Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

[wand_wavers]

The light is turning grey as the last of the village residents scurry through the front doors of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Rosmerta, heading up a straggling train of tenders and shopkeeps, most of whom - the reason for their tardiness - are laden down with bags. This doesn't endear them to anyone at first, until they're stopped on the castle steps and the contents are revealed to be not personal possessions, but flasks of butterbeer, simple rolls and scones from Puddifoot's, and as much Honeyduke's chocolate as could be carried.

They're waved inside with backslaps and slightly heartened grins, pointed towards the Room of Requirement (Dumbledore's express orders - anyone not fighting is to stay here, under guard).

Outside, the atmosphere soon tenses again, and it's not long in spreading through the castle, particularly anywhere there are north-facing windows. In the distance, nestled between the dark masses of two harsh Scottish hills, there is a faint red-orange glow against the dusk; that's where Hogsmeade used to be.

And between there and the castle - almost to the gates now, though with a long trek across the lawns afterwards - another glow. Except this one, this one is a sickly green, and comes not from one source, but from many, far too many wands, held aloft above a solid swarm of black robes. Behind these tight-serried ranks, a still larger horde crowds the narrow roadway, some figures slow and shambling, some switching freely between two feet and all fours, and some, silhouetted against the ghostly light, horrifyingly, stomach-clenchingly huge.

It seems strangely cold - colder than it should be, for a midsummer's evening. There are slow tendrils of mist sneaking and snaking their way out from the Forbidden Forest.

It's nearly night.

It's nearly time.

Comments

[mnt_raph]

"Hear that kid? That's his I mean business voice. We better listen next'll come the threat of turnin' this car'round, or worse...we'll have to wait until our father comes home."

Aren't you glad you brought him? He's so helpful.

[wand_wavers]

Jonathan opens his mouth to retort, then freezes.

"Look."

They're coming, in a wave of green and black, they're coming, and goddammit, they're not in range yet.

A quick glance to Bernard, and they separate, Jonathan with Derrick and Rosemary, Bernard with Aron and Elektra, the two bodyguards, Raph and Jonas, between.

The ramparts are filled with weapons that only they know how to wield.

And wield them they shall.

[wand_wavers]

Rosemary Johnstone isn't a religious woman, by any means. She's a devotee of science, magical science to be sure, but science nonetheless. It comforts her, fills her long days and quiet nights, holds her in its infinitely reasonable cradle.

But as the army of--what? "Good God," she murmurs, turning white.

An army of werewolves, of giants, of, of, of--

The Undead.

Her friends, her comrades, are down there, in the face of it.

Her eyes flicker over to Bernard, her muggle boss, sees the set of his face, the trembling determination limned through every line of him.

He's gauging distance. Watching the flyers form squadrons above, so he knows how not to hit them.

Rosemary moves into position, her wand tipped to the first projectile.

When Bernard speaks, it's quiet. Almost resigned.

His eyes are fixed on one purple head weaving through the masses. She knows that purple head is all he sees.

"Fire."

[mnt_raph]

Raph has never seen anything quite like what he's seeing now, and for a guy who used to see a five foot tall talking turtle everytime he looked in the mirror, that's saying something.

The explosions are more than just force and sound, they're color and smell...and something he wouldn't really describe as being more than a bitter aftertaste on the back of his tongue.

He can't see the actual magic working, but it's hard to ignore the results. Fires with an unearthly glow and hue burn brightly despite all efforts to put them out.

"great googly moogly."

It's like some sadistic bastard decided to blend Apocalypse Now with Monster Squad.

[wand_wavers]

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.

[wand_wavers]

He's shaking like a leaf.

Stay with the inside forces, then, if you're such a pansy, and find out where and when this is all happening. I want the story on my bleedin' desk Tuesday morning, his editor'd said, and sent him out to Hogwarts to see what the hell was going on.

No one really knew anything, he'd found. But then the forces had begun to arrive.

And Atticus Porpington found himself ensconced in the ramparts with Bernard Wrangle, infamous and elusive husband of Nymphadora Tonks (everyone knew who she was after that article last year), and a bunch of other barmy arseholes like that black-clad American fellow who was always cracking wise.

Wrangle hadn't paid him any mind, really, and seemed too busy and preoccupied to care that he was taking pictures. Or maybe he didn't know. Atticus had to admit that his picsieve was state-of-the-art. A little box that held images like a pensieve, but simply held them in wait to be processed as wizarding photos. Brilliant invention.

But then the battle started, and Atticus knew why he'd been put there. And he knew why Wrangle was there.

He knew something that nearly no one else in the Wizarding World knew. And as he watched and recorded, swallowing his rising gorge as a giant's slit throat sprayed over the fighting masses below, he knew that he and he alone held the story of the century in his hands.

[wand_wavers]

He can't breathe.

He can't--

He has to breathe.

Bernard's steadying him the whole time, a hand at his shoulder, an eye on his work, holding him up, and Elekra too.

There is a reason he was paired with them.

In the crowd, a hex shoots to Bernard's wife, and he and Aron falter as one, because Aron cares, of course he cares, he knows they have kids (everyone knows that), he knows Bernard wouldn't be here except for her.

But she's okay, and they fill the catapult.

"Bernard?"

Fling.

"Yeah?"

Boom. Twenty, thirty more Inferi down.

Aron smiles. "Wanna have a pint down the pub after?" Beside him, Elektra snorts.

Forty more Inferi rise in their place. They're getting pushed back.

"Sure thing."

Fling.

Slice.

"I'm buying."

[wand_wavers]

Automaton.

That's what she's felt like, this past week.

A fucking automaton.

Her Paul, her Paul, she's lost her Paul, and Elektra finds herself strangely jealous that Bernard gets to fight for his wife, when her husband died while she was making Bernard's goddamned bombs at the Ministry.

She manages to laugh hollowly at Aron's quip about going down the pub for a pint, but for now she's merely focused on getting through this, getting past this awful night, and getting them all past it with her.

There is no alternative.

[mnt_raph]

While the lights are spectacular and the floorshow bar-none, Raph can't help but be less than enthused at his current position on the rooftop. This isn't where he's meant to be, this isn't what he's designed for, this isn't what he's trained to do. He should be down there getting his hands bloodied, wreaking havoc on any and everything that gets in his way. Not standing on a rooftop while the world goes to hell without him.

Raph looks over at Bernard as he pulls the pin on the non-magical grenade in his hand. Stupid promises.

"Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Full count. Bases loaded."

He tosses the grenade up into the air. Before it can reach the apex of the arc he's got the middle prong of a sai in his hand.

Raph swings and the pommel connects with the grenade.

"It's going back...back...back..."

It explodes on the field below, at head level.

"IT'S OUTTA HERE!"

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

Despite himself, despite the fact that the forces below are clearly flagging, clearly being pushed back against the castle doors, Bernard laughs out loud and turns to clap Raph on the back.

"You fucking asshole, you've been wanting to do that for ages--"

Suddenly, from the field below, a seethingly red hex flies up to the ramparts, right at Jonathan, Derrick, and Rosemary's catapult.

[mnt_raph]

The prideful cackle dies in his throat as Raph catches sight of the hex in his periphery.

"DOWN!"

His voice booms. There's no time to save them all, and he has promises to keep. Raph catches Bernard's hand on his shoulder and pushes him to the ground. That spell is going to have to get through him first.

[wand_wavers]

It's blinding, the furious red, as it slams into their catapult, ricocheting off the bomb set to go off, hitting Rosemary and Derrick in the chest and face.

Well. What's left of the chest and face. Not much, to be sure.

Jonathan is slammed into the ground from the force of it, and only just manages to let the catch of the weapon go before the bomb goes off at him.

[wand_wavers]

Aron shouts and ducks for cover, then looks over the edge.

"Merlin fuck, the Headless Hunt is coming up."

They all know what that means.

The ghosts were only ever assigned to come up with one message: Fall back.

[wand_wavers]

Jonas, flinging hexes downward, ever downward, grabs Jonathan off the ground, and hauls him towards the open door that leads into the castle.

Just then, the Hunt arrives. "They are in the castle," intones one. "Fall back, and set the mines."

With a whoop, they turn as one and disappear into the stones, eager to rejoin the fight.

[wand_wavers]

Atticus follows Jonathan, taking pictures and dictating into his Quick Quotes all the way.

"--as the hexes flew in every direction, Mr. Wrangle's heroic team was reduced by two. Derrick Winters and Rosemary Johnstone were felled as they fought, unable to escape the splintered spell which glanced off their projectile launcher on the embattled ramparts of Hogwarts Castle--"

And he's inside.

[wand_wavers]

Elektra and Aron gather what they can, anything, everything they can carry that'll serve them well--

But.

But Bernard's not moving.

"Bernard, we have to--" Elektra starts.

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

His voice is barely a whisper. he can't look at what's left of Derrick and Rosemary.

He saw enough.

He's at the rampart's edge, now, searching desperately.

"Raph. Raph, I can't see her."

[mnt_raph]

Gone. In what to Raph was nothing more than a sharp tasting flash of light two of them are cut down, quite literally. Raph shakes his head to get the buzzing out.

He keeps his eyes on the remains of Rosemary and Derrick.

"Bernard. We gotta go. We gotta go Now."

There isn't any sound as he moves to Bernard's side. Raph is just suddenly there, with a hand on the bomber's shoulder.

"You'll see her soon enough. We got work to do. Come on."

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

He blinks, and turns his head to look at his friend, then nods.

Together, they gather what they can, avoiding the corpses of two of his best people, and follow Aron and Elektra, and the others, into the castle.

They have work to do.