Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"

[wand_wavers]

For one thousand years, Hogwarts castle has known dark times. Voldemort is not the first Dark Wizard to cloud the hearts and minds of the Wizarding community of Britain. He is the first, however, to directly attack the school.

Inferi plod through the front doors as Death Eaters swarm past, casting the Killing Curse as they go. The Ministry ground forces fall back inside, as the bombing unit does what it can to stem the flow of the walking dead. Dementors glide throughout the battle field, and more than one Auror is lost to their kisses.

The ghosts of Hogwarts flit through the halls, carrying messages and information from the severed lines of Ministry. Unlike owls or other runners, they can't be killed. Since Apparation is not possible - that charm at least has not been broken - they're the quickest way.


This castle was once a place of learning and laughter. Now it is a place of blood and terror.

Comments

[wand_wavers]

There were only ever a few left inside the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts; it was thought best, perhaps, to put the greatest numbers possible outside the castle, to stop Voldemort's troops before ever they got this far. But of them, there are many - so very many.

The defenders are backed up against the huge wooden doors; those inside can hear the clamour of the battle, pitched on the very doorstep of the ancient school, the screams and the hoarse shouts, the growling, the subaudible whine of so much - so much - magic.

It's loud, it's all too loud, and it takes only a few shared glances between those left guarding the doors to decide.

"Alohomora," as one, and the colossal doors grind ponderously inwards, the defenders spilling back into the stone halls.

The guards had meant to close the doors before Voldemort's troops could breach them. But of them, there are so, so many, and of the guards, there were only ever a few.

[kingly-auror.livejournal.com]

Kingsley was a Slytherin.

He was never friends with any of these people, these misguided, stupid people, these schoolyard bullies flocking under the banner of a coward, whose very name Vol de mort - Flight from death, in the French proclaims the truth of his nature.

But he was a Slytherin, and they were his classmates, and there but for the grace of...someone. Or Someone.

It's on his mind a lot, as bodies pile up, as blood soils the floors of the castle he has loved for so very long.

There but for the grace.

Whatever the outcome, this is not a war anyone can really be said to win.

[clumsy_auror]

Nymphadora is yelling, hollering for everyone to get inside, get inside now, bodily dragging Anneliese Jorgens in by the collar of her robes whilst simultaneously raising her wand to try and shut them out, as many as possible, but it's no good. They're in.

Switching back to hexes and curses, Nymphadora makes for the grand staircase.

[aj_crawley]

He trips again, in the scramble inside, of course he does. But this time - this time, the feeling of the drop flips a switch somewhere, his hand flashes out to catch himself, and he's on his feet again almost before it happened in the first place.

The Death Eaters miss him, as they surge in after the others. From the back, with his wings out, Crowley is just another indistinct mass of black that could as easily be the billowing robe of one of their own, or a Dementor, hunched over some unfortunate prey.

This is not a good mistake to make.

They're everywhere now, in the hall, and it's nearly impossible to tell Inferi from living, Death Eater from Auror, who's who unless you can see a mask, so covered in mud and grime are some of the defenders. They're everywhere, now, and it's nearly impossible to get a clear swing, and Crowley's jaw is tight with worry.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he thinks. They're everywhere.

And it's nearly impossible to tell them apart.

Except there's one vivid head of pink hair heading towards a staircase, and that's the one Crowley starts hacking a path towards, carving it from the battle with the teeth of the tyre iron.

Crowley has no intention of letting Nymphadora Tonks out of his sight, not now. Because this wasn't supposed to happen.

[wand_wavers]

Professor McGonagall's herding instinct has taken over, and like Nymphadora Tonks, her attention is largely on ensuring that those on their side move as deep into the castle as possible. She tries not to think of Albus, who has been so frail of late, and chooses instead to focus on the task at hand.

"Come quickly, Miss Mason," the witch says crisply, addressing the young woman at her elbow and tugging her towards the stairs. Magdalena had finished Hogwarts the previous year. Ravenclaw. Smart as a whip.

Magdalena Mason turns, eyes flashing, and at once Minerva realizes something is wrong. The young girl's arm lifts, wand clenched in her hands, aiming at the professor--

"Stupefy!"

Smart as a whip. But never very quick with a charm.

Pale as Death, McGonagall gathers her skirts and hurries upstairs.

[apwb-d.livejournal.com]

In the dim tunnel from Honeydukes to Hogwarts, Dumbledore half-sits, half-slumps against the roughhewn wall. Once he catches his breath, he'll let Bill and Severus help him up to safety.

He's not quite there yet.

The surviving Death Eaters have been apprehended, and those of his party who still live are moving slowly, but they are moving.

If only he weren't so tired.

If only he hadn't failed.

[ss-potions.livejournal.com]

Snape drops to one knee. "Headmaster, can you stand?" His tone is clipped, business-like, but something like worry threatens to bubble to the surface. Without waiting for an answer, he takes Dumbledore by the elbow and begins to pull him up.

[thecoolone]

"Don't you touch him." Bill moves in. "What in the name of Merlin were you doing back there?"

No, he doesn't trust Severus at all; he swallows it back, though, shaking his head: potions and mediwizardry are not his strongest suits. "Do one wrong thing to this man and I'll tear your head off with my bare hands."

[apwb-d.livejournal.com]

His voice is weak, but he manages to invoke every ounce of his authority into his words.

"Severus has kept me alive more than once in the past two years, Bill. I trusted him with my life before, and I trust him now. Help Remus, please. He looks like he needs it." Then he carefully he turns his head to Severus. "I think I've need of some of your potion brewing. If we could wait just another moment."

[finalmarauder.livejournal.com]

Remus takes hold of Bill's outstretched hand, and gives the younger man a wan smile of thanks. Then he stiffens, sharp ears pricking at the sound of footsteps down the passage. Many footsteps.

Three sets, as a matter of fact.

The werewolf swears softly under his breath.

[wand_wavers]

The Death Eaters on the ground shoot blasting hexes at the agile Ministry flyers. The giants do their best to knock them from their brooms, and some have success in this. The most deadly threat to the Ministry forces are the enemy forces on their own brooms.

They fly well.

So far the Ministry forces are flying even better.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_iamforge_/]

It was better than the best Quidditch game of their lives.

It was worse than...well, the worst Quidditch games of their lives (they practically lived for Quidditch, after all).

Fighting and prankery--exploding fireworks that weren't just light and shapes, men turned permanently into malformed bird-shapes, helpless on the ground, hooded figures that could no longer find their own hooded heads. Every prank gone wrong, every formula that was unbalanced, every joke-thing that was juuust a little too dangerous fell down from the sky, pelted by two young men who had emptied out the "Rejected" shelves of their workshop.

Even better were some of the things they'd made on purpose. Explosives generously provided by Bernard, magically augmented with their own twisted brand of genius small, portable black holes that made Death Eaters dissaparate into the middle of the Arctic, small fires that would not stop burning could not be stopped until the two whistled a tune.

Every Hogwarts professor that had jokingly called Fred and George "harbingers of destruction" was proven right.

They were cruel.

But this was a fight where they had to be. Their enemies were crueler, and the twins had something far better, far more important, to fight for. A whole sea of people, some red-haired, some not. With names like "Mum" and "Dad", ickle Ronniekins, Ginny, Charlie, Bill--even Percy the Prat, if they got down to it.

And there were so many others. Lee Jordan, whose mother was dead now, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood-- Harry Potter, who'd they'd helped on the train so many years ago, bossy little Hermione Granger, who wasn't so little anymore and was quite obviously mad, judging from how she felt about their little brother.

So many faces. So many names.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_iamforge_/]

Some of them were ones that Fred and George didn't know, some of the people were ones they did, but never met (Fabian and Gideon, who their mother still cried about--they died like heroes, so many in the Order said, they died like heroes and those words were the only ones that ever made the twins afraid) but that they'd never met them didn't matter. They were still something that had to be fought for--someone had to pay.

Fred and George Weasley were all for breaking the rules, but there were lines. There were always lines that even they knew not to cross. Not because they feared getting caught, but because it was wrong. Left a bad taste in their mouths.

The advancing Death Eaters, the hooded fliers in the air had left those lines far behind.

They were fair game.

Light criss-crossed through the air, they dodged, they dived, they shot up like birds catching an updraft. They cried out spells until their voices were hoarse, they reached into their Ever-Expandable Packs for ammunition to rain down.

And it wasn't enough. People died. People they KNEW died. People they didn't know kept dying.

The ones responsible marched on, farther from the lines.

As the two got more and more exhausted, and less and less aware of their surroundings, they were herded away from the other fliers, caught in a net of swarming fliers.

A spell made Fred's broom catch on fire, and in a valiant effort, a feat that should have been impossible, George managed to catch him, as the Cleansweep zipped to the ground, leaving a fiery, smoking trail behind it.

He dangled there, George's arms holding him up, the broom almost completely out of his control.

They were surrounded, and now Dementors were rising into the air and joining the spiraling throng around them. They were about to crash into the mass of Death Eaters below. Green light was cascading around them like a reverse rain, and only the erratic flight of George's broom saved them from getting hit.

"It seems--" Fred said, grunting as he tried to get a better grip on George's broom. A spell zipped by his cheek. "--that we've run out of luck, George."

"That it does, Fred," said George, distractedly, as he made his broom lurch to the side.

"Think we should leave this lot a little parting gift?"

"A going-away present?" There was emphasis on the 'going-away.'

"Precisely."

"Certainly."

Fred managed to reach into George's bag as they zipped around closer and closer to the ground. It was so much harder to dodge the spellfire here--it was coming from all directions. They felt the cold seeping in, they felt the despair trying to take hold, but it was held at bay by the joyous defiance.

"Ready for some thrilling heroics, Fred?"

"As I'll ever be, George." Fred managed to clutch something in his hand, the one draped over the broom, and even though he was being shaken around like a rag doll, he managed to point his want into George's bag.

There was a spark in the darkness of it.

Then their fireworks exploded out of the pack, fabric tearing, but they were the harmless sort. Just a diversion, just a moment as George bore them down right into the center, right where all their blinded enemies gathered, as the ones in the air around them circled in, as the dementors descended on their prey.

George's eyes were just a bit wet--from the wind, he told himself. I was the wind and the light all around. "We had a good run."

The wind, thought Fred. Just the wind in his eyes. "I should think so."

Fred pressed a button on the little silver sphere in his hand.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_iamforge_/]

(Their dad had so many muggle books, but there was one, only one that they found exciting enough. They brought it to their mum to be read to them over and over and she sat them down and read about pirates, and boys who could fly without brooms, and fairies that weren't entirely stupid, and their favorite part--a little boy that never grew up, one that was particularly prankish.

They loved that the most.)

There was one part that they both remembered right then, at the same time.

"'To die would be--" one started.

"--an awfully grand adventure,'" the other finished.

And then, even though both were too occupied to look at each other, there were those identical, devil-may-care grins again. There was a whine from the little sphere as the counter finally counted down. George sent them into a dive, and the wind was in their hair and they were flying, and they both whooped from the sheer joy of it.

***

The explosion that rocks Hogwarts ground was monumental. One moment there were two figures in there, separated and surrounded, one of them clinging to the broom, dangling there. There was a swarm of fliers around them, even a few dementors, a crowd below, spellfire all around, and then...

Fireworks. Glorious fireworks, and they dove, and then there was a ball of white where that had all just been, sizzling and electric. Light cascaded out in a wave, and there was a crack like righteous thunder, as the twins pranked their last.

A steaming crater was all that was left behind.

This was all visible to the lone figure that was hovering outside the castle--he had passed through the wall to have a little looksie.

For a moment, he just floated and watched by the stone wall. Then he took off his hat and raised his hand to his temple.

It wasn't the first time Peeves the Poltergeist saluted Fred and George Weasley, but it was the last.

And...and the old spook got the impression that somewhere, somehow...there were two young men taking a very exaggerated bow.

[dragon-paznic.livejournal.com]

Charlie's... feeling pretty good, actually.

For one thing, he's flying, and that's never a bad thing. It's a decent enough night, wind's not awful, and so far they're outflying the Death Eaters by a mile.

The flight style of one of the Death Eaters gives him pause; it takes him a few moments to realise why, but when he does, Charlie grins slyly.

Well, well, well, it's wossname-- Slytherin Seeker, fifth year, right, always went in for the fancy-arsed flying.

He slowly, expertly, turns his broom to follow the other wizard's trail, readying his wand. Yup, there he goes. Same old tricks. Feint right, feint left, feint left, feint-- "--Right!" he says aloud, and fires a fire-bright Stunning Spell at the Death Eater. It hits him squarely in the back, sparks dancing over his black robe. Like nothing so much as a ragdoll, the wizard slips from his broom, and plummets to the ground below.

There's a moment of euphoria, a feeling that yes, we can do this, and then--

two identical heads of flaming red hair, Fred, where's your fucking broom, what are you doing you can't do this no no no no

Then there is a blinding flash of light, and his brothers, his baby twin brothers, the ones who keep the rest of them in check, remind them that life isn't miserable, that there's worth in laughter even on days like these

and then Charlie realises that they are laughing.

He doesn't even hear the explosion, not really. The blood is rushing to Charlie's ears, and a harsh sob rips from his throat, his vision swimming.



He cannot even comprehend.



Charlie feels his broom starting to list to one side and rights himself mechanically, automatically. Numbly.

He can't go on.

He can't.


He has to.

[wand_wavers]

The battle is just beginning to push within the castle itself when in the nearly empty Great Hall, two women, a boy, and an older gentleman appear to walk through a wall and into the hall itself.

Funny. They look like neither Hogwart students, wizarding families, nor Death Eaters. This doesn't matter to the four Death Eaters who run into the hall, wands out. They are some ways away, but they'll be in hexing distance soon.

[iopenthings]

Door is not entirely a stranger to this sort of thing, which is why her gaze darts to the charging Death Eaters and she shouts a warning.

"I don't think we're in the right place, yet! And we have company!"

Gavroche murmurs softly in the background, conferring with Kennis and preparing a spell.

As for Door, it's a pity her power is most effective up close and personal.

Here and now she can only stand and wait, hoping that she won't need to use it.

Or maybe that's not what she's hoping for at all.

[skjaldmeyjar.livejournal.com]

"And I'm rather thinking those are some of the people we're dealing with, here?" Svava asks flatly, stepping forwards.

Later, there may be a risk of friendly fire, limiting some of the larger battle spells. This is not the time, though. With a quick slash of her hand, Kaunaz, burning in the air like a fever, and then Hagalaz smashes through the distance like a hammer-

And before the Death Eaters cross the line into hexing distance, a ball of flame roars toward them. The Death Eaters yell and scatter, a couple with singed clothing, and the other two much worse.

[gramarye1971]

The sense of magic in the air is not quite the same as it is in Merriman's world, but it is near enough as makes no difference. Svava's magic works well enough here, and he has no doubt that his will as well.

Svava's ball of flame has cleared their path, and he intends to ensure that it stays clear as they pass through the hall. At a word, the nearest Death Eater is caught in mid-flight and forcibly pressed up against the stone wall, pinioned there as if held in place by an invisible hand. The next nearest gets the same treatment, as does the third. The fourth only barely manages to escape the hall in time to avoid joining his fellows.

'Dark wizards,' Merriman growls. 'This place is riddled with them, and worse.'

[street-sparrow.livejournal.com]

Gavroche watches this disposal of the Death Eaters with clinical interest, making a note to figure out how it's done later. Then he looks up at Merriman sharply.

"Worse?"

[leplusbeau]

[From here.]


So that's why she tosses a flaming pile of desks down the stairwell with a wave of her wand.

"I am tired of thiz!"

[http://users.livejournal.com/_clearly_penny_/]

Penelope?

Stares.

Scandalized, "Fleur!"

[wand_wavers]

Meanwhile, Arthur might just be smiling-- a little astonished, a little grim, but still very much a smile.

"That's the ticket-- wands at the ready, everyone!"

[iambetadraconis]

Scandalised? Astonished?

The Death Eaters are clearly surprised.

But not entirely, as Mulciber shouts a quick "Protego!" [a few others copy his lead] at the desks while Locke transfigures them into so many birds.

This is why the Death Eaters wanted Mulciber as the leader tonight—years of fighting have ensured that his reflexes are as sharp as razor blades.

But despite this it also leaves the Death Eaters momentarily on the defensive. No, the desks didn't hit them, but you can only use one spell at a time, and that gives the Order the upper hand in the battle.

"If you didn't do as I said earlier here's your reason to listen to me now!

WANDS OUT!"


If there is a god let him be listening and let him be merciful to a man who ceased deserving it years ago...

[wand_wavers]

Now this is the kind of strategizing that Arthur can get into.

"All right," he says briskly, "Professor, with me--"

He dashes to the stairwell, Sprout trailing closely, and he can already see the Death Eaters coming, not just hear them, and his heart's pounding loud in his ears but there's nothing for it--

"Stupefy!"

"Incendio!"