Harry Potter And Bellatrix Lestrange

"Weasley!" Shacklebolt shouted. "We don't have time to argue, now take your damn orders and comply!"

"No! Why the bloody hell is he even in charge? Are you so stupid you can't see he's just playing you? He's going to get us all bloody killed!"

Before Shacklebolt could answer, Harry reached out and slapped Ron across the face. The action stunned not only the redhead, but all the mages around them. Ron began to raise his wand, only to find himself held at wandpoint. Surprisingly, it wasn't Harry's wand he was staring down at, but Shacklebolt's. The senior auror trembled with restrained fury as explosions shook the building around them.

"This is not the time or the place for your childish behavior, Mr. Weasley. You volunteered to help defend the Ministry against Voldemort's attack, which means you are under my command . Since I follow Lord Polairix's orders and battle plans, that means you damn well will, too - now get the hell going before I toss you back into a fireplace to the Burrow!"

"If you're listening to what he's saying, then you're as much a traitor as he is!" Ron fired back. "This whole plan is insanity, he's just doing this so we all kill each other!" The surrounding witches and wizards were shifting uncomfortably, and Shacklebolt realized that was their fear, too. The auror suppressed an annoyed groan; this was the last thing they needed in this battle, but Voldemort had done too good a job at ruining Harry's image in the public, even with the revelation that he was innocent.

"Get down!" Harry yelled as he dove to the ground, taking two witches down with him. A fireball the size of a hippogriff exploded above them, tearing a giant hole into the building above. Harry's eyes widened as he tracked the quaffle-sized pieces of debris raining down on top of them. Without a second thought, he rolled over, his ivory wand out in his hand.

" Orbis Custodia !" The overpowered shield spell expanded outwards from him until it formed a dome fifty feet in diameter, covering all of the cowering witches and wizards as chunks of marble bounced off it. Harry let the spell fade away as the last of the rubble had crashed to the ground and stood a bit shakily. Adrenalin had caused him to push far more energy into the shield spell than it was supposed to handle, and it had drained him somewhat.

An unearthly screech filled the air, and his blood ran cold as he felt the protective wards surrounding the Ministry come down, sooner than he'd expected. A hasty glance up into the sky confirmed his fears as Dementors swept down on the defenders' lines, now unhindered by wards. Forgetting the exhaustion caused by the shield spell, Harry pointed his wand upwards and towards the forward battle lines.

" Expecto -" he faltered as the proximity to the Dementors caused him to almost black out, and he wobbled precariously for a few seconds, until he managed to put up the mental defenses that occlumency provided him with. " Expecto Patronum !" he roared, putting every ounce of his strength, every happy memory of Bella, every feeling of joy at becoming a father, behind it, because if they failed in holding back the Dementors now, then the whole battle was lost.

Instead of the familiar stag erupting from the tip of his wand, a beam of blinding white light speared up into the sky as the spell was amplified by the wand into its most powerful, most primal incarnation, causing the Dementors to swerve to evade it desperately. The one that got clipped by the beam opened its mouth in silent agony before it disintegrated. Seeing his signal, Patronus charms sprung up all across the front lines, the white glow of happy thoughts halting the Dementors' crushing advance. A hundred yards in the air, Harry's beam spread, splitting open like a flower blossom as it arched around, his mind molding the spell into a shield that would protect the people around him.

"What are you waiting for? Cast, dammit!" Shacklebolt swore as the aurors he stood with did nothing, either shocked by the immense power displayed by the young heir of Polairix, or stubbornly refusing to follow orders like Ron. Seeing the strain on Harry as the Dementors bounced up against his shield, Shacklebolt put up his own Patronus in the hopes of helping alleviate the strain on him a little bit.

It didn't take the Dementors long to find out where the most powerful spell was coming from, and whether it was their own intelligence, or orders from Voldemort to destroy Harry Potter, they homed in on his position, focusing their attempts at breaking through on him and practically ignoring everyone else. With his Patronus no longer focused and spread out over such a large area, Harry could merely strain to hold the barrier, instead of using it to destroy the Dementors.

With the Dementors focusing on Harry's position behind the center of the defensive line, the front had a much easier time recovering, but the ground they had lost during their battle with the Dementors had been costly, and dozens of soldiers, witches, sorcerers, and wizards lay on the ground, dead or soulless as they fell back. A dozen giants had made it through the southern flank, despite the reinforcements, and had wreaked havoc there before the combined artillery from General Rotan and an entire battalion of ice soldiers had taken them down.

The result was that the battle line was no longer straight; instead, the southern flank had been pushed much further back than the center or the northern side, something Voldemort's forces made good use of. Now that the wards were down and the creatures not immune to magic were able to engage in close quarters, the remainder of his army charged ahead. With an unearthly roar, vampires and werewolves rushed forward, an unstoppable torrent of dark creatures that tore apart anything in front of them. The southern flank suddenly found itself cut off and fighting to not get attacked from the rear.

General Rotan tore his sword out of a vampire, before slashing its throat with his silver-bladed dagger. The dark creature died with a shriek that was lost in the thunder of the Ice people's artillery as the heavy cannons opened up once more. Large explosive rounds slammed into the oncoming enemies, tearing gaping holes into their ranks; holes that, Rotan noticed grimly, were being filled up quickly. Seeing three werewolves approach the gun emplacement from the side where they'd been cut off from the rest of the defending troops, the aging general ran ahead, his guards right behind him. They came a moment too late, and the cannons fired for the last time as the werewolves tore into the soldiers manning them.

"Damned wolves," Rotan muttered as he hacked off one of the wolves' front paws, but it was too little, too late. The werewolf had already ripped out the gunner's throat. Once they realized that they had opposition, the remaining two creatures turned around, sparking a furious melee around the huge cannons.

"General! Look out!"

The shout from one of his guardsmen caused Rotan to turn around and duck. A silver-tipped lance from the guard flashed by overhead, burying itself deeply into the chest of a vampire that had been poised to leap onto his back. Rotan didn't get time to thank the man as the soldier suddenly found himself buried underneath a werewolf's massive jaws, and the general snarled in anger as his men died around him. With an angry heave, he kicked at the anti-infantry cannon that had been deserted the moment the werewolves had charged, turning it on its mount until it was faced into the oncoming hordes.

Swinging himself around into position, he gripped the handles and squeezed the triggers. The weapon roared to life, spitting fire and explosive shells from its four barrels. Ahead of him, a line of dark creatures exploded into a bloody mist as they were hit, and he continued to track the weapon around the battlefield wherever he could without hitting his own men, unheeding of the melee that was still going on around him. He could hear and feel the Dementors overhead, but right now there was nothing that he could do about them; most of the witches and wizards had fled the moment the front line had crumbled. With a disgusted snort, he glanced over his shoulder as the smoldering corpse of a werewolf hit the side of the cannon. A Trazkanabian sorcerer gave him a quick nod, to which Rotan replied with a thumbs-up as he pointed towards the direction of the other regiments.

The sorcerer understood and began rallying people around him, even as Rotan continued firing. Their position wouldn't last much longer, cut off as they were, he realized. They had to get back in touch with the other parts of their forces. That either meant a push forward, which would be almost impossible, since the enemy had forced them almost into the building at this point, or have the other sections fall back, as well.

Neither sat well with the general. A push would cost them too many lives, while falling back would give up valuable ground and lose them their heavy weapons emplacements. As it was, they couldn't use their heavy cannons and anti-infantry cannons to clear the way without running the risk of hitting allied troops, which meant it was up to the other sections to reestablish contact. Rotan looked down at the crate of ammunition by his feet. At least it looked like they wouldn't run out anytime soon, he thought with grim amusement.

A scream from behind him caused him to turn around, right as one of Hiscophney's men was torn to shreds by a werewolf. Ice soldiers rushed in to contain the beast before it reached the gun emplacement, but the wolf charged at them with a ferocity that left them all shocked and open to its claws and fangs. Rotan recognized the wolf's distinctive silver coat immediately.

"Greyback," he growled, beckoning another soldier over to take his place at the gun. With the weapon safely in someone else's hands and continuing to lay down suppression fire, Rotan drew his sword and stepped forward, his men clearing the area around.

The werewolf looked up, fresh blood dripping from its teeth, and snarled viciously. Rotan merely angled his blade forward, and readied himself to meet the charge of the most feared werewolf in centuries.

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