The village was burning.

  From their position along the ridgeline, hidden by the thick curtain of rain and dense trees, Tom's platoon watched silently. Tom stared through the periscope, mouth pressed into a tight line, the optics fogging slightly from the humid breath escaping between his teeth.

  Buildings crackled and groaned beneath the flames, painting the forest in a hellish glow.

  "Jesus Christ," murmured Davies from the driver’s seat.

  Tom took in the familiar sight. War never changes.

  The radio crackled as other vehicles in the platoon checked in, tension lacing every clipped word.

  "Iron-Two, eyes on. Holding position."

  "Iron-Three, set. Ready."

  "Spellbreaker, standing by."

  Tom drew a slow, steady breath. "Copy, all. Hold positions and await my signal."

  As he spoke, a dark shape suddenly swept through the smoke-filled sky, blotting out the fires. It descended rapidly, wings outstretched, unleashing a searing torrent of flame that engulfed a fresh line of houses. Timber and stone burst instantly into roaring firestorms, pushing a wave of heat across the valley.

  "Oh, fuck me sideways," Cooper whispered, voice strangled. "Is that a dragon?"

  Tom didn't answer, couldn't answer. He tracked the creature through the optics, as it banked sharply, landing heavily in the village square. Claws tore gouges in the muddy earth as the beast crawled forward, lowering its head submissively toward three hooded figures waiting calmly amidst the inferno. One figure reached out a pale hand, stroking the creature’s snout without hesitation.

  Silence fell inside the Warrior for a beat, broken only by the soft hiss of rain against metal armor.

  "Sarge," Ellis’s voice crackled quietly through the intercom. "That building at village center—something odd about it."

  Tom swung the periscope sharply toward the structure Ellis was indicating, a two-story Victorian house. It sat untouched amid the inferno, the flames curling strangely around it—seeming to part, or slide off some invisible barrier. Embers drifted close, only to twist aside, as if repelled by an unseen force.

  "Bloody hell," Tom muttered under his breath. "Yeah, I see it, Corporal. Some kind of shield?”

  "Don’t know, Sarge," Ellis replied tightly. "Maybe."

  Tom considered this silently, eyes narrowing. "Magic?" he asked quietly, almost rhetorically.

  Ellis didn’t respond.

  Tom chewed his lip, scanning the perimeter. The building wasn't burning, but every avenue leading to it was consumed by flames. A magic shield complicated things. If it was the only thing protecting the structure from burning, they’d have to move fast once Spellbreaker did its thing.

  "All right, we punch through, neutralize hostiles, and extract civilians. Our training on this was brief, so eyes open and remember—anyone holding a wand is armed. Treat accordingly."

  Tom flicked the comm to platoon-wide broadcast.

  "All callsigns, Alpha Actual. Objective is the intact structure at village center—likely civilian holdout. Confirmed hostiles on-site, including a... dragon. Spellbreaker, hold minimum safe distance, maintain suppression as long as possible. Iron-Two, Iron-Three, wedge formation on my lead. Infantry dismount upon arrival. Rapid breach, neutralize threats, extract civilians. Standby to move on my command."

  A chorus of steady acknowledgments followed, the troops' professionalism pushing past disbelief.

  "Copy, Alpha Actual. Standing by."

  Tom gave himself one breath, just long enough to slow the hammering in his chest, then twisted the hatch handle and pushed it open, rising into the storm.

  "Cooper, steady on the cannon. I’m taking the MILAN."

  * * *

  They were cornered.

  Hermione ducked sharply as a jet of green light exploded against the window frame above her, showering wood and glass across the room. She quickly glanced to her friends. Luna was crouched near the opposite window, calm and composed despite the chaos, wand tightly in hand. Behind her, a frightened third-year named Will crouched with wide eyes, his knuckles white around his wand. Too young, Hermione thought bitterly.

  They’d bought the others precious seconds–enough for them to escape–but it would cost them dearly. The feeling of dread seeped into her.

  Another spell slammed into the wall, sending dust cascading down from the ceiling. Outside, Death Eaters laughed cruelly, taunting them, savoring the hunt.

  "Hold still–stay in cover!" Hermione shouted, forcing steel into her voice. She caught Luna’s serene gaze, receiving a gentle nod in return.

  Will whimpered softly, flinching as spellfire crackled dangerously close. Hermione reached over, placing a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder. "Keep down," she said urgently. "We’ll get through this."

  The lie tasted sour. For months, she’d watched what was left of her friends be whittled away, just like this.

  The village outside burned savagely, its flames roaring louder, consuming every path that might have led them to safety. Her pulse quickened against the weight of a truth she could no longer deny—this was the end. No clever plan could save them now–it was the moment she'd finally failed.

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  She looked briefly around the room, at the grim, soot-stained faces of her friends, of those she'd sworn to protect, knowing they were waiting for her guidance, for a scrap of hope that she couldn’t give. It all surged back at once: Voldemort’s return, the Ministry’s collapse, Hogwarts under siege, the Order fracturing—one loss after another. Hermione felt a painful lump in her throat at the memory of the public executions.

  Even then, the fighting hadn’t ended. Instead, it unraveled, scattering into fragments, driven by desperation and stubborn courage as they ground against an unstoppable force. She had led them to this final moment. Without consensus, minutes ago, she had weighed their three lives against the survival of the others, a tactical calculation made in silence. Like a chess move.

  Hermione drew a slow, hollow breath, letting the last fragile thread of belief slip silently away. Her expression shifted subtly—fear replaced by grim acceptance, uncertainty by resolve, leaving her gaze bleak yet steady, fixed resolutely on the inevitable.

  Her attention shifted slowly toward Luna, their eyes meeting in silent, shared understanding.

  I’m so sorry.

  Then, suddenly, she felt it—a sickening emptiness spreading from her core, something fundamental abruptly torn away. Hermione gasped sharply, her stomach lurching.

  Her magic was gone.

  Across the room, Luna’s expression flickered with confusion, eyes widening in alarm. Will turned toward Hermione, panicked, wand trembling uselessly in his grip. "Hermione, what just–"

  Before he could finish, a deafening crack split the night outside. A searing white bolt ripped through the storm, piercing the dragon with a violent flash. The shrapnel from its shattered scales spattered the house’s facade, breaking windows, as the massive creature let out a gut-wrenching shriek. Its wings flailing, it twisted in on itself and convulsed weakly, before it stilled, steam rising from the gaping wound.

  Hermione recoiled, horror etched across her face.

  A heartbeat later, the Death Eaters dissolved into a bloody mist, their panicked yells silenced abruptly by a thunderous barrage. The sudden, brutal violence lasted only seconds.

  Hermione stared numbly, gripping her wand as though it might return her magic. Luna rose carefully, her normally dreamy voice tense. "Something’s changed. We should leave, Hermione. Quickly."

  Hermione snapped back into focus, heart hammering. "Right—everyone out the back, now!" She reached down, grabbing Will’s trembling arm, pulling him along. "Stay with me, Will, keep moving."

  They pushed through the kitchen, debris crunching beneath their feet. Hermione reached the back door first, throwing it open. "Come on—"

  She froze as blinding white lights slammed into her vision, harsh voices slicing through the darkness.

  "DROP YOUR WANDS! HANDS ON YOUR HEADS, NOW!"

  Hermione flinched, squinting through the glare. Soldiers advanced swiftly, rifles up and aimed steadily at the group. Their faces were hidden by helmets and shadow, their outlines stark against the burning backdrop of the village.

  Will let out a frightened cry, taking a half-step backward, panic seizing him.

  "DO NOT MOVE!" another voice barked sharply. "ON YOUR KNEES! NOW!"

  Hermione’s pulse hammered desperately as her mind raced through any possible alternatives. But with the cold, relentless glare of floodlights fixed on them and the soldiers already tightening their perimeter, there was nowhere left to run.

  The voice shouted again, cutting through her thoughts: "WANDS ON THE GROUND, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS. LAST WARNING!"

  Hermione swallowed tightly, heart thudding painfully in her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she dropped her useless wand into the mud and raised her hands, sinking to her knees. Luna followed without hesitation, gently guiding Will down beside her.

  Boots splashed quickly through puddles as the soldiers closed in. A figure moved forward aggressively, rifle unwavering as he kicked Hermione’s wand away. His voice was clipped, authoritative.

  "Secure them fast. Bag the wands. Eight minutes ‘till the field drops."

  Hands roughly grasped Hermione’s wrists, pulling them behind her back. She felt the sharp bite of plastic ties against her skin as they tightened into place with a zzzzip. Her breathing was rapid, uneven, a painful tightness clenching her throat.

  "Structure clear!" called another voice. "Civilians secured!"

  "Good. Let’s move it!"

  Strong hands guided her forward, half stumbling, half running through the churned mud. Rain lashed at her face, blurring her vision, smoke stinging her eyes as the fires surged higher now, unchecked. Without magic, the protective wards had failed. Flames advanced rapidly, swallowing everything in their path.

  She stumbled, and a soldier steadied her roughly by the arm, urging her forward. Luna stayed close to Will, who was visibly trembling. Hermione struggled to process the chaos, her exhausted mind trying desperately to anchor onto anything familiar.

  They rounded the corner of the house, and Hermione froze.

  Waiting ahead, starkly illuminated by blazing buildings, were three hulking metal vehicles, angular and menacing, like beasts of steel crouched low on muddy tracks. They were military tanks—or something very like them. She had read about them, seen pictures in newspapers her parents used to read, even watched them on TV, but to see them here, in the burning heart of Magical Britain…

  It was impossible. Her mind rejected it outright.

  A soldier shouted something lost in the roar of the fire, sharply tugging her forward. Hermione moved numbly, barely aware as they reached the first vehicle. The steel hatch at the back lowered rapidly, revealing the cramped interior lit dimly by green and amber lights. Another soldier—young, face smeared in soot—quickly moved aside to make room, gesturing urgently.

  "In you go, move!"

  Hermione was practically lifted inside, Luna following silently, Will pressed tightly against her side. More hands guided her to a narrow bench, and she sank into the cold metal seat, the tightness of the flex-cuffs biting into her wrists. Luna sat next to her, offering only a quiet nod of reassurance, her calm expression now tinged with a faint unease. Will hunched beside Luna, his eyes darting around the dark, claustrophobic space.

  The hatch slammed closed with a sharp clang, locking them inside. Hermione flinched at the noise. The muffled roar of flames and distant shouting became dull, distant, replaced now by a new noise—the low, persistent growl of an engine rumbling through steel beneath their feet.

  The vehicle jerked suddenly, tracks grinding beneath them as it began to move. Hermione pressed back into the seat, fighting to steady herself as panic threatened to slip past her mental defenses. Her mind spiraled—dragons exploding, Muggle soldiers shouting commands, her magic torn away, leaving her hollow. It was chaos, impossible yet undeniably real, pressing on her from every side.

  She closed her eyes tightly, sensing the sharp rise of fear, the familiar tremor that meant she was dangerously close to breaking. Her pulse pounded relentlessly in her ears, tongue hitching painfully in her throat. She'd felt this way before—in the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts as it burned—each time barely escaping the panic that threatened to consume her.

  No. Not now. They need you.

  Drawing a long breath, Hermione mentally reached inward, grasping for control. Slowly, she forced herself to push emotion away, leaving behind nothing but cold logic. It was a practiced skill—one she wished she'd never needed to learn. Her trembling eased gradually, heartbeat slowing enough to let her think clearly.

  When she opened her eyes again, she viewed the cramped, dimly-lit interior of the armored vehicle through a clearer lens. The surreal nature of the moment still pressed against her mind, but now she observed it with calculated detachment: disciplined soldiers, tense and alert, rifles held ready. Luna beside her, calmly comforting a terrified Will. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek sharply, pain focusing her thoughts, cementing control.

  One of the soldiers, older than the rest, leaned slightly toward her, gaze firm but not unkind.

  "We’re taking you somewhere safe. Don’t try anything foolish. Understand?"

  Hermione nodded, not yet trusting herself to speak.

  In spite of everything—the firestorm, the impossible soldiers, her stolen magic—she clung fiercely to the one solid fact amidst madness:

  They were alive.