Chapter 1

Ghost Riders in the Sky

They were coming. She could almost feel the steady rhythm of marching feet, low grumbling of tanks and the growling of engines. She was perched on a rocky cliff and staring at the sea. Probably these were the last moments of tranquility, probably, the last moments of her life as well; since they heard the rumors about Ireland, nothing made sense anymore.

She watched the water dance with the light; it was dusk and the sea looked read as the sun slowly sunk on the other side of the world. When she was little, she used to believe that the golden patch of light on the water, was actually a road that - if one managed to be quick enough before the sun disappeared - led to a world full of magic.

And then, when magic came real in her life, she believed that the patch of golden was a road that let to the other side.

She was about to die and she feared no more.

What was left of their world, was now waiting in nervous silence for the battle to commence. Four years ago Lord Voldemort attacked the Muggle world. Four years ago the Battle of Hogwarts became suddenly the Invasion of Hogwarts, the Slaughter of Hogwarts; the moment when tanks rolled on the grounds during the battle between Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, their world came tumbling down. Lord Voldemort, the bane of Muggles, was not defeated by Harry Potter. Nor by any wizard.

Lord Voldemort took some stray bullet to the head.

Upon seeing that, the Death Eaters, whoever remained alive that is, fled. And so they fled; the youngest students were caught, majority of teachers perished, trying to save their pupils.

Muggle technology enabled tracing. Wizards were hunted for, magical children aborted from their mothers' wombs and whoever was captured, would serve as a test subject. Soon the communication lines between wizards of different continents had been cut off. European and English wizards decided to rally.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age and a terrible bookworm with nearly no friends, was now someone else. She became Hermione the leader.

As Harry had been the beacon of light for his era, in the Muggle Wars time it was Hermione, who was looked upon with respect and hope.

That night she had gathered all her captains; Harry with a gaunt face, Draco Malfoy who was still mourning his wife's death, Fleur Delacour who led the French, Birkart von Gallen who was German, and a Spaniard, Camilla Gaupaloz and others, lieutenants and soldiers - she even asked those, who would not and could not fight to come. They gathered in a cave; she realized then how ridiculous the whole thing was. The Wizarding world, ever so proud, was now reduced to few hundred men fighting for their lives. She told them truth.

They would not survive. They could try and flee or fight. Go out in an outburst of fire.

And they were tired, tired of running, of seeing their loved ones perish, of the fear and the loss and the pain, so they all agreed to fight. Then, by dawn, they heard news of Ireland; the news manifested itself in a rumble of a distant explosion and a white mushroom in the sky. The nuclear bomb hit Ireland. They would be next.

That was reason why Muggle units were smaller now, why there were no civilians anymore. The governments had decided to take drastic steps. Probably because England was already destroyed; casualties on both side were tremendous, economy in shambles and the Queen had died in a suicide attack led by some maddened remaining Death Eaters. As far as Hermione guessed, the nuclear attack was ordered by either the Americans or the Russians. England had become more of a place on the map than a real country; it was insignificant. The ground troops were only English, probably not aware of the incoming attack. They would become a collateral damage, the price that pawns pay while kings play their games of war.

And knowing this, they became desperate and merciless. They would die because of the Wizards and they didn't want to die, so their fury was unstoppable.

She sighed and turned around; someone was approaching her. It was Harry, dressed in a military uniform he must have taken off some soldier.

'I think it's time.' he said, his voice was hollow, his eyes bloodshot. He never shaved anymore, at least non since Ron. She swallowed at the thought.

'Yeah?' she asked, feeling oddly fazed.

'Blimey. It's so gorgeous.' he nodded towards the dying sun. 'It's like our war was nothing.'

'It's easier like that.' she said after a while 'I mean, it's easier to die when you know the world won't end at that moment. It'll prevail.'

'Yes. But then, no one will get to see that.' his voice was so sad as he sat beside her on the rock. 'How did it come to that, Hermione?'

She swallowed once again, but her throat felt dry and she was immensely sad. Dying did not frighten her, not anymore. She was simply sorry to go.

'We were too proud?' she spoke in a small voice 'Taking it all for granted and... so on?'

'Voldemort. The idiot.' he said with gritted teeth 'He was the idiot, the ultimate idiot of the universe. I used to fear him, Hermione. Now I just hate him. Not for myself, though.'

'It doesn't make sense. To hate the dead.' she answered truthfully 'I don't hate him. Like I don't hate them. Both sides went overboard.'

'Hermione! Harry!' a female voice cried from a distance. They turned around.

'I think it's time.' he said, probably having forgotten he already uttered those words.

They stood up and at that precise moment, tanks have fired into the hill. They threw themselves over the ground, covering their heads with their hands.

'Le's go!' she yelled. They got up and run towards the hill, the air was dense with smoke and debris. Someone screamed.

'Protego' they drew their wands; it was of no use really, but merely out of a habit. The magical shields never worked for Muggle artilery; they learned that the hard way. Machine guns were now drilling into the hill. They run towards the entrance, covered by Draco and his men, who were lying in the grass with their AK-47. She smiled at the irony of the proud pure-blood boy, who was now fighting back with Muggle weapons.

'We need to get the children out.' Fleur's voice came from her right. The French witch was also armed with a gun, her wand tuck away somewhere in her uniform. They were hiding behind massive boulders beside the entrance to the cave. Most of the adults were already out and perched on their stations. They had dug trenches and covered the area with barbed wire. During a mad raid at a Muggle military station, Hermione's unit managed to steal some mines, now they planted them around the hill, making sure the enemy would not get closer.

'Fire!' Harry screamed at her left, his unit momentarily began shooting towards the tanks.

'Get Birkart.' she ordered one of her sergeants 'Get Birkart, tell him to use the bazookas. We need the tanks out.'

'He's dead.' Viktor Krum answered. He was his first lieutenant. 'Took a bullet to the chest.'

Tanks were rolling in, ever closer. Now they could see them quite clearly. Military units were advancing behind them, taking cover from their fire.

She watched Krum sprint back inside the cave; the people and the weaponry were now stashed together.

'We need to get the children out, Hermione.' Fleur repeated 'The cave's not going to hold.'

'What?'

'It's collapsing.' the French witch answered slightly hysterically 'Caving in.'

'Shit.' she spat. Another round of heavy fire came from the enemy, forcing them to lie down behind the boulders. Debris was flying in the air; a piece of rock cut across her left cheek; at first the felt nothing, the pain kicked in later.

'Fuck!' Harry grabbed her and pushed her further down, on her back. His wand touched her face 'You're bleeding real bad.' He muttered the healing spell and she felt the pain lessen.

'Where are the bazookas?' she mumbled.

He shook his head and tried to say something but then a tank rolled into a mine and exploded; the blast was loud and piercing; all they could hear now was a strange ringing in their ears. She watched his mouth but could not make sense of his words.

'...lost.' he finished.

'What?' she blinked and swallowed and the world returned again. The air was dense with smoke, she could smell the stench of burning bodies and ammunition.

'I said it's probably lost.' he repeated. 'Fire, fire!' he yelled towards his men and they fired back at the enemy. Some soldiers fell down. 'Fire!' he screamed almost on top of his lungs. She pushed him off and crouched behind the boulder. All she could see were the tanks, very close now. Her men were hiding in trenches around the hill and on the hill, firing back with all their might. She remembered then about the children and shook her head.

It was no point, they would die either way.

'Fleur!' she yelled at the French witch who was visibly torn between getting back to the cave and fighting. 'Hold the cave. Take some of your men and stabilize it with magic. Go!'

The French witch nodded, her blond her now cut short and matted in blood. When she lost Bill and their children, she broke apart. All she could do was sit in a corner and stare blankly at space, not seeing anything. But then she snapped, where she was soft and weak, she now became tough and cruel. A captain who was feared by her own men.

She watch her run towards her sergeant, a bald man known as The Rook, who was holding a Kalashnikov and firing viciously at foot soldiers. Soon a team of six people made their way at nearly insane pace towards the entrance. Harry had crawled away towards Malfoy and yelled something at him. She saw the blond man shake his head. Then she realized that his unit was far to close to the enemy. Soon they would be cut off from the rest of them.

They were stuck like this for hours. The terrain made it impossible for the tanks to advance any further. While Krum assembled the bazookas unit, Malfoy's squad was blocking the advance. It was a deadly move; soon they were wiped out. She watched Draco die and she felt a faint shiver of pride at the blond man. Soon most of the tanks were out and soldiers were advancing by foot. They held the higher ground though, and the enemy's loses were growing rapidly. She managed to cast a weakened fiendyfire at them; due to the EMP signals the enemy had been emitting for a long time, magical attacks were nearly usless, the the EMP successfully blocking any spellcasting.

When the Muggle scientists had discovered this, the situation for Wizards changed from bad to awful. In a short period of time they had to re-specialize themselves and learn Muggle ways of combat. Many people had surrendered by the time. Some committed suicides. Most, however, grew furious and ferocious. Stripped of their magic, Wizards became almost humble. And desperately courageous.

The most efficient soldiers, however, were Death Eaters. She had watched them; they begged for redemption and they fought without fear of death, trying to cleanse themselves of their previous sins with every action they undertook.

The battle raged for the entire night. Nobody was successful, sometimes the enemy pushed forwards, sometimes did they. By dawn the next day, the situation resembled a pat in chess game; nobody was able to advance and nobody decided to back down. Hermione Granger climbed to the top of the hill and lied beside Viktor Krum.

'Her-mione.' he greeted her hoarsely 'We vill not vin this fight.'

'No.' she smiled at him. His face was also gaunt and unshaven, filthy with blood, sweat and dust.

'No.' he repeated 'How is the situation down?'

'Fleur's unit are protecting the cave, they've put some shielding charms and are switching when they get to tired. Harry's in charge of the trenches since Draco. And Birkert's in charge of the entrance. We've lost Camilla's men. They were too far from the hill.'

'We should get the children out. Soon they vill do Ireland on us, I think.'

'How? I can't make a portkey, nobody can anymore.'

'Maybe try. Not all for all of us, maybe some children will escape.'

She sighed. The portkey communication had been disabled for almost a year. Apparation had been as well for a couple of months. The EMP singals were disturbing any kind of magical communication. She scratched her head.

'I'll try. And Krum?'

'Commander?' he smiled at her.

'Hold it. Hold it until the end.'

'Ya. That is the plan.'

They both knew they were probably saying their goodbyes. She slid off the top and walked down the hill and into the cave.

It was dusty and smokey and people were coughing. Remaining healers were trying to help as many wounded as possible, using both Muggle and magicial means. Deep down the hill was the main chamber of the cave; that was where the children were hiding. Fleur's men were standing in the corners, their wands drawn and pointing at the ceiling, keeping the cave from caving in.

She picked a pebble off the ground and tried to perform the spell. She could feel some magical energy buzzing around it, but it was by far too weak to transform the pebble into a portkey. She decided she would try again and walked out of the cave. The enemy units were advancing once again and both sides were firing at each other. She paid it no heed. She lied behind the boulders and once again tried to do the spell. This time it was slightly stronger. She sighed angrily, not being to perform a spell had always been her greatest fear, no matter the cause. And so she kept trying, even though deep down she knew it would never work.

She felt it - a white hot explosion on her body; a pain exploding in her side and she dropped the pebble and pressed her hand, her face burying in the ground. She tried to inhale, but the pain grew sharper, so she rolled to her side and when she raised the hand, she saw it was covered with blood and she knew right this moment that she had been shot.

'Fuck.' she mumbled and felt her mouth bloody. She rolled on her back, defiant eyes staring at the cloudless sky of a summer's early morning and she thought it had to be June. She was dying, all the heat escaping her body, the pain somewhat less pronounced than before and she thought it was not that bad. Her fingers, scratching the earth found what she had lost, the pebble, and with last effort she lifted it off the grass, picked it up and with second hand she grabbed her wand, both hands lifted and shaking above her. She repeated this spell, trying to pour all her willpower and life into the incantation and she felt warmth spreading from the tips of her fingers and onto the wand and realized it had worked. The portkey to unknown destination, with minutes to become a gateway towards life. She tried to yell at someone, tried to tell them to take it from her and run to the children, but all she could do, was move her lips and swallow the blood.

And then she saw It. Beautiful like a comet. The nuclear missile in the air, death incarnate and full of light and wonder, drawing nearer and nearer from across the sea. She smiled at it, because truly, it was a wonder of wonders.

How could death look so angelic, so lovely and so majestic?

Her thoughts had calmed now, she was no more erratic, she was about to face her Maker and she felt like she had done all she could to prevent this and felt like she had lost but lost having tried with all her might before.

Two things happened. The missile struck somewhere into the body of England, probably hundreds of kilometers away from the place she was lying and dying in the grass. And the portkey activated. In the rumble of explosion, in a blinding light and fire, she was pulled by its magic into the unknown.