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Voldemort was defeated, but the repercussions of the war made upholding the Statute of Secrecy impossible. Despite the best efforts of magical peacekeepers, wars broke out across the globe. In Britain, open resistance against the Muggles resulted in brutal defeat, and magical folk retreated behind their strongest charms and enchantments, praying that time would blunt the nation's fury. Four years later, only a handful of magical strongholds remain in Britain, and they're cut off from the rest of the world. Harry Potter, once a symbol of hope but now blamed by some as the cause of the destruction, is among the community taking refuge in Hogwarts as the Muggles draw ever closer…

Chapter 1: Under Siege

Despite everything, it was a beautiful day. Harry squinted at the sunlight from his position atop the ramparts on the southern side of Hogwarts. Below him, zig-zagged stairs led down to the boathouse at the edge of the Black Lake, which sparkled in the sun. In the distance, Harry could faintly see cranes in the ruins of Hogsmeade, constructing towers and clearing rubble.

"What do you think they're building?" Ron asked quietly beside him. The lanky, red-haired young man nursed a mug of firewhisky in his hands as he leaned on the belly-high guard wall.

"Observation post," Harry replied, just as quietly. "They know we're here, even if they can't see us."

"Why bring the train, though?" Ron jerked his chin. Hogsmeade Station was only slightly closer to the castle, but still far enough to be cloaked in white mist. The outline of the Hogwarts Express was visible on the service tracks outside the station.

"Best guess? They're going to disassemble it in front of us. Try to force a reaction," Harry said tonelessly.

"Bastards," Ron spat. "Like they haven't taken enough."

Harry turned away from the lake and caught his reflection in a castle window behind him. He scratched his chin wearily.

His black hair was longer than the schoolboy cut he used to sport, now brushing against his shoulders and falling across his eyes in the wind. Harsh times had chiselled away the last of the baby fat on his cheeks, leaving a strong jaw peppered with a day's stubble. The only features that still connected him to those whimsical days in Hogwarts were his eyes: bright green and clear as ever.

Ron stayed behind, scowling across the lake and sipping his firewhisky. Harry descended back into the castle, hands in his pockets and not really looking where he was going. His feet knew the way, climbing the Grand Staircase automatically. There were still a few chunks missing from the moving staircases here and there that nobody had gotten around to fixing, but it was useable.

The portrait of the Fat Lady was propped up beside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. With so many refugees staying in the castle, it was impractical to continue using passwords. The Lady had insisted on continuing to watch over the entrance nonetheless, and it had become a polite gesture to ask for permission before entering.

"May I go in?" Harry asked, pausing at the threshold.

"Of course, dear," the Lady murmured, caught in a daydream.

Harry entered through the hole, which was far more strenuous now that he was fully-grown. A miniature shanty town greeted him. Sleeping bags, blankets and pillows lay about the common room, enough for about thirty people. The squashy armchairs were pushed to the side of the room along with the couches. Crimson still adorned the walls and curtains, but the beds and blankets came in many colours.

There was a couple sharing one of the armchairs beside the windows, staring out silently as they leaned on each other. Three sleeping bags were full, one of them snoring softly. Oliver Wood paced slowly in front of the fire, his expression strained. He looked up when Harry entered the room, and they exchanged nods before he resumed his pacing.

Harry entered the doorway that led up to the girl's dormitory. The rooms he passed were rarely closed these days. Unlike the cramped adult quarters in the common room, the dormitories retained their well-spaced four-poster beds. Said beds were empty at that moment – they were for current students, and school was in session.

The seventh year dormitory was relatively neat considering the house-elves rarely had time to clean these days. There was a lump under the sheets of the bed in the middle of the semi-circle they were arranged in. Harry stooped and quietly picked up a book from the floor, then tossed it underarm onto the lump.

"Arugh!" came the muffled response. A mop of dirty blonde hair rose from within the tangle of blankets. "Go away, Kate," groaned the mop.

"Get up, Zeller," Harry said flatly.

The mop started in surprised and launched herself out of bed. She was already wearing jeans and a shirt, so Harry figured she had tried to get ready for class in the morning, only to fall back asleep.

Rose Zeller was four years his junior, but when he saw her sheepish grin, it felt a hell of a lot longer. She'd only been in her third year when the Wizarding World was torn apart, and she hadn't left Hogwarts since. Her family hadn't been able to reach Hogwarts, and the last they'd heard, they were at the Ministry with many others.

Maybe that's why she bugs me so much. Too close to home.

Originally a Hufflepuff, Rose began sleeping in Gryffindor Tower when the boundaries between houses broke down, claiming she always loved the view. Harry knew it was because he spent more time in Gryffindor Tower than any other common room, and she relished in bugging him with questions.

"Hey, Professor," Rose said cheerfully.

"You missed class this morning," he said.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Were you planning to miss Muggle Studies, too? Professor Granger dislikes repeating herself." Harry knew that was a lie. Hermione was a much more patient teacher than he was, even if his methods did get good results.

Even with Hogwarts full of refugees, it was decided that the children should still be educated. As the previous Muggle Studies teacher had been killed by Voldemort, Hermione stepped up to fill the gap, albeit with a far more urgent curriculum. The class was now about blending in and living among Muggles without drawing attention, along with studying Muggle weaponry and tactics.

Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed trivial in the face of recent events, but Harry had been coerced into teaching it anyway, if only to keep himself sane. The classes at least gave some structure to his days. Anything to break up the cycle of waking up, wondering if there would be more bad news today, then going to sleep.

Ginny hated it when he spoke like that. When Harry pointed out that a lot of people were grumbling similar things, she shook her head like he was dense and explained that he couldn't afford to show that kind of defeatist attitude. That people looked up to him.

It sure didn't feel that way.

"Heel," Harry grunted, turning to leave. Rose yanked on her robes and darted after him.

"What's up your butt, Professor?" she inquired. "You're a bit scowl-ier than usual today."

"The Muggles are building things in Hogsmeade," he said quietly once they were out of the common room. "They know where Hogwarts is, they just can't get any closer."

"So? It's been that way for ages. Professor Granger said the kind of environment adjustment needed to destabilise the castle's protective spells would probably cause a minor extinction event, whatever that means."

"Has she taught you that the Muggles easily have enough power to do just that?"

Rose went quiet and Harry cursed himself for being so blunt. Cheeky and confident she may be, but Rose was still less mature than most other seventeen year olds. She didn't like being reminded that the world wasn't as fun outside of Hogwarts as it was within. Not that life in Hogwarts was much fun for anyone but her these days.

The Great Hall yawned before them. The house table layout was long gone, replaced by six narrower long tables designed to fit an extra few hundred people on top of the students. It was rare that all rows were occupied simultaneously, as official meal times were only really applicable to students.

At the start, most refugees had set up their sleeping bags in the Great Hall for lack of a better option. But when the numbers grew and space became limited, the numbers were divided between common rooms and some empty classrooms. The Room of Requirement would have been helpful, but it was still repairing itself after suffering a dose of Fiendfyre four years earlier.

Harry spotted some bushy brown hair at the staff table and made a beeline for it. Hermione Granger was picking at a turkey sandwich with little interest. Ron was at her side eating a little more enthusiastically, apparently having gotten bored of glaring at distant Muggles.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said with a smile, glancing up. Ron grunted his hello.

"Hey, Hermione." Harry grabbed Rose's shoulder and pulled her out from behind him where she had been subtly trying to hide. "Zeller here was so embarrassed about missing her morning Defence class that she decided she wants to stick by your side until your class begins, just to guarantee she won't miss it."

"That's a great idea!" Hermione smiled brightly at Rose, who returned with a shaky grin.

"My academic success is important," said the little liar, "Especially in these troubled times."

Harry went to leave when Hermione stopped him. "Harry, I just remembered, Minerva would like to see you," she said. Even after four years, she couldn't say McGonagall's first name without it coming out strange. Harry had the same problem.

"Did it sound important?" Harry wanted nothing more than to get back to his office. It was that kind of day.

"She called me Granger without realising, so yes, it probably is."

That was worrying. McGonagall had adjusted to using their first names without a single hiccup. If she was distracted enough to forget…

Harry made for the Headmistress's office.

The various bedraggled groups he passed on the way there greeted him with varying degrees of warmth. Most knew that he hadn't known the war would lead to this, and that he was as surprised and as terrified as them when the Muggles organised against magical folk. But there were always a few who associated him with the fall of the Wizarding World. There were even those who muttered in dark corners that serving Voldemort would have been better than this.

In Harry's opinion, trading one terrible fate for another was hardly a constructive thought exercise. Nevertheless, he had the suspicion that, considering how dismissive of Muggles Voldemort had been, he probably would have suffered a similar fate, no matter his power. There were just so many Muggles, and their weapons were beyond lethal. Casting the Killing Curse required power, concentration, and the pure will to end someone's life. Muggles just twitched their finger.

The worst part was that he could understand, somewhat, the fury that pervaded the Muggle population. They had suddenly discovered that the many unexplainable accidents that had stolen so many lives throughout the war had been the result of a secret population – one that had no qualms about manipulating and brainwashing them. It was the perfect catalyst – a whole category of people that could be targeted and blamed with impunity. Frustration and grief could be hurled at wizards and be called righteous. Blood could be spilled with no remorse. If a Muggle could connect a problem in their life to magic, they had the immediate support of all Muggles to do something about it.

There were other voices in the public dialogue, ones that discouraged undue violence, but the public attitude was such that they were forced to remain quiet for fear of being accused of collusion with magical forces. Not many people wanted to stand up for the losing side.

McGonagall greeted him with a tight-lipped nod when he entered her office. Her hair was more grey than black these days, and wrinkles lined her severe expression.

"What have I done this time, Professor?" Harry said dryly.

The comment would have ordinarily elicited a snappy retort, but this time she merely narrowed her eyes slightly. "Please sit down, Harry," she said.

Harry did so, pulling out the hard-backed chair before the Headmistress's desk. He glanced around the room – most of the portraits were sleeping, and Dumbledore's was empty. The former Headmaster had been invaluable in organising the influx of refugees, but he was only a memory. His words were all he had, and Harry no longer took as much comfort from them as he used to.

"I'm sure you have noticed the construction in Hogsmeade," said McGonagall. "And I'm equally sure you've extrapolated on what may come of it."

Harry nodded slowly. "They may copy the Norwegians. Their strategy proved effective in the end."

They had only heard bits and pieces of what happened two years ago. The Norwegian government had, during their own magic purge, discovered the rough location of the Durmstrang Institute, up in the north somewhere. The 'strategy' that led to Durmstrang's destruction involved carpet-bombing the area and looking for the swathe of land that remained untouched. Through this method, the Muggles established the limits of the Institute's protective enchantments, and were able to set up a perimeter. Seeing as only the Headmaster could Apparate within Durmstrang, most of the students, faculty, and refugees were trapped – much like Hogwarts was now. It was unclear what happened to everyone, but one message was clear from the few survivors that turned up in Britain: the castle was gone.

"Quite. There's nothing we can do to prevent the destruction of the surrounding countryside, but I want to be certain that our wards can withstand any barrage they bring against us." She took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes in a rare display of weakness. "Harry, I realise it may not be a comfortable thought, but if you still possess the Elder Wand, the extra power it would add to our protection would ease a lot of fears."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He'd been expecting this for a while. Could he really be blamed for not wanting Dumbledore's tomb disturbed again?

"Alright," was all he said.

Ginny intercepted him as he exited the large front doors and strode into the warm summer air. She flew down on his Firebolt and landed lightly beside him, George close behind her with a Quaffle under his arm. They looked like they had come from the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. From the red lining George's eyes, they hadn't just been playing.

The former twin slapped him on the back and continued inside the castle. Harry trudged across the grass, heading for the White Tomb on the shore of the Black Lake, and Ginny fell into step beside him. She didn't say anything, for which he was grateful. Sometimes her presence meant a lot more than comforting words.

Harry felt her questioning gaze on his back when he stepped up to the tomb and drew his wand.

"You'll see," he said, then waved his phoenix-feather wand and watched as the large marble slab slid to the side. For the second time in too many years since his death, Dumbledore's body was exposed to the world. Harry sighed and plucked the Elder Wand from beneath the white, wrinkled hands, unwilling to spend a single unnecessary second here. The Tomb was sealed once more, and Harry inspected the Elder Wand carefully.

Ginny gasped when she recognised it. "That's where you put it?"

Harry didn't answer, tapping the wand against his palm a couple of times.

"Do you think it will make a difference against them?" Ginny said in a quieter voice.

"It's not for combat. McGonagall asked me to strengthen our defences with it," Harry replied, still staring at the wand that so many had died for. If it came down to it, he was prepared to use the wand to break the Anti-Apparition Charm and let everyone scatter as far as they could. There was a chance a good number of the refugees could hide in the thousands of hamlets that littered the country. Harry had already decided he wouldn't be among them. If Hogwarts fell, he would stay behind and buy everyone some time to escape. That was that.

Of course, Ginny didn't know that. He'd probably have to stun her and send her off with Ron and Hermione and the other Weasleys. That was if he didn't have to stun them too.

He glanced up from the wand. "Who said you could use my broom?"

They arrived at Harry's quarters sometime in the afternoon. Ginny had stayed with him as he went around the school boundaries pouring power into the wards, feeling them strengthen and condense.

Harry lived in the same room Remus Lupin had once occupied when he was the DADA teacher. It was a decent-sized office, with a small bedchamber through a doorway behind the desk. The private bathroom next to the bedchamber was even smaller, consisting of only a toilet, sink, and cramped shower.

Some of Ginny's clothes were scattered around the bedchamber, and a respectable portion of her remaining makeup supplies surrounded the sink in the bathroom. Harry didn't mind. She spent every second day sleeping near her parents in the Gryffindor common room, so it was nice to have some reminders for when she was gone.

Ginny returned his Firebolt to the corner beside his trunk, and flopped on the bed. She patted the space beside her, and Harry shook his head.

"I should tell McGonagall I'm done." Harry turned to leave, and Ginny sat up to object, when the first explosion reached their ears.

Up next: Break Out