Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 7:20 PM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Hermione was standing atop the wall between Stations Seven and Eight, beside the timber that had been driven into the surface during the original breach of the Training Room. Despite the glass-slick surface of the aerostat, her footing was solid. She was scanning the mêlée methodically, while her hands and wand lived a life of their own. Shield spells were darting near and far, covering cut-off inmates or Aurors, reinforcing existing shields, and even projecting a blast of force forward when they were destroyed. She was also targeting inmates in the front lines, wandless or not, with her recently devised Shield Spell variant, Protego Anomalia. While designed to block the effect of the Magic-Eaters, it also provided some protection against Dementor effects.

  Her lips firmed disapprovingly as she noticed some Aurors retreating from the Dementors. Either they were especially susceptible, or they had not put in the practice recommended. The attackers were being slowly driven back along the sections of the battlefield dominated by the Dementors, though the defenders weren't having it all their own way.

  Periodically, some Dementors would attempt to turn aside, or turn back on the Italian force. These were driven on, or back, by scattered Wizards who seemed to have no other job, Casting a Spell Hermione did not recognise. It seemed that there were few so proficient, as she could see them darting back and forth along the front. The signature orange sparks from the spell sprayed out like water from a fire hose, as wands were waved back and forth.

  Of more concern were the three groups of Dementors that had manifested forward of the line of battle. These were more coordinated, somehow, and spread to either side until their lines joined, encapsulating a large area. The assault forces trapped inside appeared to be more affected.

  Hermione frowned. It was time. She Cast a Silent Expecto Patronii. A crowd of ethereally glowing white otters burst away from the hem of her Battle Robes. They ranged in from the length of her forearm, to the size of boarhounds. Some scampered away on glowing paws, others undulated through the air, swimming at blinding speed.

  Just wait for the signal, she thought.

  Glancing up, she considered the horizontal wooden beam that made the piece of wreckage resemble an inverted 'L' shape. That will do for a crossbar. She worked a small upward flick of her wand into the rhythm of her ceaseless Casting.

  A bundle of heavy-looking material appeared below the beam, unrolling down to show a banner of heavy black silk. On each side were two designs, with the banner itself edged in gold braid and fringe.

  Hermione gave it a satisfied look. "Much better," she said.

  ***

  Harry had left Ron to hold down the Monitoring Room after they dismissed the Suppression Magick on the Women's Barracks. His Invisibility Cloak was doing its usual excellent job as he exfiltrated through the Italian lines.

  They seemed entirely too composed for his liking. He truly disliked dealing with sensible and unflappable practitioners of the Dark Arts. It wasn't fair. Weren't the Dark Arts supposed to rot your brain or something?

  Once in the Training Room he circled along the wall, looking to hook up with a Strike Team, or find a decent bit of cover to observe from. He used some of his more stealthy spells when he had the opportunity, and the risk was moderate. Spells with loud or flashy signares were counter-productive, satisfying though they may be.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He came up to the skirmish line. On one side were the Italians and Dementors, who were slowly forcing back the Aurors and inmates on the other. He found a structure designed in the shape of the Baba Yaga's Chicken-Legged Hut. Such dioramas were all about the Room, for practicing Assault and Defense strategies. He could see a version of Merlin's Cave from where he took position up in the Hut.

  Harry was looking over the battlefield with some concern, when he caught a flicker of light from the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, then relaxed. It was Hermione's Otter Patronus, air-swimming through the back window of the Chicken Hut. It dived to the floor, and twined about his feet, bouncing in excitement at completing its errand. Balancing on its rear legs, the adorable bit of ectoplasm spoke in Hermione's 'serious' voice.

  "Harry, the Dementors are gaining ground. On Madame Rousse's signal, all Patronii will be deployed for maximum effect. The signal is, believe it or not, 'You'll know it when you see it.' If you are in position to target the encapsulation going on in advance of the Italian lines, that would be the best use of your Stag's power."

  "Got it," Harry said aloud. The glowing otter then flopped onto its back and wiggled, begging for a belly rub. Incorporeal or not, many of the Patronii doted on attention from Witches and Wizards, whether they could be actually touched or not. Harry dutifully made scritching gestures in the ectoplasmic belly fur, while the otter wiggled in joy.

  Nobody had the heart to tell Hermione that her Summoned Protector was such a clown. Harry was sure it just showed the gentle, friendly side that Hermione kept hidden.

  ***

  Hermione had finally come down from the wall as the last few of her Patronii checked in. She went to where Debbie and Demelza were finalising assignments to Patronus-capable personnel. There were few people among the inmates who were able to do so, having either never tried before being sent up, or not having their original wand. Dennis' wands were producing some powerful spells, but only one person had been able to form a corporeal Patronus so far. That was Madame Rousse, who had a French Bulldog the size of a mastiff laying at her feet. The bat ears, pop-eyes, and underslung jaw had scaled up to make a beast that was, quite frankly, terrifying.

  There should not be a shortage of the Summons, however. While not an absolute requirement for Aurors, very few could not produce a strong Patronus. And most of those few were victims of Post-Traumatic Stress, and working hard to overcome it.

  Debbie looked up hopefully as Hermione came up. Hermione nodded firmly. She said, "I located their Command Group. They are right at the back, the cowards. tthey have a warehouse-size door being kept clear for their sole use, if they have to retreat. There are Wizards tasked with Shielding in rotation, but I'm not impressed. I tried a few light attack spells, and I'm confident of breaching any of the Shields I've seen with ease."

  Debbie said, carefully, "At two hundred yards." It was not a question. Hermione nodded.

  Sigurd was back in her position at the Chairwoman's shoulder, and her eyes widened. Dennis was gaping slightly, standing nearby, and Nienna nudged him smugly, with an 'I told you so' smirk on her face. Hermione didn't notice.

  Debbie smiled. "Then it is time to send the signal."

  "Which is?" Hermione prompted, a trifle of exasperation showing through her stern facade. She wasn't the most patient of people at the best of times, and she hated, hated, being kept in the dark.

  "Our no longer secret weapon." Debbie gestured to four women working furiously around a pillowcase laid flat on the floor. They were scooping handfuls of green doughy materials out of jury-rigged tubs made of waxed parchment, squeezing liquid out of them, and piling them in the center of the pillowcase.

  Debbie cocked a critical eye, and said, " Arrête." She turned to Hermione.

  "This, Madame, is our secret. I have worked with Henna for years, both in the Magickal and Mundane senses of the word. I had a compliant guard smuggle in a ridiculous amount of the stabilised substance years ago. It has many uses, not the least of which is maintaining the morale of my Witches. It is a simple hair dye, when used in small doses. This, however, is the undiluted, pure quill, a coloring agent so strong as to permanently change the color of hair, and stain skin for weeks.

  "But.., it's green!" Nienna blurted. She stiffened, then relaxed when she saw her mother smile.

  "The purest, highest quality is a vibrant green," Debbie said. "We have been mixing it down for years, to conserve our supply. but now, needs must..." She smiled at Hermione.

  "For this purpose, we mix it with the purest alcohol we can produce, thicken it to a paste with bread starch, and then squeeze it mostly dry before, ah, applying it liberally to the enemy. As you have witnessed. As it flies through the air, ti dries further, and bursts like a bomb on the target."

  The four women had taken the pillowcase and folded it around the doughy lump. They were now twisting the ends of the length in opposite directions, luquid trickling down as the fabric tightened. Hermione looked at the melon-sized mass in the strained cloth. Her solemn facade broke, and she giggled.

  That started almost everyone laughing. Debbie just smiled wickedly. "So, I take it this is something you can work with."

  Hermione smiled back. "Oh, this is going to be fun."