The crest of the battle, where the two forces meet, is like watching hydrogen peroxide meet baking powder. Derrick would think it beautiful, if it weren't appalling. It's not as if he's never seen violence. He deals in death -- most Aurors do, and all Unspeakables do. They protect the world by committing murder in the name of the state.

It doesn't bother him. They're making the world a better place.

Methodically, and with stunning perfection, he catapults projectile after projectile. One hits a giant square in the face, and Derrick watches that face melt clearly and calmly as he sets the next bomb, this one a slicer. Rosemary readies it, and Jonathan steps aside to shoot a hex over the rampart wall. It's amazing that no one's attacked them yet, he thinks, and glances to the side.

White, flickering.

White.

"Turn," he shouts over the melee, and they all see it, almost too late. Death Eaters. From the side, catching the Ministry forces unawares.

Amazing that, in the crush of the first flank of patsies, they'd forgot the real monsters were yet to come. Derrick, Jonathan and Rosemary's projectile catches an entire squadron of them, cutting them to ribbons fit only for sausage casings and filling.

Derrick smiles, at that, and loads another.