Elemental Warfare: When Forces Collide by Island Girl

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/06/2006
Last Updated: 23/06/2006
Status: In Progress

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…




1. Scenes From A Battle
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**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.*

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