Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 7:00 PM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Ginny stood at the crenellation she had chosen as her station. Hermione had outdone herself, (which was really saying something). The embrasures in the battlement were cunningly contrived to maximise Casting while minimising exposure. The wand slits toward the battlefield were narrow, giving the enemy little to aim at. They opened from there in a wide 'V' shape toward the defenders. By shifting slightly from side to side, Ginny could view most of the contested area. An innovation that Ginny particularly admired was how the wand slit continued down to just above floor level, forming an inverted 'T' with a horizontal slit about six feet wide. These overlapped with the stations on either side. No enemy could shelter under these walls without exposing themselves to attack.

  She was also occasionally scanning the space above the contested area for aerial threats, so she was the first to spot the scrap of red fluttering down from the dark reaches under the ceiling.

  " 'Ware Howler!" she snapped over her right shoulder, then repeated it over her left for good measure. She tapped a simple protective spell on each ear, her nose and her mouth. Then she added a small shield over her eyes for good measure. In her peripheral vision, she saw a so-far wandless woman turn her back to the room, crouch, put her hands over her ears and open her mouth. Ginny quirked a reluctant smile. There might be something very uncanny about the Rousse woman, but she trained her people for almost every eventuality.

  The slightly smoking envelope was too far for her to read the inscription, but she had a rough idea what it would say:

  To Whom It May Concern.

  Dear Whomit...

  Despite any and all preparations, the force of the words set the aerostat wall to shaking, and her internal organs to quivering. It was Ron's voice, monstrously amplified.

  "GO! GO! GO!"

  All of the inmates out on the floor hit the deck, as every door and delivery access from the Warehouse blew off whatever was restraining them. They converted to lethal shrapnel, which only went out and up, never down. The merlon to Ginny's left forcefully acquired a thick baulk of timber with a snapped-off cross-beam bolted to the top. They formed an almost perfectly upright upside-down 'L' shape. In the aftermath of the Howler, she hadn't even heard it hit.

  The shrapnel was not as effective as it could have been, due to the design of the cavernous training room. Artificial hillocks and other landscape features had been magickally added to the layout, and were scattered almost randomly. Italians and inmates both had been using these as shelters from Castings , and from the more mundane attacks of the inmates.

  Aurors stormed though every opening, shaped Shields plowing debris out of their way. About half of them stopped right inside each door to set up Forward Operations bases, complete with conjured walls and weaponry. The rest shook themselves out into Strike Team squads, immediately deploying forward.

  Due to the vagaries of personal magick, there was no standard make-up of a Strike Team. There were usually two or more Shielding specialists, though rarely a single very powerful and Talented individual could cover a whole team by themselves. The same went for Force projectors, though it was much less likely to be a single Witch or Wizard. Other members were added to cover any gaps in a Team's capabilities, whether it was ability to communicate, facilitate, and/or, most crucially, command. A powerful Wizard was not necessarily a good commander. This dichotomy was the main cause of Teams breaking up, and reforming with a more suitable roster.

  But once a Team was right, it was tight. Mobs were carved up like sculptures made of butter on a warmish day. These Italian Dark Wizards, though, seemed to be moderately well-trained at working together. Moments ago, Ginny had heard Daniel refer to them as Fedelissimi. She believed that translated as something like 'Band of Brothers.'

  They were not so much retreating as consolidating, responding to rapid-fire Italian commands relayed across the room. Their line of retreat led back to Admin and Staff Quarters, according to the intel the Ministry had on the layout of Azkaban. From Daniel Weston and John Talisker's reports, that information was at least woefully incomplete, if not totally wrong. Hermione was getting more and more indignant. The prison had not been thoroughly examined and studied in the almost three hundred years since it became the Ministry's prison. That the spatial distortion, evidenced by the Barracks, Outside Recreation Area, and now this Training Room, had gone undocumented for so long almost rendered her speechless. (But only almost).

  When she had been cautiously reminded of the historical Dementor infestation, she had waved it off as trivial. What she had actually said was, "A sufficiently focused researcher should not even notice a few Dementors, much less be affected by them."

  Just down the allure from Ginny, Riya Patel had conjured herself a high stool, and was repeatedly scanning the battlefield from her seat behind a merlon. She had put her SpectreSpecs away, and brought out Luna's so-far one-and-only SpectreScope. Luna had showed Riya how to convert it into a periscope configuration, so the darkly handsome Witch did not have to monopolise one of the wand slits.

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  Riya stiffened on her seat. "Commander Rousse! Dementor precursors!" she called out in a penetrating mezzo-soprano, correctly directing the report to the Commander of Record.

  Well, think of the Devil, was Ginny's amazed thought.

  Some of the defenders were making uneasy noises. From her position, Debbie nodded firmly to Demelza, who ordered, "QUIET! Those who have them, SpectreSpecs on! All others, watch their targeting. Patel, what do you have?"

  "Three, no four potential emergences, two each to either side of the Italian position, in the shadows along the wall. Three more forward of their fall-back lines, each at the top of one of the artificial hillocks on the training ground. Each emergence shows potential for multiple Dementors!" Ginny heard Riya mutter in a quieter voice, "Where the Hel were they hiding them all?"

  Demelza's voice was loud, but unhurried and unworried. "Patel, use the Tracking Spell to target the ones along the far wall first, left to right, then the forward sites, right to left."

  Yes, Ma'r'm!" Riya acknowledged the order. Without raising her gaze from the SpectreScope, she took her always-ready wand, tapped the eyepiece, and Cast, "Appare Vestigium!" She then shifted her focus slightly, and repeated the actions.

  Looking out over the battlefield with her Specs on, Ginny saw the spells emerge from a small swirling cloud gathered at the objective lens of the 'scope. Appare Vestigium was usually invisible once it left the point of origin, but through the Specs, she could see the Colour of Magic imbuing the spell. It made a bee-line to a point on the far wall, where it stuck and pulsed. It was joined by another more to the right.

  Demelza waited to speak until Riya raised her head momentarily, indicating she was done. "Stations One through Four, you don't have an angle. Stay on Targets of Opportunity."

  Ginny glanced up in slight surprise. There was, indeed, a large embossed Number Eight on both inner walls of her crenellation, and on the inner wall either side of her station. Hermione again. That girl thinks too much.

  Demelza went on. "Stations Five, Six, and Seven, target the back wall. Eight, Nine, Ten, forward targets. Eleven through Fourteen, again, no angle, Targets of Opportunity."

  Somebody on that wall uttered a low, "Boo-oo!" Demelza just grinned. "Rules of Engagement: Hold your Cast until word of command. Paint each target in your area of responsibility in sequence, using your most highly visible spells, regardless of effect. We want to draw the attention of Forward Operations and Strike Teams to these locations, in case they haven't spotted them. Once they start dropping Casts on them as well, I will give the order to dispatch Patronii. At that time, anyone who can cast a Patronus will dispatch them."

  There was a scattered cheer, almost overwhelmed by the grumbles of those who couldn't call on a Patronus.

  "Commander Rousse! Dementor emergence!" Patel winced at the sound of her own voice. Looking into the usually invisible world of the Colour of Magic for extended periods was a mind-wracking experience. Except for Luna, who would live there if she could.

  Debbie Rousse looked to Demelza. "Hold until full emergence?" she suggested. Demelza nodded, and then amplified on the order, like a good subordinate should.

  "Patel, notify us when the emergence stops, or markedly slows."

  "Yes, ma'r'm."

  The wait just seemed interminable.

  "Commander Rousse! Dementor emergence stopped all sites simultaneously! Estimate eighteen to twenty Dementors per site. Advancing toward allied troops."

  "CAST!" shouted Debbie Rousse. As the air filled with directed Spell effects, she glanced at Riya Patel, who was swaying on her stool, but with eye still glued to the SpectreScope.

  "Auror Patel?" she called. "You are relieved from duty." Riya gave her an unconvincing gung-ho look.

  " 'M fine, ma'r'm." Her voice wavered.

  Demelza Robins tsked. "You received an order, Auror. Stand down."

  "Yes'm." The woman sagged in relief, but stayed swaying in her seat. Sigurd leaned over and whispered to Debbie. The Chairwoman gave her Second's new wand a considering glance, then nodded.

  Sigurd strode over to Riya Patel, gathering in Dennis Creevy on the way. He was still working his way through a queue of wandless, when he suddenly found himself walking beside the statuesque, but still sylph-like redhead, her hand resting between his shoulder blades. He looked over his shoulder at the queue, but no one looked at all upset.

  Together they gently eased Riya off her stool and down to a seat on the foot-high parapet step. She leaned her head back against the inner wall, but didn't look very comfortable. Dennis frowned, and Silently Cast. The extruded section of aerostat widened, lengthened and contoured itself to the woman's body. It even appeared to become softer, almost cushion-like. She sighed in relief, then winced in pain. Her eyeballs were twitching under the lids, and not always in unison.

  Sigurd spoke to Dennis. Her words were inaudible, but Dennis had one of those carrying voices, even when speaking softly.

  "Leniens," he said. "I think Leniens would be best. I'm no medi-wizard, but I've had it used on me. It's a niche Spell, some orthodox wizards don't even recognise it as true magick."

  Sigurd quietly said something else. He shook his head. "We're not in an emergency situation now. Let's try it on me, first. I know what it's supposed to feel like, and I actually do have a bit of a tension headache."

  Sigurd raised her wand hand to Dennis' face, stoking quickly, saying, "Lenny-ans?"

  Dennis frowned. "Not so brisk." He grasped the back of her hand with one of his, saying, "Repeat after me."

  He slowed the motion, and adjusted the angle of her hand, so that the tip of the wand traced gently along his face. He said, "Leniens."

  "Lenyons."

  He started in the center of his forehead, and guided her so that the wand tip glided along his hairline, down across the temple, along his jawline to the point of his chin, then up. There was the tiniest of flicks as the tip treated his lower lip as a ski jump. "Leniens."

  "Leniens." They moved the hand up together, starting the motion again.

  "Leniens."

  "Leniens."

  "Leniens."

  "Leniens."

  He was no longer guiding her hand, but kept the contact so as not to throw her off. "Leniens." he said.

  "Leniens." This time when she did the tiny flick at the end, he gasped, and opened his eyes. (Which he did not remember closing).

  His eyes were clear, almost sparkling, and all signs of weariness were gone from his face.

  "Woof!" he said. "I feel great, like I could Cast the best Patronus in the world! You've got it down!"

  SIgurd moved to Riya, and started. After a couple of repetitions, she frowned. "Put your hand on mine," she said, a trifle brusquely. He grinned but complied.

  "You know, young lady," He was trying for a teasing tone. "You are going to have to learn to do this on your own. I'm a busy man, what with the milking of the cows and the making of the wands. I can't be dropping everything to come up here and..." His throat closed involuntarily, cutting off the words, '...hold your hand.'

  She kept looking into his eyes, continuing the motion by rote.

  "Leniens." she whispered. At the last flick, Riya gasped. Some of the stress left her face, tension releasing her body slightly, letting her sink a bit into the conjured chaise longue.

  "Oh," she whispered, almost inaudible. "Better. Please... go on."

  And so, they did.