'Missy Hermione be waking up now.' The disembodied words were the only warning Hermione got before she was abruptly torn away from the past. She jolted up, disorientated by the darkness and the silence after the brightly lit, bustling hospital ward of 19th century Germany. For a moment she sat, blinking sightlessly in the darkness as her eyes failed to adjust, until her house elf snapped her fingers and lit a candle.
At first, she couldn't work out what had prompted the late night awakening, then she noticed the silence. Hermione was not one to sleep under a silencing charm, even when the bombardment of the aurors was a soundtrack of thunder and crackling sparks exploding like a constant firework display above their heads. It meant she could tell if something was wrong, and she could also tell when it had fallen inexplicably silent.
'What's going on?' She demanded, jumping out of bed and throwing open the shutters. The moon was almost full, drawing bright silver across the white walls of the castle and painting the shadows black. The burned fields were a swathe of white, trimmed on the left by the grey smudge of the forests and marred at the far end by the huddle of pavilions the aurors had set up when they finally realised they could approach unhindered so long as they didn't cross the border by magical means. The air between them was utterly still and quiet without the telltale white bolts of wardbreakers.
'I is not knowing. That is why Flighty is waking you.' The elf knotted her fingers nervously.
'Thank you, Flighty. You did the right thing. My robes and sword, if you would, and please have Katana saddled?'
The house elf quickly set to following her instructions as Hermione climbed up fully onto the window seat and picked up the binoculars. It was the same set that Harry had purchased for the World Cup, allowing for remarkable clarity even across the considerable distance of no-man's-land.
It was almost three, going by Hermione's watch, so it wasn't unexpected that the auror encampment was almost deserted. Three sentries still patrolled behind the protective pallisade they'd built to fend off the castle's bastillae bolts, but the little turret they'd been using to mount their bombardment was empty. A soft glow wavered from within one of the tents, tinted demonic red by the fabric awning and throwing indecipherable shadows. There were six rowboats hauled up onto the sand of the beach which suggested that the usual contingent of about twenty aurors was on the island, although Hermione was well aware that there could be more boats tied up behind the cover of the woods.
The flash of moonlight across Katana's scales was almost blinding through the binoculars and she pulled them away to see her beast landing on the top of the square tower below. He folded his wings in a distinctly disgruntled manner and nosed the closest guardian as if hoping for treats. She exchanged the binoculars for her sword, belting the weapon to her waist as she hurried down the staircase. Flighty trailed after her, snapping, clapping and waving her elven magic to ensure Hermione was presentable.
She was soon astride Katana, soaring down to the outer walls to find out whether any of the watch had seen anything. Not for the first time, she wished Katana was a colour that didn't catch the moonlight quite so brilliantly - whatever the ministry were planning, they would now know that she was awake. She followed the pull of magic through her bond with Mordred and landed in the courtyard just behind the gatehouse, climbing the stairs two at a time to meet him on the wall. Cwyllog was there, hastily attired in only a Gorlois cloak, her shield and carrying Mordred's sword. Hermione nodded to the shield maiden, then turned to the Dark Knight.
'What's happening?' She demanded, before anyone had even risen from their bow. It was six long paces from the staircase to the outer edge of the wall and she covered it quickly, joining the Captain of the Watch. Mordred fell into step at her shoulder.
'Sir Gareth reports seeing a brief burst of activity around their command tent shortly before they stopped their attack, but nothing else that might arouse suspicion.' Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, then blinked and leaned back to look more closely at the captain of the watch. He wore the same mail and cloak as the other guardians, the same rounded shield with it's painted blue field and white grim, but there, pinning his cloak, was a miniature bronze shield, embossed with a two headed eagle and diagonal sash.
'Your brother, Mordred?' She asked, with considerable surprise. She hadn't realised that she had more family among the undead in Avalon.
'One of them, yes.' Mordred agreed, sounding somewhat resigned. Sir Gareth knocked bone knuckles against his mail in a gesture of fealty, then moved on to wave somewhat mischievously.
'Perhaps when the night is over, you might like to join me for a meal? I would very much like to hear more of your's and Mordred's childhood.'
Mordred sounded very put upon when he directed them to return their attention to the auror encampment, where nothing much had changed. Without her binoculars, Hermione could see even less than she'd been able to see in the tower.
Sir Gareth signed the word for scouting, shrugging to indicate that it was a question and pointed in the direction of the auror camp. He wanted to know if they should send scouts to find out what was going on. Hermione considered the suggestion, wondering who, or what, she would send on such a perilous mission.
'I could go.' Sirius Black, obviously only recently awoken, with his hair in disarray and still tucked into the collar of his inside-out robe, climbed up to join them on the outer wall. He was slightly breathless and had a broom in one hand and wand in the other. 'They wouldn't cast to kill a wizard, like they would anyone else, if they spotted me.'
'But you'd lose your immunity. It would be the proof they need that you are actively supporting me, and I need your vote to help get Lord Nott into power.' She pointed out, turning away from the wall to face him. Lord Black grimaced, but reluctantly seemed to acknowledge her point.
'They wouldn't catch me.' He said sulkily, but didn't push the issue further.
'Movement!' Mordred cried suddenly, brandishing his arm in the direction of the encampment. The command tent had collapsed… no, it had been pulled down. The tiny figures of aurors were floating the fabric aside, away from the jumbled timber structure beneath. Except as more and more was revealed, it became clear even from a distance that it was not the chaotic skeleton of a poorly constructed tent.
'A trebuchet.' Mordred murmured, the first to recognise it.
'A trebuchet?' Hermione echoed incredulously. 'What is this? The dark ages again?'
The long arm of the siege weapon whipped up as soon as the fabric was clear, sending it's payload arching up, up over the ground between them. A dark smudge, only a brief blot against the stars, that sailed far over their heads and hit the wards with a sound that seemed to reverberate right through the stone they stood upon. It had been loud in Avalon before, with the aurors casting their spells; it was nothing compared to a barrel of some kind of potion, now sizzling bright splatter and sparking shards of broken timber, sliding down the dome-like structure of the wards.
'You started it. Where else would they have looked for ideas on how to assault a castle? You're using bows, arrows and bastillae.' Black answered, sounding somewhat faint. Cheers drifted towards them across no-man's-land and the long arm of the trebuchet began winding it's way back down again.
'They're using magic to reload.' Mordred commented, eyes narrowed. Then he glanced up at the potion, slowly being consumed by the wards. 'It's too fast to be mechanical, and the aurors aren't fit enough to manage it.'
'Will the wards hold?' Hermione followed his gaze upwards. There was no visible damage to the protective shield, but never before had Hermione seen such destructive force unleashed in a single moment upon magical protections.
'They'll hold against physical force.' Mordred assured, but his expression was still somewhat pinched. 'I'm concerned about what might be in that potion.'
'So we don't know if we're safe?' She confirmed.
'I could get a sample?' Black offered, hoisting his broom. All three descendants of Gorlois turned to him incredulously.
'You'd get hit.' Mordred informed him bluntly, just as another barrel of potion exploded above their heads and illustrated his point perfectly.
'If there's a time to do it, it's now.' Black retorted quickly. 'It was what, a minute between shots? They'll only get faster, and we need to know if the wards will hold. I'll wait on the ground until they fire, fly up, get a sample and be down before they fire again.'
He held their gaze unflinchingly and eventually Hermione agreed. Black was right - it was dangerous, but he had volunteered and they needed to know if they were in danger.
'Sir Gareth.' She turned, waiting until the knight met her gaze. 'Aim as many bastillae as are in range at that trebuchet. Steel tips - I want them to go through the wards, distract the aurors and if we're lucky they'll damage it. Give Lord Black as long as possible. Have the castle bastillae aim for the shots - we can reload faster, and we might just knock a couple off course. Until we know how dangerous they are, we must assume they can hurt us.'
The undead knight bowed, clapping his fist to his chest and heading off to carry out her orders, delegating several guardians to pass the instructions down the wall and another to wake the rest of the bastilla crews.
'Lord Black, Sir Mordred will accompany you to the gates and let you through the sally. He will await your return to let you back in, and shield you as best he is able to.' Mordred bowed, a savage smile curling at his lips as he too obeyed her instructions.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the movement of the trebuchet again, sending another barrel of potion splattering across the wards with the force of a cannon-shot. Lights were beginning to appear in the windows of the city as people rose to investigate the sudden noise.
Then a horn blew, from somewhere across the city - South Curtain, or one of the south-western towers. Hermione didn't know or understand the signals, with their infestimal differences, but the guardians loading bastillae around her jerked and glanced over. It was enough to know the news was not good.
'Attack on the South Curtain!' Mordred bolted back up the stairs of the guardhouse to share the news where the tongueless, silent guardians could not.
'See to Lord Black and that potion.' She instructed, brushing past him and hurrying back to Katana.
'The trebuchet was a distraction.' Mordred hissed, trailing close behind her.
'A distraction, a two-pronged attack… I don't care. Both must be dealt with.' Katana flapped his wings and tossed his head as he sensed her agitation. She slipped past the flashing talons and vaulted up without a break in her rapid stride.
'Take Cwyllog with you.' Mordred requested, gesturing to the shieldmaiden at his elbow. His wife twisted to look at him, as surprised as Hermione. 'She knows the castle, and no leader should fight without a shield bearer.'
For a moment, Hermione considered saying no. It was additional weight, and Mordred's wife was better served carrying his sword, but she knew that the dark knight would feel more at ease knowing that she had someone tasked specifically with her safety. Cwyllog also understood and could use the horn signals…
'With me then, Shieldmaiden.' Hermione instructed, offering a hand. Cwyllog hesitated barely a moment - a brush of her hand against Mordred's, a touch of bone to his skin. Then she leaned his sword up against the gatehouse and accepted Hermione's hand, vaulting up with ease to sit behind her. Hermione's battlerobes were not thick enough to obscure the unsettling feeling of having a skeleton pressed so closely against her; she could feel the way Cwyllog's rib cage flexed with every movement, and the arm wrapped around her waist felt so slender that it might break.
They were a dart, a flash of silver, wing tips brushing the buildings and curving around corners without once breaching the roofline and revealing themselves to anyone outside the city. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once, and even Hermione's legs felt wobbly when Katana finally alighted at the central tower of the southern outer wall. Cwyllog, either because she was braver or had no muscles left to shake, led the way up to the top, announcing Hermione's presence with a crash of her fist against her shield.
A captain quickly met them with a deep bow, then pointed out across the water. She followed the line of his arm to see what had caused the alarm, but saw nothing. Not even a seagull resting on the gently twinkling waves. Another barrel of potion smashed into the wards behind them, the brief flare leaving splotches across her vision.
'What did you see?' She asked. The captain gestured again, then mimed something with his arms.
'Rowers?' She asked, peering back down at the water. The captain nodded. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the water again. It was a calm night, with a cold but light breeze that sent gentle waves slapping at the castle cliffs and reflected the moonlight in sharp, glittering shards like a layer of broken glass spread across the water. A disturbance would be almost impossible to spot, especially as yet another barrel of potion slammed into the wards above their heads, blindingly bright… there.
The guardians had sharp eyes… or perhaps the lack of eyes meant they weren't hindered by such simple things as reflections. Cwyllog certainly seemed to have had no difficulty spotting the attackers.
The boats were close, perhaps even below the range of the bastillae. Small too - difficult to hit from a distance, particularly with their slightly erratic movement over the small waves. There would be cursebreakers among them, and aurors to protect them. She couldn't risk the chance that the cursebreakers might actually be able to understand the ward; that they might realise the entire defence system was slaved to an external stone.
'Sound the bell.' Hermione ordered rapidly. 'Bows and wands on the walls - do not give them a moment to work unhindered. Ask King Ragnuk to send goblin warriors to the dragon caves, incase they intend to climb to them. Have the wolves on every rooftop - we need their eyes.'
The guardians on the wall jumped into action, scrambling to follow her instructions with practiced efficiency. Beside her, Cwyllog raised her horn to her lips and blew three deep, rousing notes. As if in response, the great tower bell began to toll. Others joined in; smaller, the bell in the watch house and the barracks, deeper, the bells in the goblin warrens. The discordant noise took up across the city, as grating and instinctively terrifying as the sound of an air raid siren.
The house elves surged onto the wall only moments later, perhaps already awakened by Flighty. They lugged crates of potion vials to distribute among the guardians, but she noticed they'd all taken the time to arm themselves. A meat cleaver tucked into a belt, a bandolier of sharpened screwdrivers, a hammer, tongs, a frying pan slung like a shield over a small back. The elves were prepared to fight, if they had to. Cwyllog snatched up a bow and quiver from the closest rack, slinging her shield across her back. There was a wad of rag on the end of the arrow instead of a point and she soaked it in a potion vial, then notched the arrow. Guardians all down the wall did the same, then the captain of the guard banged a gong. To either side of them, bows twanged. With a buzz, like a swarm of bees, the volley of arrows soared out to sea.
There was a collective pause; an intake of anticipatory breath without lungs. The volley arched up, up, over and down. A shout of alarm carried across the water, then a hasty shield charm burst to life above the boats. Cwyllog reloaded quickly and Hermione raised her hand, casting a wandless wardbreaker that left her fingers tingling. The shield charm above the aurors faltered when her spell landed and several following arrows found their mark, causing a splatter of thick paint, a transfiguration into a goose and one small fire that was quickly extinguished before the charm was replaced. Hermione took a moment to recover, then cast again. More guardians streamed up and onto the wall, dotted with wide eyed wixen, taking up weapons and wands to join in the defence.
The battle lasted hours - the moon set, plunging them into darkness broken only by the strobe light of the wards. Night vision was impossible, accurate aim was improbable, yet still she cast on. There was no other choice. Anneken, Berg and Sirius formed a rotation, forcing breaks every half hour to preserve their energy. It was during one of these that Mordred briefed her on the trebuchet and the potion. So long as there remained only one trebuchet, and presuming they didn't increase the potency of their formula, they need not fear for the outer wards. It was about as good news as she could hope for, although not as easy as she'd wished.
'Make them think we don't fear it.' Was Mordred's suggestion. He proposed they resume their previous, casual bombardment of the encampment with a single bastilla, and Hermione had agreed, bringing the bastillae crews out to replace the tiring and blinded living. She set a werewolf to watch the perimeter of the island from the top of the tallest tower, spotting whether there was any sign of supplies for another weapon being brought in. They'd missed the last one, and she was determined not to make the same mistake twice.
The temperature dropped just before sunrise, threatening rain or even snow. Hermione stopped being able to feel her fingers at about that time, although whether that was caused by the cold or the excessive wandless casting, she did not know. When her rotation came around, she was barely able to muster more than hex in place of her wardbreaker. The crates of potion were beginning to run low, the arrows in the barrels becoming warped as they were duplicated again and again, beyond what was sensible.
Then, just as her magic finally failed her, the attacking boats turned and retreated. Hermione sagged against the wall, the cheering of the defenders barely buoying her.
'They must be as exhausted as us.' Anneken's skin was ashen and the light of the closest brazier, her hair a wild tangle and the bright white of her nightie flashed through the slit up the skirts of her battle robes. She flexed her fingers over the flames and Hermione shuffled to join her. The elder witch grasped her hands, helping to rub feeling back into both their fingers.
'Yeah.' Black's lips twisted bitterly. 'But they'll be back.'
'We should all rest.' Mordred advised. He was already looking faint and incorporeal, fading in and out of being. There was no argument with his words. The watch was handed off to the ghosts, who took up their duty with pride whilst the guardians retreated to drink skelegro and nurse worn fingertips. Hermione stumbled blearily up to Morgana's tower, almost made it to her bed, paused to drink the hot chocolate that had been thoughtfully left on her desk, then got distracted by the provisioning accounts that had also been delivered.
That was how Neville found her, several hours after sunrise, reviewing the costs and consumables of the battle.
'Neville?' She asked, surprised by his presence when he knocked on the door. 'Why aren't you at Hogwarts?'
'It's the Yule holiday.' He answered slowly, arching an eyebrow in a manner very like his grandmother. She glanced over at the clever goblin made calendar-clock and realised that he was correct. It was half past eleven on the nineteenth of December. The Hogwarts Express would have left Hogsmeade station half an hour ago, and those students making their way home by other means would have been free to do so at the same time. Neville must have come almost directly to her office.
'Oh.' She responded, too tired to do much else. 'Where are the others?'
'Ginny's Dad was injured doing some work for the Order. Guard duty, or something? She's visiting him in St Mungos… it's pretty bad, I think. They're trying to blame you.'
'I didn't do it.' Hermione responded wearily.
'We know.' Neville grinned wryly. 'Giant snake bites seem more like You-Know-Who's style.'
'Harry?' She asked, relieved that at least there wasn't another fire to put out there. She didn't know how much more she could take.
'He'll be here soon, I think. Sirius picked him up, and I think they're coming through from Nott Manor.'
She blinked, impressed that Black had both remembered the date and had the energy to arrive on time.
'How's school?' Hermione asked. She did not remember exactly what it felt like to be sleepy; she no longer slept, but she imagined it was something close to how she felt at that moment. Her mind kept drifting, flitting between every worry and concern for only enough time to make her nervous but not enough to come to any real solutions. The numbers on the reports had stopped making any real sense a long time ago.
'Weird, without you there.' Neville informed her with a shrug. 'Dumbledore's teaching defence. Apparently they had Mad-Eye Moody lined up to do it, but the ministry brought him out of retirement after you escaped.'
'Oh?' Hermione felt a small spark of interest stir.
'Yeah. He's alright, I guess. Better than Umbridge, for sure. We're studying the Fey, and their servants.'
'Oh?' Hermione was certainly interested now. The sleepy feeling retreated.
'Yeah. Apparently they used to be everywhere, but they disappeared about the same time as Merlin. Dumbledore thinks that it was Merlin's last selfless act - to banish the fey rulers back to their plane.'
'Oh really?'
'Yeah. There were loads of old books in the room of requirement about it all. Apparently Morgana was crowned by the Unseelie King, Finnvar… or something…'
'Finvarra.' Hermione supplied quietly, remembering the eerie figure in the ball room, with purple eyes and bone white armour.
'Yeah. Anyway, Dumbledore says the fey used to offer deals - three gifts in exchange for a favour. Apparently Morgana asked for this city, a vial of his blood and a child, but Finvarra took the child as his favour, the vial of blood dried up and the city only stood for twenty more years before it had to be abandoned.'
'A vial of his blood?' Hermione asked slowly, realisation dawning. Neville confirmed easily, and continued talking about the sidhe and the wishes they'd granted pharaohs, sultans and emperors, but all Hermione could think about was the faint memory of broken glass scattered around the throne the very first time she'd entered the castle. That, the broken staff and the blood red crystal that had been taken from it's tip. Could it be?
She took another absent sip of her tea, then spluttered when she got a mouthful of dregs, spitting it back out into the cup. She looked up immediately at Neville, flushing, but her classmate looked more amused than anything.
'You've had a long day.' He excused on her behalf. She smiled gratefully, although the excuse did nothing to quell her embarrassment. Then, he seemed to grow somber very quickly, and Hermione knew that he was about to broach whatever subject had sent him hurrying to her side as soon as he was released from school. She forced her fading attention onto him, determined to not waver for a moment despite her exhaustion.
'There were Death Eaters released on the day they tried to arrest you.' Neville began, with a little hesitation. 'Three of them - Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange.'
'The ones who attacked your parents.' Hermione remembered. Neville nodded jerkily, his eyes drifting up to the window above her head and his lip trembling slightly.
'I…Gran says they deserve Azkaban, that it's justice… that it's what my parents would want.'
'But you want a more direct for of revenge?' She queried. Neville would not be the first to do so, now would she particularly object to the act. The Lestranges would not be the first Dark Wizards killed by the children of their victims. In fact, under the ancient laws, Neville was entitled to claim their lives. He could even petition Hermione to challenge them to a formal duel on his behalf.
'Yes… No… Azkaban isn't right. It's not justice - it's torture. I don't want them to walk free, but I don't want them going there either. Nobody deserved madness.' And now he was definitely crying, his breath coming in great, gasping sobs that Hermione really didn't know what to do with. She was too tired to dance through such a delicate situation.
'If you want them killed, I am sure Sir Mordred would be more than happy to be your champion.' She informed him, rubbing at her eyes with her knuckles.
'What?' Neville looked at her quickly, as though he had misunderstood her. Perhaps he hadn't been asking for the family's help.
'They as good as killed both your parents, therefore by the old laws you are entitled to entreat for justice to be served on your behalf by any with the power to do so. You can name a champion to engage in a formal duel. If you want them killed, Mordred would do the honours.'
Neville gawped.
'Or perhaps Gellert… if the ministry continue as they did last night, I will need his wand sooner than I had planned.'
'The old laws actually say that?' Neville eventually managed to gasp.
'They do.' Hermione confirmed. 'And the modern laws have not changed it - at some point in the last millennia, the assumption was made that "those with the power to serve justice" should be interpreted as the wizengamot.'
'And you're going to free Grindelwald?'
'Yes.' Hermione decided. She hadn't actually considered the idea before it slipped out, but it was obvious now that it had been voiced. She needed more magical power to defend the castle and she was already accused of releasing high security prisoners… why not make it official? 'Yes, I am. I'm going to sleep, then I'm going to brew a potion. Is Zabini here?'
'Yes.' Neville's eyes were wide as he watched her quickly stand and make her way across the room towards the stairs.
'Oh…' Hermione paused, just before she ascended. 'Think about your options, Neville, for the Lestranges. Whatever you decide, we can make it happen.'