//------------------------------//
// Struggle 
// Story: Harry Potter and the Crystal Empire 
// by Damaged 
//------------------------------//

"It feels important somehow." Despite the order that I was to gather the things I needed to go back to Earth, I wanted to take care of something. "That I don't make her do things, I mean."

'I liked doing things for you.'

That's different. I like giving you the choice. Wizards… Wizards have a bad history of not giving anyone a choice about anything. That's why it's so important. 

Reaching my hoof up, I tickled Hedwig under the chin where I knew she liked it. 

"I can't find any dark magics involved here, Harry." Dumbledore had been working magic on one, the other, or both of us for nearly half an hour. Some of it I could follow, but some of the spells he used were so advanced I couldn't even remember half their syllables. "But it was right that you come to make sure. Controlling the mind of another is a delicate thing. Memory charms…"

He seemed to trail off in thought. His eyes focused somewhere behind me and I had the sense that Dumbledore wasn't talking to me anymore. 

"I would not willingly alter another's mind, you understand, but to protect something so precious…" He closed his eyes and I could see tears forming there. "There is mind magic here, there is no doubt about it. It could proceed either way—one or the other taking control—but I believe in you, Harry. Now show me the other thing."

"How she shows me things?" I asked.

'Oh! Can I show you that rat I caught?'

"Precisely. You said she can understand others?" Dumbledore waited for me to nod. "Well then"—he turned to Hedwig—"if you wouldn't mind showing Harry something so I can make sure this isn't hurting either of you."

'I really like him. He's nice.'

I was about to reply when I was rushed a thousand feet into the sky. Hedwig had pushed her memories into me and I was living them. It was so relaxing to fly with her, but a moment came when our joined senses picked something up. 

My eyes were so much sharper like this, thousands of times better than a normal human's. The telltale movement of grass, I knew from Hedwig's thoughts, was a sure sign that something small and tasty was there. 

Our wings were silent, though it took some work to keep them that way. Hedwig was constantly adjusting tiny feathers to ensure the rat wouldn't hear us coming. The closer we got to the ground, the more our focus narrowed on the rat. 

Completely caught up in the moment, I felt my heart racing as we stooped and at the last second stretched out our razor-sharp claws and grabbed the rat up. The feel of bones breaking and—

'You don't need to see this bit.'

Huh? What? But we were. My brain took the time to flash the last bit of the memory up for me to see—and I almost lost my breakfast. "Ugh. Okay, thank you, Hedwig."

The sound of sipping tea drew my attention back to Dumbledore. "Ah. You're back with us. I have good news, Harry Potter, and bad news." 

"Excuse me a moment, Headm—Professor." I was on my hooves and at a dead gallop for the nearest bathroom. Hooves flashing, I wondered for a short moment if I could somehow teleport into the bathroom—though that was impossible. 

'Sorry.'

"Aww, did someone have too much to eat at breakfast?" The voice cut through my little porcelain pity party like a rusty knife through soft cheese. Moaning Myrtle sounded just as annoyed with the world as she always had. "Oh boo-hoo. I can't even remember what it feels like to—"

"Myrtle, I just felt what it was like to rip apart and eat a rat." As the words came out of my mouth, my mind helpfully played back the memory.

A chill passed into my back as I leaned over the bowl. 

"There, there." Myrtle's voice had lost some of its whine and she sounded like she was trying to actually comfort me. It was terrifying. "I remember—when I was still alive—they would pick on me by slipping things into my food."

After getting rid of everything that was in me, I reached a hoof up and jerked down on the flush. Despite how strange it was to have a depressed and depressing ghost comforting me, it actually worked. I opened my mouth to thank her when—

"Would you like to see?" Myrtle asked.

An ominous rumbling started in the drains and pipes, not the least of which was coming from the toilet I'd just flushed. Snapping my mouth closed, I backed up quickly and ran for the faucets on the other side of the room. "Myrtle! Stop it! I don't need to see—whatever it is that's in there!"

All the rumbling stopped and Myrtle, standing in the doorway of the cubicle I'd just left, crossed her arms over her chest. "Spoilsport."

I had to give her credit, she always managed to get on my nerves with so little effort. "How are the others?"

Myrtle gasped. "Y-You asked? No one has asked about them."

Rinsing my mouth out with water, I spat it into the bowl. "Well?"

"They're all gone. Faded away to nothing. Even the house-ghosts." A sniff, a gasp, and I heard Myrtle cry.

The rumbling came again, though there seemed less malice behind it. Water started pooling in the room, and despite my best mental self-advice I walked over to Myrtle. "You still have the school."

Lowering her hands from her face, Myrtle looked—for just a second—far older than normal. "I am inconsolable!"

"You can touch me?"

"What?"

"I mean, you can feel me, right? Your hand didn't pass through me before." I pointed with a hoof to the overflowing toilet I'd come from. Thankfully it was clean water flowing up.

"Yes. Why?" Her tone was full of accusation and disdain.

I rolled my eyes and dipped my head forward—then bumped the top of my head toward her. Her touch was chilly again, but this time I felt fingers brushing through the hair on the top of my head. The cold moved to my right ear and started rubbing it.

Her touch was almost cold enough to be painful, but though I couldn't see her face, I could see the toilets had stopped overflowing. "I'm so alone, Harry. Even the students are mostly gone."

What could I say? If I told her I'd be leaving in a day, she might just make the whole room explode in a fountain. Instead, I just stood there. Here I thought I was coming back to help Ron and Hermione, but it turns out it's Myrtle that needed me.

"Are they coming back?" she asked.

Her hand paused a moment, so I butted my head up into it and she started petting me again. "I don't know, Myrtle. Everything's changing up so much. There's some students still hanging around, but—"

"They're all too busy for poor Moaning Myrtle. Everyone's too—But you're not, are you?" Her hand left my head and Myrtle crouched down on the floor before me. She looked into my eyes, and though I could still see through her, she seemed far more solid than I'd ever seen her before.

Well damn. "I'm going to be moving in here, or somewhere near here. I need to grab a few things from back on Earth, but then I'll be coming home." As I spoke I watched her interest turn to worry, shock, and then excitement.

"Home?" Her lips quirked into a smile and her hand reached out to ruffle my ears—she didn't feel so cold now. "You had better come back, Harry, or I'll be cross."

Was it strange to promise a ghost that was petting you like a cat that you'd come back so they don't destroy an entire school's maintenance budget in one event? I was sure it would normally be strange, but I was a wizard, and wizards did whatever was needed in whatever way worked to make things right. "I've still got too much to learn. And, besides, I like it here."

"Harry?" Dumbledore opened the bathroom door just a crack. "Are you alright?"

Lifting a hoof to my lips to beg Myrtle to be quiet, I turned my head while trying to ignore the ongoing chill. "Just cleaning up, sir. Hedwig's memories are really intense."

I reached my hoof out toward the taps, and Myrtle gestured to them—causing one to turn on.

"I'll be right out in a moment," I said.

"Take as long as you need, Harry." The door closed again and I let out a sigh of relief. 





Myrtle Elizabeth Warren—or at least her ghost—let out a breathless (in the literal sense) sigh as Harry Potter trotted from the bathroom. Her translucent hand tingled with warmth and feeling at what he'd let her do. 

Taking a deep breath of nothing, Myrtle spun in a circle as taps and toilets unloaded fountains of water into the air. She kicked her feet and giggled before coming back to land on one of the flooded toilets. "He likes me…" 

But the moment of warmth was a rare one. He was gone for no more than five minutes before the weight of being the only ghost in Hogwarts slumped down upon her again. Only one ghost.

She had theories on why the others had faded and she hadn't. The castle was in a different world now, and the patterns that made up a ghost seemed easily overwhelmed by the magic of the new land. Combined with that seemed to be that Myrtle had been made by some powerful magic that, she felt, was purposed with keeping her a ghost. 

"This is terrible." The room echoed the sentiment back to her, but there was now some bright little ember of happiness burning inside her. "But he's so wonderful." 

That happiness needed to wait, however. Myrtle had some more crying to do.





Ginevra Molly Weasley wasn't getting annoyed, she was simply being challenged to a level that had her struggling to keep up. The dementors inside Azkaban were doing their duty and clawing at the walls to get out, but something—or someone—kept reinforcing them.

"I will try again." The words were hard for Igor's mouth to form thanks to the significant amount of fangs he'd acquired. The stone under his talons burned his feet still, but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt him to see Ginevra upset.

"No. This is a matter of time. We are tireless, they are not. They pour their magic into these walls to protect the monsters they have hidden within. Do they not know I am here to relieve them of their duty?" Ginevra started floating along just above the surface of Azkaban's roof. Once again she examined the hatch there.

"Your instincts are true, Ginevra. We have the advantage of time here." Sombra hated the feel of the runes under his hooves, but it was a small distraction. "We need to focus on our next phase. We need to return to Equestria."

Spinning in place, Ginevra looked at Sombra. "Return? But why? We have all the power here."

"I have what I need—when we crack this chestnut. The magic in this world is dying. Even my power could not sustain us should we remain here. Your pets would fade first, then I would die, and finally you would unravel and disappear." Sombra's voice trailed off into softness. "No. I will not stand to have all my plans undone. We will return, we will free all those ponies and all those wizards from the tyrannical grip of their princesses."

Ginevra recoiled from the way Sombra spat the word out. She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"A group of creatures that believe themselves better than regular ponies." Shaking with fury, Sombra stomped an iron-shod hoof against the flagstones under him. Cracks appeared for a moment, then faded. "The most terrible part is they are. These alicorns are superior to regular ponies in every way. Look at how powerful I have become, Ginevra, and still I am not enough to fight them head-on."

"Together we could—"

Sombra's spirit soared at how quick she threw her support behind him. "Together we can do much more, yes, but we cannot be overt about it. I learned, long ago, not to play with fire until I have full control of it. When we return, we will fade quickly into the shadows to avoid their sight. From there we can undermine their power until they are weak enough for us to fight together."

New pride and fire burned within Ginevra. She could see it in her mind's eye—the two of them being the heroes of all the ponies. "Together we will fight and together we will win." Leaning down almost casually, she lengthened her fingers out into blade-like claws and slashed at the magic of the stonework while blazing black energy poured down her arm and into the resilient spells defending it.

Lending only a limited amount of magic to Ginevra, Sombra felt pride in his new apprentice. Pride and excitement. Soon they would be home again, and this time it wouldn't be him alone versus the world. "Yesss!"





The motorbike was nobody's fool. It took one peek at Azkaban and the attack going on and thought better of landing there. Circling at a good distance, it wondered how it was going to get in when it saw some dark shape rip a hole through the side of the prison. 

While it didn't like the look of the wraith-like creatures that were pouring out of the hole, the motorbike didn't like the look of a lot of things, and its master had taught it well what to do about them. 

Gunning its engine, the bike charged at the hole with its headlight off. 

The dementors reached toward the flying motorbike just before it reached them and tried to drain its soul. Sadly (for the dementors at least) the object had no soul and revved its engine just a little more.

Shrieking dementors fled the path of the howling machine, though two had the distinct displeasure of having it slam through them. 

Knowing where its master was by the feel of him, the bike threw itself—with a screeching back tire on the cold, wet stone—at the stairs that led down. It was perfectly fine with ignoring the sights around it as dementors ripped jail cells apart and pulled prisoners out toward other holes in the walls. It didn't care about their screams.

"That sounds like a muggle machine." Alastor Moody turned away from Rubeus Hagrid, Sirius Black, and Toil, to look at the stairs that led to the roof. This gave him just enough warning to dive aside as a motorbike came sliding around the curved stairwell and charging at their group.

Just before the bike hit him, Sirius reached out one hand and closed it gently around the handlebar—twisting the throttle twice. "You came for me!" Tears welled in his eyes as he crouched down and rested his forehead against the front mudguard. "How are you feeling? Ready to go?"

Rubeus was first to regain his composure, particularly since he'd dealt with the bike before. "Here then. How're we all going to fit on there?"

"Hagrid! You have the wand, you get to work it out. You're a wizard, after all." Standing up, Sirius stepped to the side of his bike and swung his leg over the seat. "Don't worry, girl, we'll get out of this. I even have a ride planned and ready. You just have to get us all there."

"I was never good at this one, but…" Rubeus focused his attention on himself and held his umbrella up with the tip pointed at him. "Mr. Moody, sir, can you give me a 'and with this?"

"What exactly are—Stop pointing that at yourself. What are you trying to do?" Using a hand to brush aside Rubeus' wand, Alastor glared at him. "Not transfiguration, I hope."

"Well 'ow else am I meant to fit on that?"

"You cannot change your size and mass with transfiguration unless you know a lot more about it than you or I. There is a simpler spell." Flexing his fingers, Alastor drew his wand smoothly and pointed it at Rubeus. "I always find cutting people in half makes bringing them down a peg or two much easier. This is a Shrinking charm. You either want to be very good at it or use a lot of magic if you don't want random explosions."

"Oh he—" Rubeus didn't get any further. A purple light flared from Alastor's wand and jumped at him like a pouncing cat. The first thing Rubeus' brain thought was that the world was shrinking, but that wasn't nearly right. Secondly, he latched onto the idea that the world was actually growing. This seemed to at least match what he was seeing. 

Toil's grin got wider and wider as he watched Rubeus shrink down to a size a little smaller than he was himself. "Ha-ha! What's a little giant called?"

Sirius revved the bike's engine and felt its eagerness under him. "It's called, get in the sidecar, Toil, or I'll leave you behind."

"I thought I'd take the sidecar." No sooner did Alastor state his intent, however, than Toil had grabbed Rubeus and apparated into the sidecar. "If you think you two will stop me, you've got another thing coming. Make room."

"Hold on, and if you have any desire to live through this, maybe now would be a great time to manifest your first Patronus." Sirius kicked the bike into gear and twisted the throttle.

The motorbike didn't care for the load of extra passengers, but having Sirius riding it again filled it with joy and purpose. It had waited and been ready, and now they were reunited. Squirting flame out of its exhausts, it spun its back wheel on the flagstones and let its rider guide it to the stairs.

Four floors later and Sirius could see the hole the motorbike had entered through. He could also see the dementors were dragging prisoners out. The closest was, of course, Bellatrix Lestrange. "I can't believe I'm going to say this. Grab her when we get close."

Alastor looked up at Sirius as if he were mad, but then something clicked, and he realized that whatever the dementors wanted with any of the prisoners, it was his job to stop them from getting it. "Right." Gripping his wand firmly in his right hand, he leaned a little so he could reach out of the sidecar.

The roaring sound of the motorbike broke Bellatrix from her stupor. She felt the icy-grip of the dementor's hand around her wrist and felt too the pain in her head. Eyes narrowing on the roaring machine charging toward her, she shivered with excitement and hope. "You have to get me out of here!"

Unfortunately for Bellatrix, the dementor smelled the hope she gave off and turned its cowled head to look back at the wizards charging toward it. Tightening its grip on Bellatrix's wrist, the dementor braced itself to deal with the oncoming attackers. 

"Expecto Patronum!" Three voices chanted the words, but only one of them managed anything credible. 

Alastor Moody knew far too much of how the world worked to get more than a soft blue glow from his wand.

Rubeus Hagrid hadn't let Azkaban get too far under his skin, but recent news of Hogwarts vanishing had crushed his hope so far he couldn't even get a spark from his little umbrella.

Toil, mad as a hatter and pointing his hand like a gun toward the dementor, saw freedom through the monster's body and in that freedom was hope. Hope he would be a free house-elf. Hope he wouldn't have to wear chains again. Hope that no one would kill anyone he cared for. It required true craziness to believe these things, but that was a quality Toil had in spades.

The blob of blue light that left Toil's finger looked malformed at first, but as it flew toward the dementor, it became more and more distinct as a jellyfish. It soared almost serenely—compared to the roaring motorbike—until it got close to the dementor. Extending its aural arms toward the icy monster and started gently wrapping them around its limbs and its head. 

Bellatrix was spellbound by the beauty of the patronus, but the terrified scream of the dementor as it released her was pure music to her ears. "Yes! Kill it! Burn that black, soddin' bas—" The roar of the engine and an arm like a vice grabbing her stole Bellatrix's voice as she was jerked into motion, but she was too fascinated watching the patronus become more and more tangled around the dementor to notice.

Gunning the bike, Sirius charged for the hole and blew out of it like a cork from a wine bottle. The salty air of the sea was far stronger outside, though Sirius promised himself that once this was over, he'd never go near the sea again.

"Where are you going, Bellatrix Lestrange? You gave yourself to Voldemort, now I hold your reins!"

The voice ripped through Bellatrix's head and ripped a scream from her throat. "Get her out! Get her out! Get her out!"

"Stop squirming yo—" Alastor froze at the sight behind them. The most distinct and fleshed out dementor he'd ever seen—Ginevra Weasley—was riding on the back of a huge dragon and closing on them. "Sirius! Faster!"

Rubeus, too, saw what was chasing them. The dragon was like nothing he'd seen and the monster riding it, though cloaked in shadows, was nothing he wanted to deal with. "You got another o' them jellied fishes?" When he looked at Toil, however, the house-elf looked terrified.

"Give her to me!" Ginevra screamed aloud. She pressed an icy hand to Igor's shoulder and poured dark magic into him. 

By all rights an adult dragon could resist any magic, but Igor welcomed his mistress' magic and let it soak into him. Opening his maw, Igor screamed in rage and breathed out on pure instinct. 

A grave-chill filled the sea air and, from one moment to the next, all the moisture in it turned instantly to ice and hung there a moment. Reaching outward toward the fleeing motorcycle, Igor's breath sought out the living and found one.

"D-Don't let her take me! Please!" Bellatrix's voice cracked and broke at the stress of begging for her life in earnest. She looked into Alastor Moody's one good eye and saw pity there. A chill filled her left leg a moment before all feeling in it fled. Something grabbed the frozen limb and yanked backward with all the strength of a dragon.

"Good! Well done, Igor!" Ginevra patted the black palm print on Igor's shoulder and looked at the black lines—like lightning patterned on his scales—that radiated out from it. No longer a fire-loving beast, he felt almost like kin to her. "Bring her back. I must complete our vanguard!"

Jerking back with his head, Igor yanked the frozen form of Bellatrix toward him and caught her in his mouth. He dipped one wing low and brought the other up to wheel around and carry his prize back to Azkaban.





Magic society in Australia was far different—structurally—than in the United Kingdom. Wizards and witches worked with a far less strict level of secrecy from regular humans, and while they didn't panic over one little spell revealed, they also didn't go crazy casting magic in plain sight.

However, official police wizards like Jack Crowley and Liz Harrington were far from without leverage when it came to an immediate call for help. The moment Jack was back through the portal, he pulled the old battered handset from his pocket and tapped with his wand.

The response wasn't immediate. Word of what Jack had seen and who was with him filtered up through his chain of command, but within just an hour of sneaking back to Earth, four wizards and two witches apparated into existence at the street corner. "Jack Crowley? Liz Harrington?" 

Jack spun around and let out a sigh at the sight of the robed and armed wizards. "You lot have no idea how relieved I am to see ya. We were up to our necks in a mess we couldn't do anything about. Mind—"

The rift took that moment to pulse again. A wave of hot air rushed out into the chilly Australian day, but a moment after that it sucked once again. Six wizard special police, two regular wizards, and one Abyssinian were dragged back into it.

"Who goes there?! That's one!"

Aileek looked up from where she'd landed to see one of the Storm Guard standing in the doorway of her hiding place. Her eyes widened as a huge hand reached in toward her.

Just as the Storm Guard tried to grab at its quarry, a stinging pain hit it in the hand and made it jerk back.

"Understand that we're not going to let you take her by force. Take us to your superior so we can discuss matters." Blastback Davies was the squad commander. He had strict orders not to go into the rift, but of course there was a contingency (and a contingency for the contingency) if he was forced to. 

Shaking its hand to stop the stinging sensation, the Storm Guard shrugged its shoulders. "Bring them." It literally didn't care how it happened, it was under orders to bring any stray Abyssinians to its commander.

"Come on, ladies and gents, we're going to find out what's at the bottom of all this." Blastback helped rouse and unstack his squad from the pile they'd found themselves in, helped Jack Crowley and Liz Harrington to stand, and at last looked at Aileek. "Ma'am, you're under our protection, but I have orders to make contact with an authority on this side to establish your authenticity. You understand?"

Anger welled up in Aileek. On her own she'd been far better off than with these strange new creatures. "They're burning our cities and stealing everything they can, and you expect me to—"

"Hey, Aileek." Liz reached out a hand to put it on Aileek's fuzzy forearm. "Would you rather heavily armed, amoral idiots who come in and start blasting based on one person's word, or would you rather heavily armed wizards who want to get their facts straight before blasting holes in people?"

Firelight McOwens, Blastback's second in command, snorted at the words. She brushed off her robes while checking her weapons—magical and mundane. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

Aileek steadied herself and looked around at the wizards, taking in the way they checked over a lot of equipment they'd been concealing under their robes only moments ago. She didn't recognize what most of the things were, but she knew these people treated them like weapons. "Please, just don't let them destroy my lands."

"Once we establish these are your lands"—Blastback gestured toward where the rift had been—"I have the authority to lend whatever aid I see fit while I attempt to find the shortest way back home." Something felt a little off to Blastback. He shook himself mentally and started for the doorway, not noticing the tail already having sprouted from his rear.

There was a half-circle of the Storm Guards around the doorway of the building Blastback stepped out of. He eyed each of them. They stood about half again as tall as he was, and bore huge shields and spears—both looking to be made from the same metal as their armor. "Hello, gents. I guess we should all introduce ourselves while we walk. Commander Blastback Davies, the lovely lady behind me is Firelight McOwens, the four chaps behind her are Defthands Flowers, Junebug Banning, Rentari Dean, and Daku. Along with Jack Crowley and Liz Harrington, we'll be escorting the lovely miss…" 

"Aileek." Aileek was surprised how reassuring it was to have the soldiers (as she thought of them) surrounding her. They seemed more solid than the Storm Guards for some reason.

"… miss Aileek here. If we think you want to hurt us or her, I'm going to have the spicy Firelight here show her why her parents named her that. Now, let's be going nice and careful." Blastback hoped against hope he didn't have to fight the Storm Guards.

"Aileek. Anything we should know about these goons?" Firelight asked as discretely as she could. "If things turn bad, and I have a feeling they will, we need to know how to deal with them fast."

"Their shields, armor, and weapons are resistant to magic. They even reflect it sometimes. I saw your leader use a spell on that one's hand and that seemed to work." Her hands slid to her own knives, but Aileek didn't want to startle the Australian wizards. "If it comes to it, I can stand my grou—"

"Ma'am, not disparaging you or anything, but if this goes tits up, you stay in the middle where we can guard you. Our commander said you're our V.I.P., that lasts until he says otherwise. Don't draw your weapons under any circumstances," Firelight said, her voice gaining a harder edge for the last few words.

Biting back a reply, Aileek compressed her lips in displeasure at being spoken to in that way. But for one thing she would have started arguing—she'd asked them for help. When her temper calmed down, she was able to nod. "Alright."

"I know it's hard to do that, but you have to trust us." Firelight's hands ran down her oilskin robes, the heavy cloth hiding all her equipment from casual sight but not from her touch. When she was assured that all her equipment was where it should be, she looked around the rest of the squad. "Gear check?" After getting a round of positive replies, Firelight turned to Blastback. "Sir, we're ready for anything."

"Alright. Eyes open and let's move." Turning his attention to the big guards, Blastback Davies didn't let his own hands stray far from his robes.

The walk through the city was a dour one for all but the Storm Guards. Aileek was reminded again and again that her people were literally at war and had no allies. But the creatures walking with her were new, and they'd promised her safety. 

House after house they passed reinforced one thing in Blastback's mind—these creatures with him weren't waging a war, they were oppressing a populace. Ransacked homes with their goods dragged out onto the street, and in one case a looting-in-progress sickened him, but still they marched on. 

Ahead was the oddest thing the soldiers had ever seen. Dark and malevolent, the flying machine looked a cross between an ocean-going ship and a dirigible. Blastback's eyes narrowed and he looked over it to attempt to work out how to bring it down or operate it, as may be needed.

The Storm Guards took them almost to the shadow of the ship, and finally Blastback saw two differently attired—though still in the dark and edgy style—creatures. One looked somewhat like a larger version of the other Storm Guard, though at half again their height, that was more than intimidating enough to put his teeth on edge. The other was a feline creature like Aileek. "That someone you know?"

Aileek looked through the gap in the soldiers around her and spotted her cousin. "Eshe. He always had a thing for power, but wasn't born well enough to be given any naturally, and was too stupid to have any given to him for longer than it took him to misuse it."

"Right. Leave the talking to me. Don't say a word. Got it?"

It was hard for Aileek to swallow her pride further, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Lord Eshe! We have captured the rogue Aileek. These foreigners insisted on bringing her to you." The Storm Guard's voice was gravely and it drew to a stop once the Abyssinian it was addressing turned toward them.

Looking at the strange creatures, Eshe clenched his jaw at the sight of his cousin in the middle of them. "Thank you for picking up our trash for us. If you'll just pass her over, you'll be paid well." He couldn't actually remember hiring bounty hunters to track her, but the fact they were here was enough for him to be willing to fork over a little gold. Besides, it was just gold he was taking from the city.

"Of course, of course. But you know how it is with paperwork." Blastback reached a hand into his robe and snapped his fingers while focusing on what he wanted. A clipboard and papers appeared in his hand. "Now, if you'll just agree to taking care of her and that no harm will come to her—"

Eshe's fur spiked up under the dark uniform he wore and he stomped toward the creatures holding his cousin. "What? Who are you to give me terms like that? She is a prisoner of the Storm King, and as his representative here, I get to say what happens to her!" 

Narrowing his eyes, Blastback looked down from Eshe's feline face, over the ill-fitting uniform he wore, all the way down to his foot-paws, then back up slowly to take in the whole ensemble. "Funny. Our contract is with the Storm King, and you don't look much like him. All you have to do is sign here, saying you won't kill her, and I can go get my next assignment. What you do with her after we're gone is your own business. Got it?"

It was exactly what Eshe thought, or so he told himself. These were mercenaries of the Storm King, and they had paperwork to fill out just as he had a country to subjugate and take over. "Of course! After you go all manner of things could happen to her. It wouldn't be your fault, not once I'd signed this little piece of paper for you." 

"Can you believe she tried to tell us that she's a princess? Thirty-second in line to rule or something wild like that. A little troublemaker's what we'd call her back home." Blastback knew his papers wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny and wanted to make sure of Eshe's intentions before things got rough.

"She is, but not for much longer. She's been causing problems for—" Eshe reached a paw out to grab the clipboard when Blastback tilted something under his robe and pointed what looked—to Eshe—like a long metal stick with handles on it. "What's this?"

The Storm Guards, more used to strange weapons than Eshe, tensed and readied their spears. "It's a trick!"

"Whoa! Hold ya horses, mates." Blastback held the assault rifle's barrel firmly against Eshe's side, one hand ready to fire, the other grabbing the feline's arm. "There's been some kind of misunderstanding. You see, we just came for our ship."

Firelight and her squad knew how to follow their boss' lead. Half drew guns, half drew wands, and Firelight drew both. A pistol in one hand and a wand in the other, she turned her back slightly to be facing away from Aileek.

Eshe was trembling. He looked around the Storm Guards, but none seemed interested in saving him. "Y-Y-Your ship? That's not your ship, that's—"

"My ship. We'll just head up and send you back down when we're aboard. Got it?" Prodding Eshe with the barrel of his gun, Blastback nodded toward a nearby tower that seemed to reach up to the side of the ship. "That's how we get up, right?"

Not brave in the slightest, Eshe panicked, freaked out, and then fainted. 

Seeing their leader fall, the Storm Guards charged for the little group of wizards. The loud, sharp snapping noise didn't stop them, though what caused it brought two to the ground quickly. 

"Kurukadia! Mumba!" Junebug Banning gestured forward with her wand and summoned two huge lizards between the squad and the Storm Guard.

"June, you bloody genius. Come on, let's move. How long will your boys last there?" Firelight sheathed her wand and grabbed Aileek's arm as she started after Blastback. She watched as Daku and Defthands moved up on Blastback's flanks, raising their rifles to their shoulders.

"They'll last a good bit longer if Dak can throw something—" For a second Junebug was distracted by a flash of bright light from her wand hand. "Or some smoke."

"Got your smoke." Rentari reached into his robe and pulled out a pair of smoke grenades. He handed one to Junebug, then pulled the pin and tossed the other. Junebug passed him the same one back, and he pulled its pin and tossed it just wide of the first.

Aileek was almost too stunned by the show of force to move. If it hadn't been for Firelight grabbing her, she'd be in the middle of the smoke still. "W-Where are we—? The airship?"

"That's the commander's call. You know how to fly that thing?" Firelight kept one eye on Blastback and one scanning her flank. "Because we're about to need a crash-course in flying it, unless the crew is friendly."

"It—It's easy, really. They have a magic furnace that provides a steady flow of magic. It will keep the ship functioning, but you'll want someone driving it." Aileek hadn't flown a skyship for more than an hour with her brothers, but that seemed to be an hour more than her companions. 

"Congratulations, Aileek, you're now our pilot. When we get up there, you're to get that thing moving as fast as you can away from here. If you need us to cut, blast, or do , you shout at us, got it?" Letting go of Aileek, Firelight lifted her pistol in both hands and fired at the Storm Guard that she'd seen coming up an alleyway. "Keep moving!"

The run to the tower was without further incident, not that the wizards and witches let their guards down for a second. Ascending the gantry to the top, they found the ship deserted. 

"Aileek! Tell us what we need to do to get moving!" Firelight looked to her commander and got a nod from him. "Rentari, drop something down that tower that will make sure no one follows us."

Running to the helm, Aileek looked at the controls. A large lever beside the wheel had various speed indicators on it, while a second one had a locking handle. The wheel itself seemed easily worked out. "Okay, cut any ropes tying us down and hold onto something."





"Hold onto somefing!" Stanley Shunpike grabbed one of the straps hanging from the handrail and let his body go deliberately limp. His guests—their final fare on Earth—were seated when the bus lurched forward with an instant momentum that should have resulted in near infinite g-force.

Earnest Prang focused on shifting through the gears of the bus. He'd never gotten above seventh before he'd reached a destination, but with the sound of dragons on the air, he was swiftly moving the old bus' gearbox through eighth and into ninth in no time. 

Having felt each of the bus' lurches as Earnest shifted gears, Stanley lurched toward the front of the bus like a drunk man, though his movements were perfect reactions to the Knight Bus' own adjustments to reality. "Hey, Ern, why we in such a 'urry?"

"Can't you hear that, Stan?" Ernest shuddered at the sound of the storm raging outside. "That's destiny, and if we're not every bit as fast as we can be"—Ernest shifted the bus into twelfth gear, which was the first gear of high range—"so 'ave our passengers hold on tight."

Biting his lip, Stanley knew what side of the bread his toast was buttered. Ernest was the driver, and that meant driving was not Stanley's job at all. "Right you are then, Ern. We're goin' off, then?"

"Yes, Stan. This is our last fare here. Hold on, we're going cross-country." As he spoke, Ernest hit a button that forced magic to produce a perfectly paved road ahead of the bus and then rip it up again behind it.

"Well, well, well. Take a butcher's at who our passengers are! Looks like three runaways from Azkaban 'n' someone what should be chasin' 'em! 'Ow's the old place?" It was only meant to be a joke. Stanley had spent more than enough time in Azkaban to know how it would destroy someone, and none of the four before him looked destroyed—except maybe the house-elf. 

"Shut it, Turnpike!" Alastor Moody had had enough of Stanley's accusations. "And if you must know, Azkaban will be no more by morning." Turning to where Sirius Black sat, Alastor saw true excitement and softness in the hard man's expression. "Are ya okay, lad?"

Sirius looked at Alastor and for a moment felt the darkness of the prison hit him before his recent freedom shoved it aside again. "It almost seems like a nightmare. My time in that hole will never be repaid, but I can make up for it. I need to find Harry Potter—"

"'Arry Potter?" Stanley shook and swayed in place like a wet sheet in the wind. "What you mean? Oh, Ern said we're leavin'. If you ain't planned onna trip to another world, you'd best be shoving off sometime before we get there."