Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 7:35 PM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Hermione was standing on the wall again, the... Henna Bomb? The Henna Bomb, still swaddled in the pillow case, had been levitated to a spot just over and behind her left shoulder. The wand in her left hand pointed at it, and her arm was cocked back and up, leaving her in the ready position of a shot-putter.

  Magick gathered around her as she inhaled. Her hair writhed slightly as it tried to bristle. It was defeated by the heavy-duty, enchanted hair bobbles that cinched her ponytail in. They were set every few inches, reaching to her lower back, leaving a scant handspan of loose hair. (Which, of course, immediately poofed into a ball like a poodle dog's tail. No one laughed).

  She stretched out her right arm at an upward angle, hand bladed in line, then started bringing it down as she intoned her Casting.

  "Iacite id ILLUC!" She made a throwing gesture with her wand hand, really putting her shoulder into it. The melon-sized ball took off at a speed that made it effectively vanish. Her left came down to join her right hand, both now clasping the wand, and all pointing directly at the Zabini Command Group.

  Hermione, however, was looking up at an angle. Her eyes were tracking something only she could see. At a certain point, she Cast without looking down.

  "Deprimo!"

  The spell lanced across the distance, made visible by the magickal distortion it caused. Enemy shields shattered just from the wake effect. It struck with the sound of a cast-iron bell being hit by a tempered steel cannonball. The Shield shattered, throwing men off their feet for yards around.

  Hermione's eyes were still up, but tracking downward now. Unlike Harry's attempted ambushers above the World Cup ground, she was very familiar with the concept of 'leading the target."

  "Inflamarae!"

  A needle thin jet of flame retraced the path of the Deprimo, so bright that those under it were immediately suntanned several shades darker. Bomb and Spell converged...

  ***

  Dennis whistled soundlessly. The lump of doughy green material had blown up into an impenetrable cloud of glowing red powder. It was expanding quickly, and was almost to the skirmish line.

  "Ah, Hermione?" he said tentatively.

  She had been lost in the satisfaction of a Spell well-Cast. She shook her head slightly, coming out of it.

  "Of course," she said. She rotated her wand into a 'Thumbs Down' gesture, thumb along the Vine shaft.

  "Attrahō-ere-trāxī-tractum."

  The cloud stopped expanding. In fact, it contracted a little, perhaps giving some false hope to the Fedelissimi. Then vortex cones formed all over the bottom of the cloud, funnels snaking down to target men on the ground. After just a few moments, the cloud resembled a monstrous red jellyfish, searching for supper with its multitudinous tentacles.

  Dennis enjoyed the sight only for moments, before taking a deep breath, and pointing his wand through a wand slit at the fighters cut off by the Dementor encapsulation.

  "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

  ***

  "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

  The words rang out, over and over, as Patronii flew, galloped, loped, lumbered, and, in one case, drag-walked, (as if along a sea-bed), all converging on the two major swarms of Dementors.

  Many of the horde spread out along the skirmish line attempted to turn and flee. Most were driven back into the line by the Wizards Casting the Spell that produced orange sparks. Some Dementors made it through gaps left by the undermanned detachment, only to get caught up in the forest of red whirlwinds dominating the area behind the lines. What was happening to them was uncertain, but none emerged from the cloud.

  The forward swarm encircling the large group of mostly inmates were themselves surrounded almost immediately. Many of the most powerful Patronii had been directed to the relief of these prisoners.

  There were many shouts of Lumos Solem throughout the room, and still more as the effectiveness was noted. The orbs spread bright sunlight through the space, banishing shadows the Dementors could use to retreat.

  To date, common knowledge was that Dementors could not be slain or imprisoned. But Harry knew from experience that, wraiths or not, they could be touched. His memories of Prongs tossing the scattering beings from his antlers was one of the proudest of his life. And Talisker's tale of Fawksey's Cape Buffalo Patronus splattering three against a Shielded wall supported the notion. Those bits of ectoplasm may have reunited at a later time. Or, they may not.

  Harry's orders to his troops had been very clear.

  "Cut them off. Surround them. And then touch the ever-lasting Hel out of them! Fangs, claws, hooves. Even... (he had jerked his chin to indicate the beaming Dennis Creevy) ...tentacles! Try passing one Patronus through another, with a Dementor between. Try any bloody thing you can bloody well think of. In our experience, Dementors have always had somewhere to run. We are not going to give them that."

  Harry was running along after Prongs, and losing ground quickly. Prongs did not need his supervision, but Harry wanted to see. He was discharging Attack Spells and Shields at a rate that made him feel like his wand was getting warm to the touch.

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  An ectoplasmic Jack Russell Terrier darted between his feet, teeth bared in what would have been a ratcheting snarl in a living animal. Oh, good. Someone must have relieved Ron.

  He came in sight of the encapsulation. It was a darting, swirling mass of light and dark, as glowing white fur and hide pressed up against scabbed skin and ragged robes. Occasionally, a wraith would attempt to glide up out of the scrum, only to be beaten back down by blows from glowing wings and glittering talons. Harry spotted Nienna's Great Eagle and Demelza's Harpy Owl leading the winged contingent, along with Dara's ridiculously large Raven, (named Morrigan, of course). Kyinté's Cheetah had stationed itself beneath the Raven, spending more time airborne in towering, clawing leaps than on the floor.

  Prong's head rose above most of the combatants, and he seemed to be studying something deeper in the mass of cut-off men. And women, for that matter. The glowing Harnesses seemed to be providing some measure of protection from the Dementor's effects, but the inmates had no way to fight back.

  Prong leapt in a motion that made Harry's breath catch at the pure beauty of the sight. The Patronus came down somewhere near the center of the mêlée.

  Harry forced his way through the battle line, firing a Bat-Bogey hex up under the tattered robes of a Dementor as he passed. (It was more to show his disdain than out of any hope that it might take effect).

  The crush was even worse inside the circle, with scattered Aurors and inmates wielding Creevey Specials throwing out Shields and Spells. That was good for morale, if nothing else.

  Harry suddenly came out beside Prongs. There was an empty(ish) ring of space, with Wizards, and a few Witches, trying to force their way further away.

  And in the center of that was what kept the space from being totally empty.

  A Metric Curse-Tonne of Dementors.

  There were so many, so inter-penetrated, interwoven, that it was impossible to count them. They formed a whirling, swirling ball of hunger and hatred that made Harry stagger as if pushed. Even though he was standing almost inside his Patronus. The ball of evil was almost fifteen feet tall and through.

  Several small and mid-size Patronii surrounded the ball, tearing at the edges, but not having much effect. Harry saw some he recognised, a Sun Bear, Coyote, Badger, and a Fox, among others.

  He noticed the bottom of the whirling mass did not reach the floor, in fact, it seemed to shy away from touching down. Harry crouched and peered beneath.

  An Otter cocked its glowing head and looked back. Another joined it. Then they looked at each other, reared up and went back to tearing at the mass above them. As other Otters had kept doing all along.

  Huddled together beneath and behind the numerous Mustelidae were people, people in torn Harnesses barely flickering with light. And they were showing sign of having been fed upon by Dementors.

  Harry had always envied Hermione's ability to conjure multiple iterations of her Patronus. As always though, there were trade-offs in power and potency. Hermione's talent as a witch made up for many things, but spreading her power out to cover multiple people made any counter-attack unfeasible.

  Harry peered deeper. One of the victims was desperately hugging...

  He got back to his feet. Prongs gave him a sidelong glance.

  "That..." said Harry. "...was the biggest shoe that I have ever seen in my life."

  ***

  Ginny and her Patronus, an Irish Draught Horse, also burst into the clear space. Well, Ginny burst in, due to indiscriminate but effective use of her wind powers.

  Her Patronus cantered at her side, uncaring whether anyone got out of her way or not. Most did. Though not as large as a Percheron or a Shire, the Irish Draught was a massively muscled beauty, with wild mane, tail, and feathering, all coming almost to the ground.

  Both pulled up at the sight of the absolute storm of Dementors. Ginny spotted the glow of Prongs' antlers through rents in the whirling mass. She started around the pack, and Harry met her halfway. There was a quick hug, then back to business.

  "Quick as you may, please," said Ginny. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, then spoke.

  "That's Jo-Jo Buttons protecting fallen and wandless. Estimate he's about twelve feet tall. The Dementors fear him too much to swarm him, but are too hungry to back off. Hermione's Patronii are over the fallen, fighting a holding action. No idea where she is."

  Ginny pointed up. Harry looked.

  Hermione was on a broom with Dennis Creevey, sitting before him, so he could both hold her on and free her hands and arms up for wand work. They were in the middle of a pitched air battle, manouevring wildly. The broom-riding pair were surrounded by a mixed bag of Aurors, Zabinis, and inmates on clapped-out brooms, (which still managed to hold their own). Hermione was ignoring the scrum about her, concentrating on protecting and supporting the ground forces.

  The inmates, most of them wandless, were conducting a very hands-on seminar on Unnecessary Violence in Quidditch. Broken brooms and broken flyers were dropping out of the air, the large majority of these being the Fedelissimi.

  Ron, on his XK-001, had appointed himself Hermione's enforcer, along with a copper-haired Valkyrie that Harry didn't know. She was riding a Nimbus that looked to be made from parts of three separate brooms.

  At a gesture from Hermione, one or both would dive into the battle below, sometimes returning directly, sometimes evacking injured to the Women's Barracks. As Harry watched, the redhead returned, nose and knuckles both streaming blood. Hermione hit her with an Episkey, without losing a beat.

  "What are we going to do about this?"

  Ginny's question drew Harry's attention back to the immediate problem.

  He started, "I think Prongs..."

  The Stag Patronus reared, followed a moment later by the Draught Horse. Their jaws gaped, lips drawing back from teeth. Harry had never seen Prongs this enraged. Few people know it, but stags actually roar, when ultimately angry or in the throes of passion. He had heard the sound once before, in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had to reassure Harry that he had not imported a pride of lions. (Much as he wanted to).

  Harry could imagine that very sound coming from his Patronus. The Dementors, seemingly, did not have to imagine it. The whirl of their formation stumbled over itself near the Stag, their unearthly substance curdling as they shied away.

  Ginny's Irish Draught Horse, (which she had named Aonbharr Mhanannáin), was having the same effect on the other side. Her silent scream of rage was blowing phosphorescent froth from her flared nostrils.

  Both moved forward on their hind legs, Aonbharr delicately prancing, and Prongs crow-hopping. Both sets of forelegs came down. Four hooves tore a great ectoplasm-spraying rent down both sides of the whorl of Dementors.

  The Patronii reared again, windmilling shining hooves into the mass, splattering the wraiths away, in whole or in part. The knot of Dementors was splitting, attempting to scatter, when a great, shining loop of giant tentacle came down around the center of the swarm, squashing all under it.

  A giant, arrow-shaped body raised over the crowd, supported on nine other tentacles. Great lamp-like eyes were observing as it delicately uncoiled the first appendage from around the group at the center.

  Jo-Jo, in Berserker form, had an entirely un-berserker-like grin on his face. He was already exhaling, and shrinking, making room for the people gathered around his feet to be evacuated out. Hermione's Patronii Otters had already scampered off to other chores. Prongs and Aonbharr took time to nuzzle Jo-Jo's face before galloping away. For the first time, Harry spotted a swarthy, trimly-fit man holding a Yew Wand. He had been standing back to, well, upper thighs, with Jo-Jo, helping to hold the line.

  Harry grinned. "Boss Shamir, I presume?"

  Shamir was staring across the room, where Dennis Creevey's Giant Squid Patronus was drag-walking toward the skirmish line, occasionally snatching up a Dementor and squeezing.

  Shamir spoke without looking aside. "Tell Whisky John I stand corrected. That is the biggest Patronus I have ever seen."