedoes!

She turned away, throwing off her own aim - even though she had good torpedo protection, and had weathered such attacks, she remembered what one hit to her rudder had done. Not today though! She turned rapidly, trying her hardest to evade the closing torpedoes. Just a bit more…

The Hood's guns had fired again and three shells smashed into her right leg, throwing her off-course as she lost two screws. She tried to compensate, but she wasn't quick enough - both torpedoes hit, and she shuddered under the impact as weakened armour buckled, and water rushed into her and systems fell silent.

She screamed, with pain and frustration. She would sink the Hood! Panting, she struggled to hold her course as her remaining turrets were brought to bear on her prey. But more shells struck her - the Repulse and the Prince of Wales were still firing. Bismarck's superstructure was mangled even more, one hitting her head and wrecking her main fire control director. Turret Anton fired anyway, but missed. Then it was Hood's turn again, and Bismarck shuddered as four more 15-inch shells struck her, again in her already damaged leg. She fired back - then blinked. Her turrets were not responding. She glanced to her side - part of her rigging had been torn off. She had only one turret left. Her 15-cm guns were reduced to two, and her FlaK was gone altogether, destroyed by the constant fire from the Hood's secondary batteries and the heavy cruiser.

But the Hood… she'd sink the Hood! She'd ram her! She'd blow up a magazine! Bismarck's last turret fired again, one shell ripping through the battlecruiser's side, silencing another 4-incher. Almost! Anton was reloading. Just another volley…

Bismarck blinked. Why was the sea rising to starboard? Why were the waves growing so tall…

She realised that she was toppling, her leg blown off, right before she hit the water and rolled over. It didn't hurt, she thought, as her face sank beneath the waves, and the sounds of battle faded.

Air bubbles trailed from her mouth and oil leaked from the holes in her body as she slowly sank towards the bottom of the sea. It was peaceful, she realised. Almost… almost…

Darkness swallowed her.

North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001

"Courageous to Landing Force: No sign of the enemy cruiser. She has to be hiding on the island."

Ron Weasley clenched his jaw while he flew towards Azkaban, a foot or two above the waves. He was all too aware of the fate of the last wizards trying to fly to that island, and even with the Sea Gladiators and Swordfish circling above the island, ready to pounce on any enemy, he couldn't help but be nervous. Doubly so since Harry and Hermione were coming as well. With them were half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards who had been acting as pickets. Ron would tackle a Death Eater hideout with that kind of force - had done so with less - but to face a shipgirl? Even one hiding on land, where she was not quite as powerful?

But there was no choice. They had to do the ritual, or this battle would have been for naught, and Azkaban was the only piece of land in range. They had to take the island. He only hoped that their plan to deal with a shipgirl on land would work.

The rocky shores loomed in front of him now, and he started to pull up. Harry, as usual, was climbing rapidly already, shooting up as if this was a Quidditch match. Hermione would be cursing Quidditch, brooms and flying in general by now, he knew. But she'd manage.

Harry reached the edge of the cliff and leveled his broom, wand ready. Ron held his breath, cursing his slower broom, but nothing happened. He reached the edge himself right when Harry jumped off his Firebolt, taking cover behind a rock nearby. Ron followed his example, even though the rock wouldn't stand up to a naval gun - old habits were hard to break.

Hermione landed behind them, grunting when she dropped from her broom to the ground and went prone at once, then crawled up to their position. Then the rest of their force followed - three Aurors and two Hit-Wizards. They first hovered over the sea, presenting perfect targets for anyone on the island, then dismounted.

When they didn't seem to move right away, Ron yelled: "Take cover!" That made them move, at last, and they disappeared behind rocks and - Ron cursed - a bush.

"Useless curse fodder," Harry whispered. "How much time do we have left?"

"Originally, the Bismarck took hours to sink," Hermione said. "But the Hood was sunk in minutes."

Ron knew that they had a small window of opportunity. They couldn't lure the Bismarck into their ritual circle, like they had managed with Voldemort. So they had to prepare the ritual, and then start it once the Bismarck had been sunk. And for that they needed a safe spot for the circle. Which meant they had to find and deal with that cruiser.

He yelled to the hiding Ministry forces again: "Follow us, we advance!"

Then he nodded to Harry, took a deep breath, and turned around the right corner of the rock while his friend rounded the other corner. The next cover was about twenty yards away. He sprinted over rocks and patches of grass, expecting a curse - or worse, a shell - to fly towards him any second. It didn't, and he dropped into a small pit, more like a dent in the rocky ground. Hermione rushed past him, towards the ruins of a wall.

Harry moved up on the left side, then Ron sprinted forward, rolling behind the rubble left from Azkaban's main gate. Still no resistance - had the cruiser escaped somehow? Despite the patrols in the air? Ron glanced at Hermione, then the two of them entered the prison proper. Or what was left of it.

The walls were gone, as were some buildings. Nothing but rubble remained of them. But the main tower above the cells still stood, and so did the barracks.

"Barracks, then cells," Ron said. They could be searched quickly, and they wouldn't have to risk an enemy at their back when they entered the tower.

Harry nodded, and turned towards the Ministry wizards and witches who were just now arriving. "Cover the tower, but do not enter!"

They spread out in a ragged line to encircle the tower. Ron wanted to straighten them out, but they had to press on. He took point, and rushed to the door of the barracks. He didn't bother checking if it was locked - a glance back, and Hermione blew it away with a Blasting Curse. Ron went in low, jumping through the dust cloud thrown up by her spell, and rolled over a surprisingly smooth floor.

Harry followed at once, covering the other side. Someone had remodeled - the desk and Head Warden's quarters were gone. And the door to the main quarters for the guards was open. Ron moved ahead, Harry right behind him, just as Hermione entered the building.

Those doors were open, at an angle. Ron peeked through, and recoiled as soon as he spotted something moving in there.

Hermione immediately blew this door away as well, sending splinters inside. A yell told Ron that at least one had found its mark. No gunfire erupted though - it looked as if those monsters couldn't summon their rigging on land, like shipgirls. Which left them with superhuman endurance, strength and resistance.

They waited, expecting an attack through the door, but nothing of the sort happened. Ron held his breath - was that sobbing he heard? He glanced at Harry. Judging by his friend's expression, he had heard it as well. Had a guard or prisoner been left alive?

Ron rounded the corner, leading with his wand, using the wall to shield his body. There was a pool where the beds had been, crudely made and filled with water. Ron smelled the sea, and blood. Something rose from the pool. Someone - a pale, nude girl, the only color on her her red eyes. She looked familiar, somehow, but he couldn't place her. She was shivering, holding an arm over her chest, the other dangling at her side.

For a moment, they stared at each other. That wasn't how Ron had imagined this meeting would happen. Then Harry entered behind him, and those red eyes widened.

"P… P… Potter!" she screamed. "D...Draco! Draco!"

Then she rushed at them, at Harry, yelling incoherently, arms stretched out, fingers curled like claws. Ron's instincts took over, and he cast a Blasting Curse without thinking. The spell hit her shoulder, staggering her, but where a human would have lost half their chest, this monster could still move her arm!

Harry dropped to the ground a second before she tried to smash his head in, and rolled away, a Reductor Curse hitting her leg. She screamed, and turned to follow him. Ron sent another Blasting Curse into her back. Hermione had told him that this was the curse most likely to work best.

The creature shrieked, and turned to face him. "W...W...Weasley!"

Ron was about to hit her in the head with his next curse while Harry slid around her towards the door when he recognised her face. It was younger, and looked slightly different, but… "Malfoy? Narcissa Malfoy?" How the...

Her charge interrupted his thoughts, and he was not quick enough to evade her clumsy strike completely. Her blow clipped his Shield Charm, shattering it, and sent him through the door, almost barrelling Hermione over.

"M...Mudblood! All of you!"

Hermione had been casting spells at the pool, Ron realised as he got up again. Vanishing the water - if it was water in the first place. The former pureblood witch charged at his friend, but she crashed into a stone wall that rose in front of her. Harry slipped out, dragging Hermione with him while the wall started to crack.

Hermione shook herself loose from Harry, then aimed her wand at the wall's foot. "Make a hole!" she yelled, and started casting. Ron understood, and started to cast as well, followed by Harry. They managed to form a pit by the time the wall was shattered. The monster stopped at the pit, staring at them.

Then Harry hit the ground below her feet with a Blasting Curse, and she fell down. Hermione rushed forward and pointed her wand down, muttering. Then she threw herself backwards a second before green fire shot up from the pit, and the screams of rage of the creature that had been Narcissa Malfoy turned to shrieks of horror and pain as she burned alive in Fiendfyre.

Ron swallowed as the screams grew louder, turning into guttural howls. "How long will she…" he asked, trailing off. Any witch or wizard would have died in seconds in that inferno.

Hermione pressed her lips together, casting a Bubble-Head Charm before answering. "Longer than we can wait."

Ron stared at her, then nodded.

Minutes later, they still heard the inhuman screams from the burning pit as they prepared the ground for the ritual. Hermione pulled out a small plate of black stone and enlarged it, revealing the circle she had prepared beforehand. Harry leveled a space and levitated the plate over. Ron started to adjust the ground - it had to be perfectly even.

Then his radio crackled. "The Bismarck has been sunk! I repeat: The Bismarck has been sunk!"

While cheers filled the channel, the three of them worked even harder. Time was running out. Hermione set the sealing crystal with the other soul fragments in the centre of the circle. Then she touched the runes surrounding it with her wand, and they lit up, displaying the intricate designs Hermione had created years ago. All three looked at each other, then slit their palms, letting the blood fall on to the runes. The sacrifices made, they started chanting.

This time though, the soul fragments started to fade, instead of being pulled into the crystal. Ron knew what that meant: There was no Soul Anchor left to hold them.

Voldemort was no more.