Elemental Warfare: When Forces Collide
by Island Girl

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Action/Adventure
Status: In progress
Length: 2,542 words in 2 chapters
Published: 20 Jun 2006
Last updated: 23 Jun 2006

A battle has been raging all day and each side has a plan to play out. The very elements themselves are not beyond
anyone's reach... Excerpt: Charlie re-sheathed his wand and pulled the reins to the left. The chill of high altitude bit
through his protective leather gear. An unexpected flash of combustion ignited far below him. Hovering safely behind
D.A. and Phoenix lines, he waited. Ron’s plan may work after all…

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/6200/

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1. Scenes From A Battle

Authors Note: This story came to me with such a precise vision. It will be very different from my other stories as the
chapters will be short and intense. Also - Harry and Hermione will not appear until the end of the next chapter.

Your thoughts are so important. PLEASE - if you read, review. Even two words count - as long as they are your own. As
for Hooligan. I have most of a chapter done and it should be posted shortly.

ENJOY!!

Chapter One: Scenes from a Battle

Across the British Isles, a blood red dawn streaked the sky. A stiff north-east wind snapped banners, standards and
flags taut throughout the day. Cresting high tides slapped jetties and threatened to pull apart piers and pilings as the
sun started its downward journey to late afternoon. The rumble of thunder shook the earth. The crack of lightening
seared the cloudless sky.

Londoners, Scots, Welsh and Irish kept their windows locked, doors barricaded and marketplaces vacant. Children did not
cry. Men did not begrudge staying indoors. Women were quiet.

Muggle or wizard, squib or witch did not matter. All were aware that the building blocks of life: earth, fire, wind and
water were turmoil. The four elements and the secrets they carried were now the instruments of survival and conquest.

*** *** *** *** ***

Riders clad in leather pulled the reins tight against the bits forced deep into the dragons' mouths. Dipping and
swooping, the downdrafts from their wings knocked Death Eaters, werewolves and other Dark allies off their feet. Smoke,
stench, swirling dirt and the ugliness of battle came into sharp focus as his dragon's belly nearly scraped the ground
before a forceful extension and contraction thrust them back into the sky. A flicking of the animal's tail had him
turning in his saddle. A masked, robed figure slid off one of the longer spikes at the base of the beast's tail, leaving
a discernable smear. Tumbling down, through the layers of smoke blowing dust, to the field below, his cries were
swallowed by the wind that made the air currents treacherous to navigate. Twisting front, a red-haired man pulled his
dragon's head to the left and began to spiral upward. Levelling off, he waited. Within moments, eight more dragons and
their riders' re-formed attack positions behind him. A wicked gleam narrowed his eyes. Calling out his command, he
turned his head into the wind and set his heels into the flanks of his dragon. Primal and powerful, the animal surged
forward. This time, he pulled the creature to the right. Diving once again, all nine dragons sliced the sky as they
plummeted. Leathery wings nearly folded flat against their bodies, the dragons bowed their flexible spines towards their
prey. Glancing around him, momentum pulled at his cheeks and stung his brow as he gave the signal. He lifted his hand
and then let it fall, unleashing the predator in the beast. Mimicking their leader, all reins fell slack against the
dragons' necks. The ground was rushing up at him and adrenaline thrummed through Charlie's veins as he heard the bit
clank freely inside the animal's mouth. He felt the ribcage of his dragon expand and swell between his knees. Leaning
forward, clutching onto the spiny mane and gripping the saddle with his thighs, his eyes sparked with anticipation when
the animal turned and aimed its head at the melee. Grit flecked his teeth when he inhaled a needed breath through open
lips. The sound of curses - magical and explicative - roared in his ears. The dramatic snapping of eighteen wings
unfolding pulled a war cry from the nine riders as they glided over enemy lines. Fire spewed from the dragons as they
incinerated everything left, right and centre. The beasts' deep breaths transformed the Riddle family fields into a hell
on earth.

Feeling the beast completely exhale, Charlie snatched up the reins and with a practiced motion, re-secured the bit - and
attached retainer - firmly in the recesses of the animal's mouth. A certain tension settled over the animal as they once
again sought the sanctuary of the sky. The ability to produce fire had once again been capped. Clapping the dragon on
its neck, knowing that the scales would send the vibrations of his touch to the creature's sensitive receptors, he
conveyed his gratitude and respect.

Looking behind him, seven of his comrades took up a defensive formation. Scanning the fray below, it was a moment before
he saw a sight that turned his stomach. A blinded Short Snout, trailing a nearly severed wing, was being taunted by a
pack of snarling werewolves as it defended the mangled body of its rider. Shallow breaths and brief spurts of fire told
him what happened. Closing his eyes and looking away, a sequence of events played out in his mind. The dragon had been
hit with a Conjunctivitis Curse. Unable to see, the beast nicked the ground, crashing. Its flesh tearing and ribs
cracking as it tumbled. Tangled in the slackened reins, unable to free himself, the rider was crushed repeatedly with
each impact. The animal was dying as it blindly fended off each attack.

Opening his eyes and steeling his face, Charlie un-strapped his wand from his thigh and pointed it at the flagging
dragon. Timing the words Incendio Inflamare with the split second the dragon converted breath to flame, the creature,
the rider and a vicious werewolf in mid-leap burst into flames.

Turning away from the sight of the burning carcass, Charlie re-sheathed his wand and pulled the reins to the left. The
chill of high altitude bit through his protective leather gear. An unexpected flash of combustion ignited far below him.
Hovering safely behind D.A. and Phoenix lines, he waited.

Ron's plan may work after all…

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2. Elemental Warfare: Air

Elemental Warfare: Air

“MOVE!”

The ground smacked her ass before she figured out that he meant heads up! Propping her head and chest off the ground
with her elbows, the sting of swirling grit bit into her skin. Pushing her weight against her legs, she was upright just
in time to see a dark blur come hurtling down at her. What the hell?

“Damn it - GET DOWN!” Neville fired off a curse with his wand arm; the other hand was flung in her direction. Wandless
magic jerked her backwards a good fifteen feet and landed her on her ass - again. Scrambling to her feet again, the
thump of a body falling out of the sky and striking the same ground where her ass hit the ground the first time did not
spare Longbottom from a getting a dirty look. “What - owl too slow?”

“Susan - get up here!”

Summoning her dropped wand, Susan hurried back into position. Hold the line. That was imperative. Weasley said it was.
So it will be, she vowed.

Dodging to the left, a Sectumsempra curse struck someone behind and to the left of her. Aggressively twirling out of the
way, a jet of purple light narrowly missed her cheek and fluttered her eyelashes as it flew towards enemy lines. Coming
out of the spin, she fired off a rapid series of spells in the direction of the furthest sounding voices. Anyone near
her would be a victim of friendly fire, which was acceptable. They had told her so. It was war and this was battle. To
her left was Terry Boot. On the other side of Longbottom was Daphne Greengrass. So went the line: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff,
Gryffindor and Slytherin, all fighting side by side. Didn't matter if they all graduated years ago, House identities did
not end because Hogwarts was a charred ruin.

“Susan!” Terry Boot yelled. Squinting through the haze, his shout was diminished by the din of spell casting, exploding
earth, expletive hurling, the bellowing of Grawp somewhere behind her and the counter-cries of the fighting injured.

“I need - ”

The sight of a vampire, teeth bared, heading straight for her, meant Terry would have to wait. Stepping up, a snarl of
her own formed behind her teeth at the immediate collision. Grunting with satisfaction at how the vamp bounced backwards
- Inertia 101 blood-sucker - did not mean she had time to play. Artistry was traded for efficiency. Pivoting on her
heel, putting her back to the vamp, she tossed her wand into her left hand and slammed the blunt end of her wand into
the heart cavity of the charging vampire. Driving through flesh and sinew, she pushed harder as the momentum of her
initial thrust slowed. Tucking her head, letting her hair fall around her face as a protective screen, her elbow was
suddenly pushing against nothingness. A shower of dust coating her back was the `all clear' sign that put Terry back at
the top of her list.

Vampire ash spread from head to heel, the back of her hand lifted the long layers of her hair away from her face.
Flinging fingerfulls of hair over her shoulders, she looked to where Terry was supposed to be standing - not grappling
in a clash of leverage with some Death Eater that had four inches and seventy-five pounds more mass to his frame. Not
smart, Ravenclaw.

Twirling her wand so that the handle was nestled in the fold of her palm, she lifted her elbow to shoulder height and
locked her wrist. Susan was momentarily grossed out when she saw Terry spit at the larger man's face and watched the
Death Eater - literally - eat up Terry's defiance. The Death Eater had both of Terry's arms extended above his head. His
eyes were lit with the anticipation of pushing the younger man to the ground. Cocking her head, she created a
line-of-sight. Her aim had to be perfect.

Calling out the word Sonorus in her mind, hollering, “Dissendium!” with her voice, she fired two bursts of magic. Eat
this!

Catching a snippet of Terry squealing like a girl when he realized he was fisting a pair of newly severed Death Eater's
hands was all the thanks she needed. The Death Eater, pain and hatred dominated his features. Grasping what happened to
him, he focused glittering eyes on Susan. An ugly smirk of her own answered his silent accusation. “Like the taste of
that, bitch?” was all the insult she had time for before he was cut down by one of his own. Stepping up to take on
another opponent, she yelled at the Ravenclaw. “Hold the fucking line, Boot!”

Somehow, through the din, the sound of alarm was heard from Daphne. Swaying, the earth beneath her feet began to tremble
and shift. Dirt and clumps of earth were rising around them and converging overhead. Sight was becoming impossible. She
heard choking sounds coming from those nearby. Shallow panting was a poor substitute for regular respiration.

War-cries whooped by voices descending from above was the precursor to seeing Hell on Earth. A great roaring filled the
battle zone. Never before seen projections of fire, marbled with blue, red and orange veins of intensity spewed from the
sky and ignited enemy lines. Wall after wall of thundering heat plastered their clothes against their bodies and stole
their breaths. Dragon-fire was a double edged sword realized too late: it decimated the enemy and burned the oxygen
Susan and her comrades needed to breathe.

From her ears to Neville's mouth, Ron Weasley's edict echoed in her mind. The line has to hold. Tell your people that
they have to hold the line. The edges of her vision began to blur, each gasping breath made possible by her mantra: the
line has to hold. The line has to hold.

Raising her wand, strength leaching from her being with every passing second, she angled her chin towards Neville. Eyes
streaming, she made him watch her mouth four syllables. Seeing him nod in acknowledgement and turn to Daphne, it was up
to her to get Terry's attention. Conjuring an orb of blue fire tapped her reserve strength. Lobbing it at Boot's feet
had her bracing her hands on her knees and nearly pissing herself with a series of rib-popping coughs. Looking in the
direction that the ball of fire came from, Terry leaned forward and grasped what she was teaching him. Comprehension had
him wiping his eyes and standing straight up. A resolute grimness spread across his face as he spaced his legs hip-wide.

Resettling her wand at chest level, balancing her weight just above her knees, she took up her own `now or never'
stance. Tracing small circles in the air, she chanted the same word over and over. Her voice became stronger as fine
dust, ash, and small particles were pulled from her body, letting much needed oxygen replenish her failing muscles and
thought-processes. Every repetition translated to a larger circle being drawn in the air more quickly.

“Anapneo!” Daphne chanted, her hair whipping in every direction.

“Anapneo!” Casting his spell, Neville picked up where Daphne left off. His garments billowed and snapped as wildly as
Daphne's hair.

“Anapneo!” Timing her voice so that her first syllable immediately followed Neville's last, her mantra channelled her
magic. Centring her gravity was the only thing that kept her vertical.

“Anapneo!” Terry anchored the rhythm and finished just as Daphne began again, his own struggle to not to topple over
evident in his face.

Blending and melding into one another, four vortexes of swirling, dirty, debris filled air were flung as a single force
against the enemy.

Colliding with the subsiding flames, a fresh conflagration violently exploded. The defensive aspect of the magic kicked
in; the spell kept the vicious heat within the ranks of Voldemort's supporters. Death Eater masks melted against faces,
the smell of singed werewolf tainted the wind and a pocket of Dark allies fell dead.

Lowering her wand when the bulk of the danger passed, she braced her hands on her hips. In front of her, fresh hordes of
undesirables were rallying, filling in the gaps left by the dead. The realization that the climax of the battle had yet
to occur steeled her spine. Pushing her tiredness aside and ignoring the light-headedness that threatened her balance,
she squeezed the last of the gritty water from her eyes. Looking up and down the line she saw that Terry, Daphne and
Neville and those beyond them were still up-right and already fighting.

.The line will hold, Aunt Amelia. Chancing a look at the sky, eight dragons flew overhead and out of sight. A distant
school memory whispered to her inner warrior: Weasley was a strategist.

Picking her next opponent with a well-placed jeer and letting it come to her, she renewed her vow. The line will hold
until all your pieces are in place, Weasley.

The line will hold.
