InsaneJournal

Morag and Ginny vs Thicknesse.

Despite the loud noises and bright flashes of spells flying all around him, Pius Thicknesse felt oddly relaxed. It was not an unfamiliar feeling to Thicknesse, who had inexplicably found himself completely lacking in anxiety for the past nine months, including his transition from Head of the DMLE to Minister of Magic. There were times when this seemed odd to him -- shouldn’t such a position change lead to an increase in stress? -- but this was not one of those times. The only thought in his mind was that he must find people to attack. Most likely they would be students, but if someone challenged him, it didn’t matter their age -- he would fight.

The Minister had the sensation of floating as he wandered through the halls of Hogwarts, his body automatically taking him in the general direction of Ravenclaw Tower. He didn’t make it very far before discovering a target -- a figure whose youth and femininity triggered a voice in his head saying, Not one of us. Thicknesse raised his wand and sent a silent Blasting Curse down the hall toward her.

Ginny was FURIOUS. She knew that there were risks involved and supposed adults would solve the problem but after everything she had gone through this year, she was practically an adult and she deserved to fight in this battle. This was her war too, not just the Order's. She was a leading member of Dumbledore's Army and she wanted to fight. That was all she could think about as she stalked the halls, her wand at the ready, albeit distracted. She almost didn't see the Blasting Curse until it was too late but thankfully she did, throwing up a hasty shield that caught most of the curse but not enough so she fell back just slightly. As soon as she recovered, she sent an "Incendio!" towards Pius.

Thicknesse followed his Blasting Curse down the hall toward the girl. He felt a vague disappointment that her Shield Charm took the brunt of the spell, but then, sometimes these things happened. He would just have to attack again, and better. He continued to advance, but his progress and his thoughts were interrupted by a burst of heat around his feet. He looked down and noticed that the hem of his robes had caught fire. He had a feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be on fire -- it certainly wasn’t something that had happened to him before -- but the flames seemed less pressing than the figure at the end of the corridor. He peered more closely at her, thinking there was something familiar about her red hair and freckles, and aimed several Severing Charms at various parts of her body.

In that moment, a sudden pain in his leg called his attention back to his burning robes. The sensation seemed to uncloud his mind, and he yelped as he came to his senses. “Augamenti!” Pius cried, too distressed to bother with nonverbal spellcasting. What was going on here?

Morag had been separated from Anthony and had been running through the castle trying to find him. She’d gotten a couple of hexes thrown at her but had managed to dodge any damage. She was momentarily distracted from her goal by the sounds of something collapsing and the smell of fire. She came around the corner in time to see Ginny sending and Incendio toward an older man. He quickly put out the fire in his robes and started to aim his wand at Ginny again. Luckily he still hadn’t noticed that Morag was there. She raised her wand and hoped that her voice wouldn’t shake too much.

”Rictusempra!” Morag winced when she realised that she’d sent a tickling charm towards Ginny’s attacker but hoped that it would be enough to distract him so Ginny could do something that was actually useful.

Ginny cheered inwardly as her spell made contact with Thicknesse, causing his robes to light on fire. She had expected more from him or at the very least, a better defense. Oh well. She was about to follow up her spell with something else when Morag joined the fray and sent a Tickling Charm towards him. Even during a battle, Ginny had to laugh a little at the thought of her attacker falling to the ground because he couldn't stand the tickling. However, in case it didn't work, she sent an "Impedimenta!"

His mind still clear from the sharp pain of his burnt flesh, Pius looked all around, trying to figure out why he’d been on fire. He peered at the two girls before him -- they looked so young that they had to still be students. Was he at Hogwarts? The majestic stone walls certainly didn’t disprove the theory, but before he could contemplate it further, he was hit with a tickling jinx. Did one of those girls just hex him?

Pius let out a peal of laughter, doubling over and just barely dodging the Impediment Jinx. As he twitched, trying to push invisible hands away from his body, a voice in his head reminded him that he was here to fight. While it didn’t quite make sense, it did explain the flames and the tickling, and as he accepted this he felt his mind slip into the familiar calm.

The tickling sensation had dulled to the occasional light flutter, and Thicknesse paid little attention to the dark-haired girl who’d caused it. She would be easily taken care of. He fixed his attention on the ginger who’d set him on fire -- she deserved something special in return. He quickly decided that a knee-reversing hex would do the trick and hurled one at her. As an afterthought, he sent a stunner toward the other girl. Might as well get her out of the way.

Again, Ginny was surprised by how... unprepared her opponent was. She expected that, since he was a Death Eater, he'd know how to block at least a few of her -- basic -- spells. It wasn't as if she was doing some sort of complicated magic. They were spells that they had learned in the first years of Defense against the Dark Arts. She was really perplexed. Just as she was worriedly wondering if he had some ace up his sleeve, she caught Pius' knee-reversing hex right where it was supposed to hit and suddenly, she fell to the ground, her kneecaps slamming the floor with force. Her balance had been thrown off and it fucking stung. Tears immediately sprung up in her eyes, but she forced them to stay there and not fall down -- she wasn't going to let him know that his spell had affected her. Wryly, she thought, That's going to bruise tomorrow. (She didn't add a 'if there's going to be a tomorrow.')

Gritting her teeth as she struggled to move around, she cast a Finite so that her knees were back in order. Now Ginny was mad. Why not show Pius the spell she was famous for? Without any more thought, she sent a Bat Bogey Hex his way.

Morag tried to move out of the way but at least part of the stunner hit her. She went crashing into the wall behind her and felt her head meeting stone. She was proud that she managed to send an Impediment curse towards her attacker before things faded to black. Her last conscious thought was that she hoped that he forgot about her now that she was down. She didn’t want to die tonight and leave her sisters and Anthony alone.

Thicknesse was pleased to see both of his attacks hit their targets. He watched both girls fall to the floor, one of them out cold, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t enough. The ginger still needed to be subdued. He had his wand fixed on her, vacillating between stunning her too or binding her with ropes. Before he reached a decision, she recovered enough to retaliate -- much more quickly than Thicknesse had expected. He shuffled sideways, trying to dodge her spell, but it caught him in the chest.

There was nothing painful about it, and for a moment Thicknesse wondered if anything had even happened, but thing he noticed that something was coming out of his nose -- in fact, it was flying out. As the bogey grew larger it developed definite wings, which then propelled it right at Thicknesse’s face. He ducked his head, but it was difficult to get away from enemies that were coming out of your nose. More bogeys joined the first one, and they fluttered around Thicknesse’s head, obscuring his view and occasionally dive bombing him.

There was definitely a reason he liked Bat Bogey Hexes and that was because no one ever expected them. Sure, she liked traditional hexes and curses as much as the next person, but this hex was the ultimate unpredictable attack -- at least in Ginny's mind, it was. She smiled with satisfaction as she watched Thicknesse's own bogeys attack him. It was then that she realised that Morag had been stunned and she rushed to her side. "Ennervate," she cast.

For a safe measure, taking advantage of the distracted state Pius was in, she sent a "Reducto" his way.

Morag blinked back awake trying to shake away the pain she was feeling so she could concentrate on the task at hand. She nodded a grateful thank you at Ginny before forcing herself to stand up.

She pointed her wand at Thicknesse and cast,Petrificus totalus!

She just hoped that it worked and she could paralyse him enough to allow Ginny to use her superior skills.

Beating at the bat bogeys with the long sleeves of his hooded robe, Thicknesse somehow managed to thrash out of the trajectory of the reductor curse. It hit one of his flying friends, which then exploded onto his neck and shoulder. He started to wipe himself off just a bit, but he’d hardly moved his hand before the body bind hit him. His arms snapped to his side at the same time that his legs came together tightly. As Thicknesse fell to the floor, he didn’t think to worry about the vulnerable position that he found himself in -- he was just glad that the bogeys didn’t seem to have followed him down.

Why had that been the easiest battle she had faced? Granted, it wasn't as if Ginny went around seeking chances to prove her mettle, or whatever, but she had been involved in the Department of Mysteries and she was in Dumbledore's Army, for Merlin's sake, and she had been taught that Death Eaters were far scarier and had more talents with Dark Magic than he had. But this wasn't the time to think about this -- they had to get out of there before he somehow got back up. "Stupefy!" she said, safeguarding against any new attack. She was aware that she needed to keep him away from everyone else, but -- she did not feel comfortable using an Unforgivable and they needed to move -- now.

Without a look back at Thicknesse, frozen and knocked out on the floor, she gestured to Morag. "Come on," she said, "we have to go."



Rhys and Megan vs Rodolphus.

Rodolphus Lestrange was a fan of dueling. A champion in his younger years, up until the past eighteen months or so he’d been at a lack for any opportunity to practice. But that had changed with the war, and today was the most fun he’d had in years. Out on the grounds was his ideal place, because sometimes people liked to hide among the trees, and he liked finding them. And find them he did, having just finished a skirmish in the outskirts of the forest, with his opponent wandering off and he not in the mood to run after them. So he headed towards the Quidditch pitch, looking for his next victim.

By many accounts this wasn’t really his fight. Rhys didn’t want any part of the war. He might not have liked muggles, but he didn’t see the part in getting them all riled up or believing that blood could make you a higher caliber wizard. What he saw was a good fight and Rhys was never one to back down from a fight. Not to mention the mounting tension of the past couple weeks certainly gave him enough to angry with.

Rhys had stayed with the group for a while, minding his post before action elsewhere pulled him away toward the quidditch pitch. Looking for some sort of leverage, he went over and opened the quidditch shed finding plenty of things he could turn into weapons there. Far better than he could do with some hexes alone.

Spotting a student in the shed, Rodolphus approached him as silently as possible, with the intention of stupefying him before he even knew what hit him. Once Rodolphus was within range of the student, he paused, hearing him rummaging around, and wondered what he was up to. Surely this wasn’t a student so daft he was planning on going for a fly in the middle of a battle was he? Well, he thought to him self, every generation needed its special students.

Pulling out his wand, he aimed it at the form, intending to do a silent spell. But the spell failed miserably, petering out to a mild shock by the time it hit him.

It probably wasn’t smart to leave his backside unprotected, but Rhys hadn’t really thought this through. Not knowing it was coming, the spell hit his shoulder, sending a little shock through his body, not enough for any real pain, but more than enough to start the adrenaline racing through his veins. Changing a grip on his wand he pointed it at the two bludgers and sent them flying back out toward the assailant. During games they might move with no set pattern, but it wasn’t hard to change that with a wand in hand. And they really could do some damage while he tugged out a few other things.

Growling when he missed, Rodolphus ducked as the two bludgers came after him. He had been a beater at Hogwarts, but that was a number of years ago, and was a little rusty. Quickly conjuring a bat he beat one away, just to have the other come at him. He aimed the second one at the student, but as he was out of practice his aim was off and it flew by Rhys, smashing a hole in the shed, and sending items flying in the process. The next one returned and drilled another hole into shed, and Rodolphus took his wand again, aiming a stunning spell at the boy. “Stupefy!”

Rhys ducked as the second bludger whirled passed him smashing right through the shed, leaving pieces of wood to fly at him. He grabbed the nearest broom and moved to mount it and not a second too soon as red light grazed his side, sending him and the broom off balance into the shed, where the bludgers were gearing up for another round of attacks now just acting as they were originally charmed to do so.

Shaking it off, Rhys adjusted his grip on the broom and pushed off again, but not before swiping one of the practice brooms in the rubble. Things may have been a bit fuzzy, but he trusted himself on a broom more than on the ground. He was a hard target to hit that way. Or at least that was what he hoped.

“Children,” Rodolphus growled as the student flew past him on a broom. Didn’t he realize that this was a war, not a Quidditch game? He wasn’t going to get dragged into a flying fight - not if he could avoid it. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t use Quidditch methods to try to dismount the student, and pounded another bludger in his direction.

Rhys shot a spell to blast the bludger away from him and back toward the death eater. Just because this was war didn’t mean he couldn’t play to his strengths and flying was certainly among them. It allowed him to move in three dimensions, while the man attacking him was stuck in two. “That all you got?” He yelled down.

Megan’s strength lied within the Quidditch field, and she was fully intending on utilising it. Already having conjured a broom, Megan levitated not too far from Rodolphus Lestrange, her wand quickly casting a slicing hex his way. Only after casting the spell did she look up to see the other person on a broom. The recognition was instantaneously. Rhys. Her overwhelming desire to keep him safe, to get him to safety overrode all of her other desires as she flew over in his direction.

Rhys looked over at Megan, grin on his face. “Look who showed up late for the party,” he called over to her. “But, fuck, better late than never, right?” Back up had arrived and now this was just going to be plain old fun. As sane person probably wouldn’t have thought this was a time for joking, but Rhys never claimed sanity and really had never taken anything seriously, so why should he start now?

With Megan there to provide cover, he summoned the rest of the junk in the broom closet toward them to use as projectiles. It was messier than he liked to modify and transfigure some of the stuff to give it an extra bite, but he wasn’t exactly going for perfection, just effectively and perhaps style point. And quaffles with spikes or brooms that had a bit of a jolt to them, totally counted as style point. “Oppugno,” he shouted sending the items back toward the death eater still on the ground.

The slicing hex caught Rodolphus off-guard, and cuts appeared on his arm as the caster flew off. Well he hadn’t been planning on playing some perverse form of battle Quidditch, but the students seemed determined to make it into that, so he decided to go along with it. Summoning a broom, he ducked just in time to avoid the bulk of the items flying at him and took to the air.

Aiming first at the boy, selected a bludger behind him, sending it flying to his back. Turning quickly to the girl, he aimed at the tail of her broom. “Confrigo,” he shouted, hoping that he could damage it enough to make it unusable for flying.

Unless this Death Eater was secretly also a professional Quidditch player, Megan knew that her and Rhys held the advantage over him, at least while on the field. “I knew you’d be happy to see me,” she replied straight back with a smirk, her eyes never leaving their opponent. Rhys and her had been practicing together for years now, although the Death Eater had most likely been practicing his Unforgiveables for just as long, if not a lot longer.

Pulling her broom up, she quickly flew into the air at an alarming rate, barely avoiding the attack while casting a confundus charm his way.

They might have had the advantage, but it didn’t mean that it wouldn’t go without incident. Trying to send his little army of projectiles back toward the Death Eater he didn’t move in time to dodge the bludger flying at him. Rhys had been hit with bludgers plenty of times before, that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt any less this time as it slammed into ribs, knocking the wind out of him for a moment.

Flailing to maintain his balance, his projectiles went all over the place, colliding into each other and causing little explosions like landmines in the air. Breathing heavily, Rhys flipped on his broom so he was hanging upside down, but still staying up in the air.

Rodolphus swerved to avoid the confundus charm, but it hit his broom instead, sending it flying on its own, in disjointed patterns. “Blasted children!” he growled, trying to regain control of his broom. Once he had, he flew in the direction of the girl. “Furnunculus!” he shouted, aiming at her, and then turned on the boy, to send the same hex his way.

Megan was now flying back toward the Death Eater, ready to throw more offensive spells when she saw Rhys flip upside down on his broom. She instinctively cast a shield charm on him before realising that a spell was coming her way. Veering quickly out of the way, in the moment of several things happening at once, Megan dropped her wand onto the grass below.

With Megan’s assist, Rhys was able to right himself on his broom. It was just in time to see Megan had lost it. It being the one thing that made her a witch - her wand. Rhys needed to end this, needed to put the shit attacking them down for the count. Readjusting the grip on his wand he sent the bludgers modified with nice sharp spikes barreling towards Rodolphus. As they went flying through the air he shifted his attention to Megan’s wand. “Accio,” he said.

Dodging the spiked bludgers, Rodolphus realized that the students were much better on brooms than he was, and he wasn’t about to be bested by two children. Charming those bludgers to go after the two students instead of him, he shot off two more hexes, one at each, and then flew away, landing on the ground a little bit away in the hopes of finding a fight that allowed him to keep both feet on the ground.

Megan had been avoiding bludgers her entire life at Hogwarts and this time, it wasn’t any harder -- except the fact that a hex was headed straight for her. In a split-second decision to take a hit from a bludger rather than from an unknown spell, she immediately felt the crack to her ribs. The sensation was familiar but it didn’t make it hurt any less not to mention that when she fell from her broom, they didn’t have a referee to slow their fall or rush to their aid. She laid on the floor breathing in and out heavily and watched as the coward Death Eater flew away. Megan allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment and breathe a sigh of relief.

“Coward!” He shouted after the retreating Death Eater. “Absolute bloody tosser too!” While the words might have been enough, it didn’t full express his anger at him. So, Rhys cast the bludger coming at him soaring back toward the retreating Death Eater. Teach him to turn his back on anyone.

Caught in his anger, he didn’t notice Megan’s wandless predicament until it was too late. He didn’t see what had hit her only that she was falling to the ground faster than he was able to do anything even with two wands. “Shit!” Rhys flew down to the ground, touching down carefully, still a bit sore from his own run in with a bludger, but he could handle that. Balancing two wands and his broom he rushed over to her aid. “Hey, Jones – Megan. You alright?”

The smallest of smirks seemed to grace Megan’s face at Rhys’ insults toward the Death Eater. She pushed herself up with her hands and grimaced, gritting her teeth, but before she knew it, she was already standing up. “Peachy,” she replied, reaching over for her wand. They had barely injured the Death Eater and now he was off somewhere possibly hurting someone else. She had to get going. “Well done, Cadwallader.” On the Qudditch Pitch, it almost just seemed like another intense training session, both a bit banged up. But the truth was, over the Pitch, people were getting hurt. People were dying. And every second here meant another second that a Death Eater could cast an Unforgiveable.

“Let’s go.”



The Golden Trio vs the Slytherin trio.

The situation was spiralling out of control. Draco didn’t know what had gotten into Vincent, but he did know that the Dark Lord wouldn’t be happy if anything happened to Potter. On top of that, his mother’s wand was missing now and he didn’t have the faintest clue as to where it had rolled to now. Hiding behind the three-legged wardrobe, he hoped to avoid the duel that had broken out. From his vantage point, he could see Greg knocked out on the floor. He gritted his teeth, cursing Vincent’s complete stupidity but all the same hoping that he managed to at least overpower one of Potter’s cronies. He needed a wand, any wand.

Before he even knew what was going on, he felt it: heat so overwhelmingly hot that he began choking on the air. The screams to run did not fall on deaf ears, and Draco darted out from behind the wardrobe. The fire at his back motivated him forward in large strides as he made a bolt for the direction of the door, terrified. But Greg -

Draco frantically looked back, seeing him laying out on the floor, still unconscious. “Shit,” he mumbled out. Scampering to him, Draco grabbed him by the arms, pulling him up and wrapping his arms around Greg’s chest, arms tucked under the other boy’s shoulders. “Help,” he said to Vincent, but his plea went unheard. He watched helplessly as Vincent dashed ahead of them all, and staggered behind him, tugging Greg along as fast as he could. The flames were moving faster than he was though, and the only option left was to escape by climbing out of the all consuming sea of flames. It took every ounce of strength he had, and then some, to lift Greg’s dead weight onto the desks he found, but scampered up next to him, clinging to him. Vincent was nowhere to be seen and neither, for that matter, were Potter and his friends.

Facing death, Draco did nothing but scream. Someone had to hear him. Save him. He screamed several times as the flames came closer, finally reaching the desks. As the furniture began to char and burn, heating up beneath him, he clung to Greg, screaming for help until the sounds became muted and strangled by the smoke that scratched at his throat. And then he saw him: Potter on a broom, zooming his way. Draco’s stomach leaped into his throat. He grasped the boy’s outstretched hand, horrified when it slipped out of his hand seconds later. Then Weasley and Granger were there, hauling Greg off of the desks. Draco practically jumped onto the broom behind Potter, arms clinging to his waist.

“The door, get to the door, the door!” he screamed, not caring that his mouth was right near Potter’s ear. All he wanted was escape from the fire. Salvation. He was horrified when Potter didn’t seem intent on leaving, in fact, turning back toward the fire. “What are you doing, the door’s that way!” he yelled. When Potter lunged toward the ground like a maniac, he squeezed his middle, screaming in the process. Dying on the desk had been terrifying enough, but this was worse. He was certain Potter was going to kill them both in an engulfing wave of flames.

And then he was breathing. The fresh air stung, painful as it filled his lungs. Draco lurched forward, slamming into Potter’s back when the broom hit the wall. Seconds later, he fell off in his attempt to dismount, crashing into the hard floor. He was coughing and gasping, his lungs and throat felt like they’d caught fire. The urge to vomit crept up, but he only dry heaved.

“C-ccrabbe,” he said slowly, remembering that he had not seen Vincent after heaving Greg onto the desks. “C-crabbe.” He glanced up, looking at Potter, but it was Weasley who answered.

Vincent was gone.

Greg's head was pounding and he blearily opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was … well, he couldn't remember much, actually. Vincent screaming and basically telling Draco to bugger off and then running and then … had he imagined getting very hot?

He tried to focus on Draco who was talking about Vincent and then someone - Weasley? - was answering. And Draco - bloody hell - was Draco upset about something?

"What's wrong?" he asked, realizing then, that he was on the floor in a corridor. "Draco?"

Draco had not moved since Weasley’s pronouncement. In fact, he remained slumped on the floor, back against the wall, unmoving. He could hear the three talking above him but his interest in their conversation was almost non-existent. Vincent was dead. He felt physically ill. A side effect of the fire, he assured himself, but even still the uneasy feeling, knowing a friend had perished, lingered in his mind.

He was surprised, startled even, when Greg spoke. He looked over at him, blinking. “Crabbe,” he repeated, making a helpless gesture with one hand. Draco wiped his forehead, dismayed by the amount of soot that blackened his palm. The thought of Vincent being nothing more than dust now made him swallow hard. “He’s still in there,” he said, unable to repeat Weasley’s words.

The bang and sounds of duelling suddenly erupted in the corridor. He watched as Potter and his friends rushed off toward another pair Weasleys and the Death Eaters they were battling. Vincent was dead, but he certainly didn’t want to be. “We have to move,” he said to Greg but made no move to get up from his spot on the floor. The idea of standing up made him realise just how shaky he was.

Greg stared at Draco in confusion. "What? Where? We have to get him!" he said, straightening up quickly. His eyes strayed toward the door - or where the door had been. He recalled the heat, the spell that had been on Vincent's lips and … had Vincent really managed to cast that spell? He looked back at Draco once more - a Draco who hadn't moved and didn't seem feel they needed to. "Don't we?"

It was then he realized what was going on around him. He reached for his wand and then remembered it'd gone flying. Buggering Potter and his buggering friends.

He stared, wide-eyed at Greg. There was no way they were going to go back in there. It was pointless. Maybe Greg hadn’t understood... and for once, he felt completely out of his element. Talking was one of his strong points usually, but he didn’t know what to say about Vincent. There was only the ugly truth, something even he hadn’t really managed to process yet. He shook his head, blonde hair falling into his face at the gesture. “No,” he managed. “He’s...” Draco trailed off, his expression turning sour.

Finally he made an attempt to stand, using the wall as something to lean against. He had no wand which made him feel exposed. The Death Eaters, they would recognize him, surely, but he didn’t trust Potter and his friends... they’d probably attack him and Greg in the heat of it all. They were sitting ducks here... “We have to go, Greg.” He said, feeling a little more like himself now that he was off of the floor. Focusing on getting out of the way of harm meant he didn’t need to think about what had happened in the room anyway. “Maybe we’ll see a wand on the way...” it was an after thought really, one full of wistful longing. He was certainly going to keep his eyes peeled, in case any one left lying around had one for the taking anyway.

Greg didn't understand. Did Draco mean that … he couldn't. He couldn't mean that. He stared a bit more, trying to work his way through it. And when he got to the only conclusion, he felt as if he'd been punched by Vincent, right in the gut. "He's burnt up. He didn't - he didn't get out of the way."

Saying it didn't make it more believable and he wanted to hit Draco - hit someone - for saying such a stupid bloody thing. There wasn't any way for Vincent to be dead. It was impossible. Im-bloody-possible. He wouldn't believe it. Not until he had proof. Or something. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. Right? Things were all mucked up now, and there didn't seem to be time to think or talk or anything.

Greg wanted to tell Draco to bugger off - that "we" didn't have to do anything. But he found himself standing, dazedly, and nodding. "Yeah. Maybe." If he kept going along with Draco maybe, hopefully, things would start to make sense again.



The Death of Fred Weasley.

Although Fred didn't like being separated from George, they could cover more ground this way. The twins might not have had the map anymore, but they knew this castle the best. Unfortunately, guarding the remaining secret passages wound up being a lot of waiting, while hearing faint echoes of a battle happening somewhere else. At least if he was this bored at his location, George was probably in the same position. Waiting and telling fantastic jokes to wipe the sad looks off the sorry gobs of the team he was leading. Just because they were in the middle of war, didn't mean there wasn't a place for humor. If anything it was more important now.

There was a clatter up around the corner. Looking back at the group, he saw they were all startled and in no position to do anything other than hide. "You lot hole up just over there. I am going to see what that was." Fred took out his wand, keeping it at the ready in one hand, while the other reached into his pocket taking stock of what items he had in there. Whatever was up ahead, he was ready.

Percy was overwhelmed in every sense of the word. Hours ago he’d reunited with his family, who he hadn’t been on good terms with for nearly two years now. He was here to fight in a battle that, as part of his job, he’d been denying would ever happen. And he was single-handedly dueling two Death Eaters.

He backed up slightly as the pair advanced, but he was by no means retreating. Severing charms flew through the air, fired from both sides, and Percy was proud to see his hit, leaving one Death Eater’s hand dripping blood. In nearly the same moment, one of the Death Eater’s spells made contact with a painting on the wall behind Percy, and he sprung to the side. The heavy frame hit his wand arm before falling to the stone floor.

Percy grimaced and clutched at the injury, feeling increasingly hopeless. He could hold his own against one opponent, but two was too much to handle.

Fred didn’t think. Even if Percy was the world’s biggest prat, he was still their prat. Really Fred and George were the only ones really allowed to go at him in any sense. And death eaters double teaming Percy now? Unacceptable.

Quickly assessing the situation, Fred aimed for the death eater more likely to attack first, thinking his wand arm would be better suited as a slimy tentacle. Fred might not have ever bothered with the actual classwork, but he was quite handy with a wand and a good transfiguration spell. “Always did have to prove you could handle more than the rest of us,” he shouted coming up behind Percy now.

It was probably true that Percy had never been so happy to hear Fred’s voice. The rush of relief and gratitude that he felt likely influenced his uncharacteristically humble reply. “Wasn’t handling it well,” he shouted back, blocking an attack. “It’s better that we’re together.” He backed up toward his brother, sending Blasting Curses at the Death Eaters as he went.

Augustus shouted an oath as a jet of light sailed past his ear. Thicknesse was in front of him, firing off curses at a group of young people they’d happened upon while dueling in the corridor. He and his fellow Death Eaters were nearly outnumbered, but upon realizing that only two people - gingers, Weasleys - seemed to be fending off the attack, he decided to equalize things before anyone else got ideas.

Letting the other two Death Eaters take on the Weasleys, he aimed his wand at a statue near the other group of students, levitating it into the air before blasting it to pieces. Then he started throwing hexes.

Thicknesse heard an explosion and several screams behind him -- sure signs that Rookwood was doing his job back there. But he was not able to so much as glance backward, so fully was he immersed in his duel with Mr. Weasley. The familiarity of his opponent caused Thicknesse to hesitate -- he wasn’t supposed to be fighting people he knew, at least not the ones in long hooded robes and white masks. But his Junior Assistant was clearly unmasked, and even more telling, he was hurling hexes at Thicknesse and his companion. So it was all that the Minister could do to block these attacks and cast some of his own.

But in the next moment he’d lost control, and as he backed away from the duel, hoping to buy himself some time, he was hit hard with a painful hex. His eyes slid shut behind his mask, and he barely heard the boy shout, “Hello Minister! Did I mention I’m resigning?” Thicknesse slid to the ground, surrendering himself to the stone floor of the castle even as a voice in his head told him to keep fighting, to stand back up and curse anyone within range. He groped for his wand, but he’d dropped it in his agony and it was nowhere to be found.

Percy grinned, pleased with himself for besting the Minister of Magic. And while he normally wouldn’t advocate taunting, after nine months of biting his tongue and enduring the increasingly immoral leadership of Pius Thicknesse, he thought he deserved to give the man of piece of his mind. But Percy knew that words, while important, were not as important as actions. So he pointed his wand at the prone figure, channeling all his frustrations of the past nine months into Transfiguration. As the first of many spines began sprouting through Thicknesse’s robes, Percy turned his attention to Fred’s duel, aiming a stunner at the Death Eater fighting his brother.

Fred might not have been currently on the best of terms with Percy with his decisions of the past couple of years and turning away from his family, but the decision to be here and fight was quickly winning him forgiveness. Not that it was particularly difficult to come by, tease and pick on Percy as they did, they did it because they cared. And because in that caring thought that their older brother was a bit too pompous at times.

But right now, Fred was focused on disarming his death eater while keeping any eye out for Percy. Fred always worked better in pairs anyway. And he certainly didn’t miss that ripe comment from Percy.

“You’re joking, Perce!” he said, surprised that in this moment his brother’s humor would come out. The death eater he was facing fell to the ground without much grace, allowing Fred to look over at Percy, face split with a gleeful smile. “You actually are joking, Perce. . . . I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were —”

Harry Potter.

A malevolent grin spread across Augustus’ face. He’d turned just in time to see Thicknesse hit the ground, and the moment of dismay he’d felt was immediately replaced with glee. A few students had joined the gingers, and one of them was unmistakably Harry Potter. The Dark Lord was going to be so pleased. This would make up for Augustus’ past mistakes; he’d be highly regarded again, more than Yaxley or Bellatrix, even Snape. They could stop this nonsense quickly, force the resistance to accept the inevitable.

He couldn’t let Potter get away, but there was too much going on to cast a spell that would definitely hit its mark. Instead, he aimed for time - a distraction - something to make it possible for him to reach Potter.

With bated breath, he aimed for the wall behind the group, then cast a spell to blast it apart, rubble and stone raining down on everyone.



Heroes vs Dementors.

Ernie’s face stung with the pain of burns that covered the right side of his face. The boils festered slightly every now and then, which had made him learn how to suck in a sharp breath to avoid crying out every time it overwhelmed him. Silence was invaluable when they were sneaking around, trying to avoid drawing undue attention to themselves. He’d been shoving his worry over Susan to the back of his mind too, unsure what had happened to her when they’d been split up by a pair of Death Eaters who’d chased them through the corridor earlier in the night. Now with Seamus by his side, he was running through the edge of the forbidden forest, thankful he’d cast a silencing charm on his shoes, so his footsteps left no sound.

“Luna,” he said in a stressing whisper to Seamus as he waved an arm toward the blonde girl running toward them. Of course, the large foot that followed her made it quite clear what it was she was running from, and Ernie practically threw himself into a large bush to his right to avoid being stepped on by the giant. He was almost certain there was no way he and Seamus could take on a giant, it would take a lot more spellpower than just the two of them to fell one. “Brooms,” he hissed, hoping Seamus owned one. Ernie did not, but he knew there was no way Zacharias had had time to take his with him when he left. “Accio!” he said, commanding his dormmate’s broom to come toward him. He knew it would work since he’d seen Harry do exactly this during the Triwizard Tournament. Ernie was rewarded for his faith when a few moments later it came whizzing through forest and into his hand. Ernie jumped on and shot off after Luna, knowing she wouldn’t be able to outrun a giant chasing her for long.

Seamus had never seen a giant up close before. And, for the first few moments, he just stood there, mouth hanging open. It was so bloody enormous. However, realizing that he was about to be smushed, he managed to pull himself together and follow Ernie’s lead. Straight into the bushes. Which only added more scratches.

He summoned his own broom, trying very hard not to think about the last time he’d gone for a flight or who he was with. That wouldn’t do him any good now. Not when Luna was in danger. He swung his leg up and over the broom, zooming off after Ernie. Leaning forward, he pushed the broom to greater speeds in order to get to Luna.

Running. It was the only option. Luna could no longer afford to think about what might have become of Terry after she’d been forced to leave him. Where Harry or Michael or Neville or Ginny might be. She was even unable to look out for Death Eaters and spells that might be aimed her way. Even at a leisurely pace, the giant trailing after her could easily keep up with her, its steps huge and thudding every time one of its feet came down upon the forest floor.

She barely took notice of Ernie and Seamus as she ran past the spot where they had been standing only seconds ago, looking for somewhere to go where the giant wouldn’t be able to find her. Luna was only tiny, but she didn’t dare duck out of sight underneath a tree for fear that he would bring it down upon her. Her lungs were beginning to burn and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace for much longer.

Suddenly a zipping sound came from behind her, and Luna cast a quick look over her shoulder, more than a bit surprised to find Seamus and Ernie in pursuit. “Hello,” she yelled with some effort, looking ahead to make sure she didn’t trip over a tree root. When Ernie came up next to her, she gratefully grasped onto his hand, letting him hoist her up on the broom behind him, and then she was flying, relief nearly overwhelming her.

Ernie might have been bemused by Luna’s greeting had he not been in a rush to help her. Keeping firm hold of his broom, he stretched out his hand, glad he had the strength to lift her off the ground when she took hold of it. As soon as she was behind him, he replaced both hands on the edge of the stick, leaning his body forward as he soared through the air. He didn’t dare go much higher than he’d been when getting her off the ground. Although he was terrified of being stepped on, he was even more afraid of what would happen if they were in reach of the giant’s large hands. He pressed the broom for speed, thankful that it seemed to be flying quicker than the the giant’s long strides could carry him.

When he thought he was a safe distance from the the giant, he came up slightly in the air. There was a fierce battle going on below them, near the castle entrance, and Ernie didn’t think flying low enough to get hit by cross fire was too brilliant of a plan. Of course, being in the air didn’t really mean they were entirely safe either, since there was still plenty of other things in the sky for people on the ground to be aiming at. In fact, Ernie himself began casting defensive spells here and there, trying to help out as best he could as they overflew battling pairs. Once he’d found what he deemed the safest place to land, he pressed his broom that way. There was more good to be done on the ground, where he could clearly see who was on his side or not. Once he’d landed, he finally took a moment to look up and behind him, relatively glad to see Seamus had not fallen behind.

“Alright?” he said Luna in a quick breath as he turned to look at her. He could only hope that the giant had lost sight of them. “Look,” he said, caught by the looming stillness in the distance. Although he had intended on making his way back inside of the castle, it was hard not to notice a creeping chill in his gut. Even though they weren’t close enough to get the full effect, he recognized the feeling immediately. Dementors. “We’ve got to help,” he said, making out the silhouettes of a small group who seemed incapacitated by the oncoming beasts. He couldn’t tell from here if they were friend or foe, but Ernie didn’t think anyone deserved to be Kissed.

Or did they? This year had been hell, and there were people who deserved punishment. Who knew what had become of Susan? She was probably dead. And Justin... something deep inside Ernie told him he would never see his best friend again. Not in this living world anyway. The depressive thoughts hit him hard and it took a moment for him to push them away. Harry was here. They were going to win. Happy thoughts. Even in the dark year they’d spent at Hogwarts, he’d still had Hannah. Her smile. The way her hand had felt in his when they’d spent her birthday together. “Expecto Patronum!,” he yelled - a strong silver boar bursting out of his wand as soon as the words had left his mouth. He ran forward toward the group ahead of them, determined to keep them safe from the depressive terrors.

Seamus was rather impressed with Ernie’s flying ability. He had no idea the other bloke could maneuver a broom like that. And he would have told him that, too, if there weren’t trying to avoid being caught by a giant or accidentally hit with a stray hex from the battle. As it was, he was just holding on for dear life, nearly bent double over his broom, coaxing every ounce of speed he could from it. Tumbling to the ground as they zoomed over the grounds was not how he wanted to go out. In fact, he didn’t want to go out at all.

He, too, felt the chill, knowing instinctively what it was. And dreading it. Not just because that was part of the feelings that the dementors inspired. He wasn’t exactly strong with his patronus, having managed to cast it only twice. Following Ernie’s lead, he set his broom down, fighting against the feeling of hopelessness that seemed to come over him. It would just be so easy to stand here and let them get him. The fighting would just stop and...

No. He promised Katie he’d come back to her. He wasn’t going to break that promise. Thinking of their last time together in the greenhouse, he drew his wand and yelled, “Expecto Patronum!” The silvery fox flew out of the tip of his wand and out toward the dementors.

Luna wrapped her arms around Ernie’s waist while they flew just to keep her balance, the broom going at a speed that was unknown to her, having always stuck to the commentator box. It was exhilarating even under the circumstances, giving a certain freeness back to her that she hadn’t felt for a long time. The sound of the giant’s footsteps was becoming more distant even as the battle raged below them, and Luna followed Ernie’s example and drew her wand in order to help best she could.

“That was brilliant,” she told Ernie when they had landed, a beaming smile on her face. It wavered a bit at the chill that suddenly drew over them. Seamus and Ernie had saved her now, but who had saved Terry? With Death Eaters and desperation everywhere, she had been unable to return to the staircase like she had promised him. She remembered her time at the Malfoy dungeons, wishing desperately that someone would come for her. Had Terry been waiting for her?

Luna shook herself. She didn’t often let negative emotions get the better of her, and she wouldn’t now either. Her faith in Harry was unshakable, and they were fighting so he could save them all. Harry was always around to save them.

Her silver hare hopped forward at a rapid speed, bursting towards the Dementors, and she quickly ran after it, delighted to find Harry and his friends right there. The Dementors were beginning to scatter under the strength of their Patronuses, and she kept casting. “That’s right,” she said, giving all of them an encouraging smile. “That’s right, Harry... come on, think of something happy...”

Hermione had tried, really tried. Her own Patronus had never been that strong - she could conjure it in the Room of Requirement, no problem, but in the face of a dementor? It was weak at best. Harry could create a strong one, though, she knew. Harry had done it. Harry could do it if anyone could. And yet he didn’t. She could see him falling under the despair, and all of her pleas and instructions and screams made no difference. That, more than anything else, dragged down her spirit to right where the dementors wanted it to be. If Harry couldn’t do it, then no-one could. They were doomed. Not just she and Ron and Harry, but all of them. Everyone. The Death Eaters had already won. She tried to push her otter onwards, but every happy memory failed her and she knew it was about to fall before it did, fading like her hope. This was it. The end.

But then the fog lifted, just a little bit, as three corporeal Patronuses whizzed past them. A hare, a boar, a fox. Hermione raised her head and saw Luna, Ernie and Seamus, here to rescue them. ‘It’s useless,’ she wanted to tell them. ‘Without Harry’s Patronus it’s useless. There’s too many.’ But she could not even bring herself to speak, so hopeless did she still feel.

“Something happy?” Harry said, his voice cracked. He felt hopeless, only being able to guess at how many had died, how many still would, for him. He was so close to just giving up, giving in to the darkness surrounding him.

“We’re all still here,” Luna whispered, “We’re still fighting. Come on, now...” Her words gave him just the tiniest flicker of hope. There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, the stag burst from the end of Harry’s wand, charging at the Dementors.