Hi folks, welcome to another experiment in fanfiction.

I will put my hand up and say I, my name is Andrew and I am a Potter-holic. I've been sober for nearly ten minutes now and its been eleven years since my last confession.

Yes, i have been bitten by the Potter-bug. Blame the LOTR crossover i wrote. That or my Ex. Had to read the stuff just to understand half the crap she and her friends talked about.

Anyway, enough babble, more reading.

Not that relationships play any serious part in the story (I'm a bloke!!!!) It's Het and its Harry/Hermione, Ron/Hannah, bleh, bleh i'm told its important to say this kind of stuff.

Apparently, some Mpreg Harry/Voldie fic she thought was regular 'fluff' gave her nightmares for a week.

lemme know what you think, anyway.

Harry Potter and the Tides of War

Prologue

Annabel felt the first drops of rain fall and she scowled. She had meant to be home hours ago but she had let herself be carried while talking with the centaurs about the War. She started to run through the Woods, dodging the fallen branches and potholes of the forest but she barely made it twenty metres before the heavens seemed to open up and rain fell like a waterfall from the sky.

Almost instantly becoming drenched, Annabel bit back a curse as she tried to hide her painstakingly taken notes on the war that had started to get wet. Unfortunately, as she tried to protect her scrolls, she missed the gnarled branch that caught her foot and sent her flying forward towards a tree.

She barely had time to cry out before her head hit the trunk hard. A brief flash of white, a sharp pain behind her eyes and darkness overtook her.

Warmth.

Hot Chocolate.

Annabel felt herself smile as the smell of her favorite drink penetrated her consciousness. Unfortunately, the smile stretched the bruised skin of her face and the dull ache made her instantly remember the rain and the tree and…

She sat up suddenly and then, almost immediately, wished she hadn't. Everything began to spin woozily.

"Oooh, that's not good…" She muttered to herself.

"No, I doubt it would be." Came a reply, full of amusement and sympathy.

She turned her head, instantly regretting the motion, to see a middle-aged man, of light build with graying hair and a warm smile, walking towards her with two mugs of what she assumed was hot chocolate. Her hand dropped to her waist and she felt the reassuring prod of her wand tucked into her waistband. Slowly, she took in her surroundings. She was lying on a comfortable couch, in front of a roaring fire in what appeared to be a small log cabin, comfortably furnished and very cozy. A window near the door rattled with continuous rain and in the dim light, she could just make out the forest outside.

A small desk against the far wall, next to a large bookshelf, had several scrolls and a quill lying on it and she felt herself relax slightly. Muggles hadn't used quills in a very long time which made the stranger a wizard.

"Who are you? Where am I? What…" She began but stopped as soon as the man raised his hand.

"You are in my home, in the Forbidden Forest. You hurt yourself nearby and I found you and brought you here."

Annabel frowned. The Forbidden Forest…? "Oh, you mean the Wandering Woods? No-one's called it the Forbidden Forest in centuries."

The old man shrugged. "A name is a name is a name." He replied mysteriously. "How are you feeling then? You had a slight concussion and its better to heal naturally with those than to use magic."

She nodded absently then gasped with sudden realization. "My scrolls!"

The stranger put down the two mugs of hot chocolate beside her and picked a clump of crumpled scrolls. They were dry but the ink had run completely and her notes had all but been destroyed.

"I'm sorry, I tried to salvage your work but even I seemed to have trouble undoing it." He sounded equal parts apologetic, annoyed and amused at being unable to do it.

She shook her head, disheartened at the loss. Oh, she could probably manage to recover some of it from her memories but she had made more effort to get the notes down rather than memorize them as she listened to the elder centaurs. It had taken her months to arrange a meeting with them and even then, it had required an uncle of hers to call in a favour with one of the clan leaders to do it. The notes would have ensured her top marks in her history major but now…

The old man and sat down cross-legged in front of her, with surprising grace and agility. He offered her the hot chocolate once more and she took it gratefully.

"Thank you for helping me, anyway, sir," She replied after putting aside her disappointment.

The old man shrugged again. "I couldn't help but notice you were writing about the War. It's odd to see someone writing about it after all this time. Especially someone your age."

Annabel grimaced. "The original books are useless." At his surprised look she smiled mirthlessly. "Oh, they're surprisingly accurate. More so than many histories to be found of past events but they're frustratingly vague on a lot of things, the people involved, the battles fought. It bugs me."

The old man had nodded with what appeared to be satisfaction when she had mentioned the accuracy of the history books and smiled when she talked about their incompleteness."

"And you met with the centaurs, something, by the way, I'm impressed you accomplished, to find out what really happened back then?"

She nodded grumpily, knowing she wouldn't get another appointment with them again anytime soon.

He looked at her strangely. "Why the effort? Why do you care? There are much easier ways to earn top marks at University."

Annabel frowned at his statement, wondering if the old man had used legilimancy to find out what she was but she quickly decided it wasn't that hard to deduce from her appearance and her possessions.

"It's been over three hundred years since the War." She replied almost tiredly. She had repeated this statement to so many people now it was almost becoming rote. "Hardly anything was left from the fighting and the survivors had to build everything back up from scratch. It's like they all agreed not to leave any detailed records of the events. The Potter, Weasley and Longbottom families are tightlipped about the whole thing as well. To be honest, I don't think any of the descendants actually know all that much anyway but they're still being quiet."

"And that bothers you." He stated.

She nodded. "I'm sure they had their reasons but what the hell could it matter now. I think the world deserves to know who they owe their survival to, even if it did all happen three-hundred years ago."

The old man looked at her intently. "Everyone does know. Harry Potter saved the wizarding world." He replied flatly.

Annabel's eyes flashed with fire. "I doubt Harry-Bloody-Potter did half the things everyone attributed to him. It simply isn't possible."

"You don't like Harry Potter?" The old man replied with barely hidden amusement.. "The Bringer of our Golden Age…"

Annabel glared at the old man, sure he was laughing at her. "I like Harry Potter just fine. I just think that forgetting the others that fought with him is a terrible crime against their sacrifices."

The old man sobered at that and looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

She sipped at her hot chocolate and wondered if she had offended him somehow. She had seen it before. Many people regarded Harry Potter as the be all and end all of everything. He was solely responsible for saving the world and taking anything from him, even admitting he may have had help, was seen to be slander by some people. She really worried for the Wizarding world sometimes.

They drank their hot chocolate in silence and she unobtrusively scanned the room. There were many photographs on the walls and on shelves the people in them seemed to be covered by obfuscation charms. How odd. She was also very aware of how the old man's eyes kept drifting towards her now and again, as if assessing her.

When they had both finished their drinks, he stood up.

"I can tell you about the past. I can tell you everything you need to know, better than the Centaur's could." He studied her one last time before holding out his hand, offering her a smooth white stone. "You can use my Floo to get home and if you want to return tomorrow to learn about the war, you can Floo here by calling out 'Haven,

Forbidden Forest'. Hold onto that keystone when you floo otherwise you'll just get re-routed back to your departure point."

He dropped the small keystone into her outstretched hand and walked away without saying another word.

Annabel looked at his retreating back oddly. He must have a hidden cache of records from that time.

As she turned to the fire and took a pinch of floo powder from a small bag hanging at the side, a small inner voice suddenly shouted out gleefully that maybe all wasn't lost after all.

The next day, Annabel stumbled out of the floo, into the warm, comfortable room of Haven, that was in the Wandering Woods but he still called the Forbidden Forest. She looked around, expecting to see the old man who rescued her.

It wasn't until she had returned home to her campus flat the previous night that she realized she never even learned the man's name. Her flat mate, Joe, had warned against her returning to a stranger's home but she wasn't overly worried. Her Defence Against the Dark Arts scores were impressively high and she was confident of being able to look after herself.

Her desire to learn about the key players of the War was overriding all other concerns.

It was strange then, to suddenly find herself with growing feelings of trepidation when she arrived to an empty cabin.

"I was wondering when you would show…" The stranger spoke from behind her.

She spun around, dropping to one knee, her wand held out firmly and pointed towards the voice, to see him standing in the doorway to what she could only assume was the kitchen, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. The fact that a wand was pointed at his head didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

"You didn't specify a time so I simply returned at the same time we met yesterday." She replied archly.

The man smiled. "Very logical. Please, sit down." He gestured to the large sofa. As she sat down, it was, amazingly enough, even more comfortable than she remembered from the day before.

She pulled a scroll and her everlasting quill out to take notes. She considered for a second, asking him his name but a voice seemed to whisper inside that he was unlikely to give it if simply asked and to just be patient. Shaking her head, she flexed her hand and readied herself to take notes.

The man smiled and, after taking a sip of his drink, began to speak.

"There's no such thing as a beginning to a story. Life is one continuous tale with no beginning or end. The best I can do is to jump in mid-stream and proceed from there."

He smiled. "Our story picks up with the birth of a baby boy who was destined to, both as a child and as a man, change the world forever."

Chapter 1

Up till now…

The reign of terror of the Dark Lord Voldemort seemed like it would never end. Nobody seemed able to stop him and his army. People, both wizard and muggle died every day. For many years this continued until Voldemort, ever watchful for rising threats to his reign, heard of a prophecy that told of a child being born at a specific time, under specific circumstances who would one day vanquish the darkness and bring light back to the world.

The Dark Lord wasted no time in sending out his minions to find the child. Soon thereafter, the child was found though a great betrayal and the Dark Lord went personally to deal with this child of prophecy.

No-one knows whether it was disbelief in the prophecy or a belief in his own power that made Voldemort confront what was foretold to be the instrument of his doom. Far easier, and safer, to have let his Death Eaters take care of it but for this, there can be no answer, for Voldemort went himself and, in the act of trying to kill the child, was all but destroyed himself.

The wizards and witches celebrated the death of Voldemort and the survival of the one year old baby they quickly dubbed 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. The celebrations were intense and pervasive, reflecting the inner fear and torment of the wizards world in a orgiastic release that was not entirely sane. The world celebrated, however intensely, surviving the war that had killed so many. They celebrated the new found peace; a peace that was to last fifteen years.

Until Voldemort returned.

His death pushed the psyche of the wizarding world to the extremes of relief, and, as people who suffer great trauma have a tendancy to do, they refuse to actually deal with it an promptly swept it under the rug with the exception of an ingrained awe of the Boy-Who-Lived and a refusal to talk directly about Voldemort, even going so far as to not even using his name. A muggle psychiatrist could probably spend a lifetime trying to work with such damaged souls. The emotional instability of the wizarding world doesn't really concern us too much other for its constant effect upon the Boy-Who-Lived, for although he was instrumental in Voldemort's destruction, was the instrument of his rebirth.

The wizarding world used, for the most part, unconsciously, the Boy-Who-Lived as both messiah and pariah, saviour and scapegoat. When things were well, he typified all that was good in the world. When things were bad, he was held up to shame and ridicule, regardless of its veracity or his role in events.

Had the Boy-Who-Lived been any less of a man, even as a teenager, the reactions of the wizarding world would have broken him. As it was, he fought. Some attributed this to his unusually harsh upbringing but for whatever reason, he fought and fought hard.

He fought the fickle public opinion. He fought the apathy and self-interest of the government.

The Boy-Who-Lived and his compatriots fought the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters as well as they could have been expected to. Better than most, in fact.

Until Albus Dumbledore died.

The war up until that point had been that of terrorist acts and small skirmishes. Yes, people died but they still had hope. The Order of the Pheonix, led by Dumbledore, had managed to block most of the harshest strikes by the Dark Lord and even managed some impressive counter blows but after Dumbledore's death, it all fell apart.

Splintered by grief, political indecisiveness by what remained of the Ministry and general confusion of the public, the Order all but disintegrated with several of the senior members being singled out and killed by Death Eater strikes. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody, Shacklebolt and others…none went quietly or easily, many Death Eaters joined them in death but in the end, the thin line of defense had been broken and the magical world plunged into darkness.

And so, those who survived, who were still a threat to Voldemort, went into hiding.

For five years, they retreated across the globe, pursued by growing hordes of Death Eaters. More than a few countries still held out against Voldemort's army, but the Boy-Who-Lived dared not seek sanctuary amongst these bastions of light for he knew that his presence would bring down the Dark Lord's wrath down totally upon them and that they would not, could not, survive.

For five years, they searched for and found whatever allies and resources they could use to take the fight back to Voldemort. Small counter-strikes here and there, always were Voldemort was weakest, never where he was strong. They were little more than bee stings against the hide of a rhino but in this manner, the Boy-Who-Lived built himself an army. A hidden army. A secret army.

While Voldemort believed the Boy-Who-Lived and his closest allies to number less than a hundred, in reality, they were counted in their thousands.

Quietly living amongst the frightened citizens of the citizens, secreted deep inside forests and mountain hideaways, small enclaves secure under the fidelius charm, the slowly growing army deliberately limited their efforts, keeping their true numbers hidden.

Hidden, that is, until the time to retake the world came.

The Boy-Who-Lived looked over the latest reports from his field units and smiled grimly. The time had finally arrived.

Harry Potter was going to war.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione. I think you broke him!"

Hermione Potter, CO of the Counter-Magic Assault Squadrons studied her fallen opponent intently before falling into a relaxed pose, leaning against her staff. "Hardly. He's just well and truly stupefied."

Deep in the Vietnamese countryside, sunlight filtered softly through the forest canopy and the gentle breeze the blew from the west made the surrounding area almost idyllic, a strange irony considering the small rebel camp and the military men and woman going about their business in that same idyllic scene. To the south, a small village surrounded by farmers working in rice fields, going about their day to day business, unaware of the large group of wizards and witches encamped in the nearby forest.

It was an irony that was commonplace across the world right now; muggles went about their lives, completely oblivious to the dark and deadly war that raged around them. While Voldemort's forces were powerful, even he recognized that moving against the muggles before he was ready could bring them down upon him and, while despise them though he did, he recognized the power of their 'technology' and its ability to overcome even his magic – something that merely made him despise them all the more.

Ron Weasley glared at the unconscious member of one of his assault units with annoyance. Riley was one of their best and Hermione had taken him apart with ease. He suddenly grinned as he turned to the dangerous but deceptively beautiful woman beside him. She really was the best at this sort of stuff.

"How the hell did you take down his shield like that?" He asked with curiosity. He thought he was up-to-date with all of the new stuff coming out of the research teams back at the Keep. As a General of Harry's army and senior Strategic Operations officer, he liked to keep an eye out for any potential force multipliers for his military force.

"Judo." She replied as two field medics ran over to the unconscious trooper and enervated him.

Ron frowned. "The muggle martial art?"

"The principle of it, at least." She replied pleasantly, aware the other members of the local assault squads were listening intently. "It requires you to turn its very power against itself. By hitting his shield with a modified percussion curse, I was able to set up a harmonic which was counter to the shield's magical frequency. It quickly destabilizes the shield, allowing a simple stupefy to pass though with ease. The more powerful the shield, the more powerful the harmonic, thus the quicker the shield fails."

"I'm impressed, though after all these years, I probably shouldn't." Ron said, after a moment's consideration. "How do you defeat it?"

"Drop the shield and raise another one." She replied with mild annoyance. She had worked for some time on this attack and one of her more junior team-members had quickly come up with this counter. It was a scenario that is the nightmare of all weapon's developers. Harry's perverse amusement lasted for nearly an hour at seeing her deflated expression. "Something I imagine that, in a normal battlefield situation, you would probably need to do quite quickly." She continued wryly.

Ron nodded with feeling. He unconsciously brought himself up to his full height and glared at the surrounding troopers, barking at them in what Harry liked to call his 'General's Voice'. "You heard the lady. I want you all working on quick and instinctive shield resets. Practice throwing the modified percussion charm at each other. Familiarize yourselves with the feeling of the harmonic and make the reset quick and instinctive."

As the surrounding troopers spread out and begun throwing spells at each other, Ron and Hermione moved back towards the main operations tent.

Two guards stood outside the operations tent. They carried, in addition to their wands, an assortment of knives, swords and forearm shields, in addition to wearing black dragon-hide armour under the newly distributed battle-robes, the latest thing to come out of the Keep.

The new battle-robes were made of a hybrid material composed of dragon hide and a recent muggle invention call 'Bio-steel' which was essentially genetically modified and created spider-silk thread that had the relative tensile strength of steel. The robes could significantly limit the damage from even the most powerful reductor curse to severe bruising and maybe a broken bone. They had even been observed to limit the lethality of an 'avada kedavra', instead putting the recipient into a deep coma, rather than outright killing them. That said, no-one had yet woken from a Kedavra Coma, still making the killing curse one to avoid.

Professor Luna Lovegood, head of the Keep Research Division, had been introduced to 'Bio-steel' by one of her muggle-born researchers. The muggle scientists who had invented it had not been able to produce it in any meaningful quantities at this point but Luna, being Luna, had managed to get quite a few Acromantula volunteers to accept a limited genetic modification to allow them to produce ultra-pure 'Bio-steel' spider silk. While keeping the volunteers fed a steady diet of dead Death Eaters, the production of 'Bio-steel' and dragon hide weave robes was in full swing and the gray-green robes were quickly becoming a standard battle dress uniform for the Army.

Ron and Hermione stepped past the two guards and in into the tent where they were met with glances from the various operations staff who were keeping track on the Death Eater's operations in this sector.

"Anything new, Ernie?" Ron asked, as he made his way over to a large table that held a massive magical map.

Captain Ernie Macmillan shook his head. "New arrivals have steadily tapered off in the last two days and nobody new has turned up in the past…" The old 'Puffer looked towards a row of clocks hanging on a wooden rack. "…eleven hours. Still no sign of them preparing to move out, though." He finished with a frown.

Ron studied the map and the large cluster of red dots that congregated in a large castle nearly fifty miles away, in a mountain range near the Chinese border.

"Strange. I wonder what they're waiting for?" He wondered out loud.

Hermione stared at the map, her mind going over the possibilities. Recent intelligence had picked up on numerous detachments of Death Eaters mobilizing to the South East Asian Theatre. Harry, ever watchful for a new offensive from Voldemort's forces, had sent Ron to set up a base of operations nearby in order to monitor the situation and, if an opportunity presented itself, cause some trouble.

Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had assembled but were remaining concentrated and not doing much of anything at all. It would be suicide to attack such numbers while they held a defensive position like that mountain fortress.

Hermione stepped over to the adjacent communication tent where several lieutenants were manning the scrying mirrors and crystal balls and began flipping through the logs, seeing if anything caught her eye. "Have the Death Eaters suffered any set-backs lately? Anywhere near to here?"

Ron glanced at Ernie and the other man just shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of." He replied cautiously.

Shaking her head, she flipped faster through the numerous scrolls of Intelligence reports and secure communications. Suddenly, she stopped and went back a couple of scrolls. Pulling it free, she began to read it keenly.

"What?" Ron asked after a moment.

Hermione looked up, slightly startled before she shook it off and returned to the main table. "Two weeks ago, Cho's Intelligence Wing uncovered orders from Voldemort to his regional commanders, demanding that they track down and procure large amounts of what appear to be potion ingredients. Ground basilisk fang…powdered moonstone…and, interestingly enough, dragon's blood or, more specifically, Chinese Fireball dragon's blood."

A flicker of understanding passed over Ron's eyes but he gestured for her to continue.

"There's a colony of Fireballs eighty miles west of their position." She said, point to a mountain range near to the Death Eater fortress.

She looked up and smiled. "This is where it gets interesting. I'm looking at these ingredients and there are quite a few potions that can be made from some combinations of them but only one that uses all of them."

Ron groaned somewhat dramatically. "Let me guess…it's a really dark, power enhancing ritual for old Voldie himself." He shook his head. "Isn't he powerful enough already?"

Hermione's smile turned wry. "He's a man that wants more, obviously. Anyway, the thing about this ritual is that the Fireball's blood must be harvested in a silver container under a full moon."

Ron immediately saw the connection and turned to Ernie. "When's the next…"

"Two days." Ernie replied, seeing it himself. "They have to wait until the full moon until they attack the Fireball colony. Damn, that's a nice piece of work, ma'am." Ernie congratulated her formally. Though he had gone to Hogwarts at the same time as Hermione, Harry and Ron had, the three students had engendered tremendous respect with all they had accomplished in the months and years after Dumbledore's death and few people other than their closest friends could be casual with the 'Golden Trio'.

Hermione nodded and looked over at Ron. "What are you going to do, General?"

Ron stared at the Death Eater fortress marked on the map and smiled. "Call Charlie."

Bellatrix Lestrange bit back the instinctive desire to throw a cruciatus at the nearest Death Eater. They were dragging their heels, none of them in a particular rush to attack nearly fifty Chinese Fireball dragons. Slowly though, they had all gathered their weapons and brooms and were almost all assembled in the massive open courtyard of the mountain fortress, ready to launch into the skies.

She shook her head in annoyance. She was a powerful witch, both in terms of magical power and her position under Voldemort's iron fist. She was also more than a little insane, something that had only gotten worse with age.

She simply couldn't understand why the Dark lord had assigned such a mundane mission to a witch of her abilities. Especially since she had been made to wait nearly a week before it was a full moon and that they had enough Death Eaters to harvest those damned dragons. Patience wasn't one of her strong suits.

That said, the time had come to kill something and that always put her in a better mood. The dragon's blood had to be harvested under a full moon and kept in pure silver containers. Fortunately, that meant the dragons would be sleeping when they attacked. With a little luck, this would be enough to keep their casualties to a minimum.

"Let's get moving!" She screamed out across the courtyard.

Over two hundred Death Eaters took to the skies with a basic competence but they were no Quidditch team. There was a fair amount of shuffling and pushing as they gained altitude before they fell into a semblance of a formation and streaked through the night sky towards the dragon colony.

It took less the twenty minutes flight time before Bellatrix began to sense the impressive wards that both protected and caged the dragons. She raised her wand so that every one turned their attention to her and she cast a disillusionment charm upon herself and other two hundred Death Eaters, so as to be unnoticeable to the dragons and their keepers but still able to see each other.

A ripple of distortion seemed to float across the large formation of witches and wizards as the concealing charm took effect and they essentially disappeared from view.

The power of the wards grew stronger as they steadily closed the distance. She guess she was maybe a kilometer from the wards when she raised her hand and sharply gestured to her left and then once to her right. Silently, the Death Eaters broke by their pre-arranged groups and fanned out left and right.

Minutes later, a wave of heat seemed to pass over her and the others as they crossed the perimeter of the wards and all of a sudden, the skies seemed to be filled with red and yellow hued dragons that should have been sleeping!

"What the…" A bright red curse screamed past her right ear and slammed into Death Eater behind her, startling her out of her paralysis.

"Get them!" She screeched and gripped her broom tightly as she shot forward towards a gap between two medium sized dragons. She noted the riders nestled on the backs of the Fireballs and she swore loudly. They had been waiting for the attack.

"Reducto!" She screamed and sent an explosion curse at the nearest dragon. The blast hit the base of its left wing joint and it screeched in pain as it fell towards the ground. It's rider clinging tightly to his harness while trying to direct a healing charm at its injury.

Lestrange saw none of this, however, as she was too busy dodging curses and jets of fire to pay attention to most of what was going on around her. All she saw was Death Eaters dropping like flies under the assault. Despite their numbers, they were supposed to be killing fifty sleeping dragons, not going against fifty dragons being led by human riders in an organized defense.

Ron sat astride a massive dragon that held its position at the edge of the battle. To either side of him flew Hermione and his older brother Charlie. One of the few survivors of the original Order of the Pheonix, it was Charlie who Ron had brought in two days earlier to come and warn the dragons of the upcoming attack and to allow Ron and his people to help in the defense.

Ron, as befitting his position, was riding Koll, the leader of this particular thunder of dragons.

He would of preferred to be riding brooms himself but Charlie had vetoed that option by saying that in the heat of battle, the Chinese Fireballs might not be too fussy who they would go for, despite being on the same side. By only riding dragons, it was ensured that anyone on a broomstick was fair game.

After watching the initial savagery of the fighting, Ron was glad he had acceded to that suggestion. Studying the battle intently, he noted that a group of about thirty Death Eaters were holding together with admirable discipline and any dragon that approached them was coming under a concentrated barrage of dark curses.

Without taking his eyes from the battle, he began to speak. "Charlie, do you see that knot of Death Eaters holding their own? We need to break it up. Have Koll send two flights to attack simultaneously, one from above, one from below."

Charlie frowned as he saw the group of Death Eaters kill another dragon with a concentrated volley of explosion curses and nodded grimly. Looking towards Koll, Charlie began to relay Ron's orders.

Much like Harry's parseltongue ability, Charlie had the ability to speak with dragons, though dragon-speech was less reliant on vocal sounds, which were more for emphasis than anything, and more on a limited form of legilimancy.

Within seconds though, Koll gave a solemn nod of understanding and then, turning towards a hovering group of nearby dragons, let loose a roar of impressive volume.

She tried to fire another curse at a rider but a blast of intense flame seared the air beside her. In a blind effort to escape a fiery death, she yanked her broom away from the wall of fire. Unfortunately for her, her broom caught the tail edge of the blast and was now on fire.

Almost immediately, she began to feel her control of the broom fail as the enchantments began to fail under the spreading fire.

"RETREAT!" She screamed shrilly as her broom bucked under her grip. A curse suddenly slammed into her shoulder and she was smashed of her failing broom. She couldn't suppress her scream of fear and agony as she fell earthwards, passing helplessly through the aerial battle. She twisted tightly as she tried to reach into her robes to reach the portkey she had stashed there.

Something made her look up, only to make her heart freeze in icy terror. A Fireball was bearing down on her, mouth wide.

She bit down on her terror and raised her wand, firing off a dark curse at the dragon which was almost upon her.

The curse slashed the chest of the dragon which merely roared in anger and lunged at her.

Bella felt her hand wrap around the small crystal which was her portkey and she screamed out the word, "ACTIVATE!"

The dragon's jaw closed on nothing but air.

As the last Death Eater portkeyed away, Ron continued to hover in the same position he held through the short but brutal fight. With a small satisfied smile, he calmly studied the charred remains of several dozen Death Eaters strewn across the valley floor.

Thanks to the element of surprise, and of course, fifty angry dragons, the Death Eater strike had been decimated. Whilst by no means a critical victory, it was one that had been carried off with minimal injury for the good guys, heavy casualties for the bad and was good start for the counter-attack.

"Thanks, Charlie." He spoke casually.

Charlie, who flew beside him and had been whispering words of praise to Koll, looked up and smiled wryly. "Anytime, little brother. Anytime."

end of chapter 1

Well? Whaddya think?

(AN – I found many, many variants of what a group of dragons is called but no real authority on the subject. I preferred a 'furnace' of dragons myself but 'thunder' seemed to have the most influence. If anyone can provide real authority on this, I wouldn't mind knowing for sure.)