Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 6:25 PM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Déborah 'Debbie' Rousse crouched in the makeshift shelter her Witches had devised just inside the open Barracks Door. It was formed of any portable items they could find in the enormous training space the Locked and Blocked Barracks Doors had all opened into. Plus some things that were probably not intended to be portable. Enthusiasm and cooperative effort could make a large difference in changing the resting state of such objects.

  Caution was still indicated, though. She had sent most of her Red Division out into the mêlée to cause trouble, along with the best of her Blues in Support. She had kept a few of each back, along with the entire Green Division, in case they had to repel another mass rush of the Zabini animals. Surprise, the defensive properties of the Harnesses, and her Special Weapons had driven back the first assault, but they had by no means given up. Even with all the Red Divisions of the Men's Barracks deployed, the inmates were still outnumbered and out-Magicked. And a considerable number of the enemy were still fixated on the Women's Barracks, despite the evidence of what had happened to their comrades.

  "Ariana?" Debbie spoke in a cool calm tone.

  "Yes, Chairwoman?"

  Debbie used her entire arm as a pointer. "Twelve yards out on this line." The arm raised to indicate an angle. "High lob."

  The woman thus addressed simply said, "On it." She stuck her hand into a small container improvised from waxed parchment, and brought out a handful of doughy green material. She cupped it between both hands, and squeezed, like packing a snow ball. A trickle of bright red liquid dribbled to the floor. She released the pressure, immediately winding up and hurling the firmed-up lump at the prescribed angle.

  Debbie smiled approvingly as the object peaked and started to fall. Powder was beginning to wisp away from its surface as it dropped out of sight. Barely audible over the ruckus was a soft Pommpfh! sound.

  "I miei occhi! Non vedo nulla!" It was almost a scream, before someone choked on an inhale, and began coughing hard enough to rack their lungs out.

  "Good shot."

  Ariana beamed at the praise. "Timing is everything, ma'rm."

  A flurry of spells burst and fizzled out at the plane of the Door, right where the Magick Suppression Effect took over.

  "Stay low," Debbie repeated, for probably the hundredth time. "The Effect won't stop an Avada, but they need to have line of sight for that." And, of course, the follow-up thought went through her mind: I could wish the barrier was higher.

  Her eye was caught by something else flying through the air. It was a man on a broom, weaving through a hail of spells. He wore a red-glowing Harness, and seemed to be heading in their general direction.

  "Azkaban-trained, for sure," Ariana said behind her. "Do you recognise him?"

  Debbie nodded. "Daniel Weston. I even recognise the broom. I wondered where that old International had gotten off to."

  A bellow came from the direction of the rapidly jinking broom. "Permission to come aboard?"

  Debbie suppressed a smile as she waved him in. What a drama-hound.

  With a final corkscrew twirl, he did a belly-down landing into the Suppression Zone, only sliding a couple of feet. He rolled up into a crouch, and half-walked, half-waddled over to her.

  "Madame Rousse." He greeted her, making an unintentionally hilarious bow from his stooped position. "Shamir sent one over to see if one could boost your defenses somewhat."

  "Any improvement would be welcome, Master Weston. You have something in mind?"

  "Indeed, Madame. A moment please." He crept up to the current barricade, and worked his wand-holding hand through a gap. He stopped when his wand-tip was barely past the plane of the door. Pointing it up at an angle, he Cast "Accio Aerostat!"

  Debbie craned her head back to see what he was Summoning. There were shadows up in the dark of the high ceiling, and some of them surged against invisible moorings. There was a series of distant twangs, as ropes or some such parted. Three linked sausage shapes began to glide down toward them.

  "Aerostat?"

  Daniel nodded abstractedly, concentrating on his Spell. "Yes. They make up a training course for flyers, obstacles, aerobatics, reaction training. Changing colors can redefine safe paths through."

  Debbie grimaced. "Our Quidditch teams could have used that."

  Daniel frowned as well. "It's not like the slugs stationed here ever used it, even before the current brou-ha-ha."

  As the objects came into better light, they were revealed to be dirigible-like, and parti-coloured on the long axis, green on one side and red on the other. They were also larger than she had thought, being rounded cylinders about ten yards in length and two in diameter.

  As they came to rest just outside the Door, the two on the ends angled back against the walls on either side, leaving the center a head-high rampart before them.

  Weston wasn't finished. He gave an impression of hauling back on his wand, though it didn't move an inch. The rounded ends deformed against the walls and each other, leaving the shapes as a solid bastion before them.

  "There." Daniel was panting, as if he had been exercising heavily. "It will be safe to deploy out now."

  Ariana stared at him. "Won't they just pop if someone hits them with a spell?"

  Daniel suppressed a smile. "Oh, no, Dear Lady. They are not balloons, quite solid in fact. Well, mostly solid, they do have some interesting morphological quirks. But quite good for these purposes, if one knows how to handle them. We use much the same system at Münchner Wolpertinger."

  Debbie walked out of the Suppression Zone and pressed her hand to the inside of the front, well, wall. There was a heavy sort of give, much like pressing on a sandbag.

  "Safe, indeed," she said. "Not particularly convenient."

  Daniel did smile then, as he joined her in the forward space. "One has only just begun." He concentrated as he slowly swept his vertically held wand from one end of the wall to the other. The curved surface flattened to become straight up and down, then a step about a foot high extruded inward from the bottom.

  "A parapet for your rampart," he said, still focused. "Curved and slick on the outer side. Egress and ingress can be instantly provided, and removed equally quickly. And once reinforcements arrive..."

  Debbie raised an eyebrow. "Reinforce...?"

  A voice rang out from beyond the wall. "Daniel, was that you risking your damn-fool neck on that broom? I ought to..."

  "Ginevra!" Daniel's cheerful shout overrode her. "Hail and Well-Met, My Lady! Enter and be welcome!"

  "Enter how?" came another, more querulous voice. "Never mind, I see it now."

  In one of the 'side' walls, the material twitched and deformed from the ground up, forming an arched tunnel running completely through the wall. The archway on their side was even adorned with what looked like decorative scrollwork. Completely wasted, of course. Once the six women entered, the tunnel collapsed back to its original form. Nienna Robins was staring at Hermione with something like hero-worship in her eyes. "Just that freakin' good!" she murmured to her mother. Demelza grinned.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ***

  Demelza nodded to Debbie, "I place myself and my detachment under your command for the duration, or until I receive further directives from my chain of command."

  Debbie looked a little surprised, so the Auror went on. "You know the ground and you know the enemy, at least better than anyone else. Most importantly, you know your people. I'm not even going to try to second-guess you there."

  Debbie's smile was a mere quirk of the lips, but it was there. "I do hope you are willing to advise me, Auror Robins."

  Demelza's eyes narrowed at the use of her name, which she had not yet provided, but she shook it off.

  "Short briefing, then," she said. "Can your command staff attend us?"

  Debbie shook her head, "My staff, most importantly my Second, are conducting guerrilla raids into the grounds..."

  Just then, there was a Whoop! from behind the further side wall, and a skinny male inmate rose into the air over the top of the wall as if catapulted. He came down toward the inside edge, eyes widening at the steep drop-off. He didn't really touch down. It was more like he bounced, throwing himself into a forward roll and doing a superhero landing on the floor. He stood and spread his arms triumphantly.

  "Ta-da!" He turned to the wall behind him and yelled, " 'Ware Drop!"

  A girl's voice rose in protest. "I should have gone first, it's my responsi... EEP!"

  A young female inmate came sliding over the slick top of the wall, managing to spin around in time to get her feet under her before dropping to the shelf of the parapet. Two more male inmates followed with mixed results. One landed like the girl, but less gracefully. The other was coming down on his head, but managed to get his arms over that same head, catching himself on the step of the parapet, turning his fall into a decent vault.

  The teen girl was stalking toward the first arrival, mayhem in her gaze.

  He spread his palms placatingly. "It's all yers, 'Georgette.' I h'ain't said nuffin' t' nobudy." She slowed as he continued. "Hit's right an proper yeh make the Report, this being yer Home Barracks."

  Ire cooled, she started past him. She grumbled, "You're teaching me that Ascendio Spell!"

  "Wudun' 'at smashin'?" he said in delight.

  The 'Georgette' stopped before Debbie, but did nothing so gauche as coming to attention. "Madam Chairwoman, 'Georgette' Γ?μμα reporting with a party under the command of the Vice Chairwoman. We consist of an Auror Healer, The Wand Bloke, who's also an Auror of some kind, several wounded we collected on our way here, and some Blue Division members from other barracks."

  When Debbie raised one perfectly arched red-gold eyebrow, the 'Georgette' shuffled in embarrassment. "They, ah, volunteered to assist with transport of the wounded."

  Daniel snorted. "One wonders who has the unmitigated gall to order around hardened criminals?" Sarcasm just dripped from his words.

  "No! I absolutely refuse! I am to be the Matron of Hogwarts, and I will do nothing so undignified."

  "Aw, come on now," wheedled a male voice. "It looks a right treat. Tell you what, I'll go first..."

  "NO!"

  "Oh, Sweet Hera!" Hermione grumbled. She flicked her Vine and Dragon Heartstring wand, and another arch blossomed. This one wider, of course, to accommodate the wounded. It revealed an interesting tableau.

  Hannah Abbot Longbottom was standing with arms folded, scowling her disapproval. Dennis Creevey was blinking owlishly at the sudden opening, with one foot raised, about to step into the stirrup formed by Sigurd's interlaced fingers. Sigurd herself had the slightly baffled look of a person whom the world had been jerking around mercilessly. At the sight of Debbie, she rallied, a look of relief momentarily apparent on her face as she straightened up.

  "After you, Healer, Auror Creevy." Then, less politely, "You lot, follow the Healer!"

  Several walking wounded, men and some women, scurried past. Then the more serious cases appeared, supported, and sometimes outright carried by some very hardened, yet abashed-looking criminals. They all kept a wary eye on Hannah.

  Hannah gazed down the hall. "This will do fine. Where can I set up?"

  Debbie asked, "Are we to be the primary infirmary?" At Hannah's brisk nod, the Chairwoman said, "The second Bunkroom is basically empty, save a few grumpy loners. Roust them or draft them, I don't care." She regarded the three 'Georgettes' attending her. "Δ?λτα, you are at the Healer's disposal until further notice."

  The young woman nodded briskly and led Hannah up the Hallway, speaking as they went. "The bunks are all stripped, but if a hand is pressed to one with intent, it will produce bedding. They automatically change themselves if badly soiled, and, otherwise, every other day."

  Hannah nodded in approval as they proceeded. She stopped abruptly at a huddled man laying on the floor, causing the queue behind her to stumble to a halt. She called back down the hall, "Is this one of the Italians?"

  Debbie shrugged. "Or one of the traitor guards."

  Professional curiosity piqued, Demelza asked, "How do you tell the difference?

  It was Sigurd that answered. "Den ford?mt Italiener usually better schmell."

  "This one is still alive," said Hannah.

  The 'Georgette beside her said, "So?" She looked honestly baffled.

  Hannah sighed. "Be gracious in Victory, dear. It costs you nothing."

  The girl shrugged, and led on.

  Debbie frowned, then spoke. "Green Division, police the Barracks. Live ones to the Healer, dead ones lined up by the Pit. And you're not allowed to make them dead. Wait. Hold." She turned to Demelza. "Any advice?"

  Demelza nodded. "I'm sure Hannah would say to get the bodies cremated as soon as possible..."

  "Bloody well right, I would!" Hannah yelled as she disappeared into Bunkroom Two.

  Demelza rolled her eyes. "Search them for identification, evidence, intelligence material. Just keep everything."

  "If you find any wands, best bring them to me," Dennis said, matter-of-factly. "A wand with a dead or severely wounded owner can be dangerous. I can store them safely until Master Ollivander can evaluate them." He looked a little apprehensive. "He really doesn't like Italian wands. There's a cheeky little family of wandmakers in Southern Italy that call themselves 'Ollivandro,' and claim to be the direct line."

  Nienna couldn't stifle her curiosity. "Any chance it's true?"

  Dennis shrugged. "Anything is possible. But the split would had to have happened before the 4th Century, BCE. The Ollivander Family has primary source records going back that far, with no unexplained gaps. Besides, anyone who uses Siren Hair as their primary source of magical cores..."

  There were gasps all around. Dennis shook his head. "They work well enough, unless the owner gets more than a hundred miles away from the nearest natural seawater." Then he gazed around with a puzzled look on his face. "I've been meaning to ask, what's with all the red heads?"

  There was silence for a moment. All the remaining female inmates were staring at him. Sigurd looked shocked, and maybe a little disappointed. Ginny seemed positively aghast.

  "Well," said Debbie cautiously. "I realise that there seem to be quite a few in the Barracks, many of whom are naturally redheaded. For the rest, it's a choice...?"

  "Oh, sweet Freyja, no! No, no, no! Not Redhead as in the hair. I love Redheads. I am also, I think justifiably, scared to death of them." He paused, considering if that was too much information. Probably. He went on.

  "I'm talking about people with actual Red. Heads. Red all over. Hair, face, any exposed skin. I've seen quite a few scattered around looking dead, but several live ones running about as well. And now I see some up your hallway there."

  Debbie chuckled in relief, "Oh, that. There's a perfectly good explanation for that."

  Whatever it was would have to wait. 'Georgette' Δ?λτα came dashing down the Hall, and stopped in front of Ginny.

  "Beggin' your pardon, Mum, but Miss Hannah sent me to ask if your bad-word husband or someone is going to get the bad-word Magickal Suppression turned off so she can do her bad-word, bad-word job. She isn't sure of the exact bad-word time because her bad-word watch has quit. Oh, and one of your bad-word brothers, or your husband's bad-word cousin are going to fix it." She ran out of breath and wheezed to a halt.

  Ginny checked with her heirloom watch, Eirene, who was at her battle station inside Ginny's Matte-Black Active Duty Robes. "Kicks off at Seven on the nose, Eirene? Are you having any problems with the Suppression Magick?"

  "Indeed, Seven PM. Eight minutes and 33 seconds from Mark." The watch's tone was prim. "As for the other, Dear Girl, I'll have you know I was within twenty-five feet of Grindelwald when he Cast the Protego Diabolica, and I never got so much as a gear-ache."

  Ginny gaped, overflowing with questions, but shook them off. There was no time. She did hear Debbie murmur, "A Dark September day, indeed."

  Later.

  After a nod from Debbie, Demelza started snapping orders. "Delta, tell Hannah 'Five Minutes,' and she needs to curb her bad-word tongue if she's going to be a bad-word Hogwarts Matron! Robins, protect the Healer, and gather up the Italians' intel. (Not even a whisper of attitude about being banished from the Front Line. Good). Grainger, crennellations like you did at the Spider Glen Skirmish. Patel, Spectre-Spec up, locate the entrances from the warehouse, doors and loading doors. Mark them with the Colour of Magic, then see what else you can detect. Everybody with a wand, Spec up long enough to spot the marked doors, then take them off. Wait for the signal."

  "Wands!" Dennis yelped. "Idiot, idiot, idiot! I'm an Idiot with a Capital 'I' " He started to grab handsful of wands, but looked at the line, past which lurked the Magick Suppression. "Have to wait. Anyone out here without a wand, line up. Wait!" He dug a hand into his dimensional bag, which appeared to be only a few inches deep. He was in it almost up to his shoulder, before finding what he wanted. He yanked it out.

  "Madame Rousse, our 'Georgette' there was talking you up while we were out and about, and I got a funny feeling that this will suit you to the ground!"

  Debbie took the wand, which immediately and forcefully began effervescing in her hand. The froth of bubbles ascended to the tip, then sublimated away. "Oh. My. What a handsome wand."

  "Red Oak & Unicorn Core. Good for consistent magic, for folks who can make quick, accurate decisions," he said proudly.

  "It also feels a little reckless, and perhaps a bit mad. I love it!" She took in Dennis' wide eyes, and smiled.

  "Let us then to War, mes enfants terribles. Battle Stations."