A Passing of the Torch

Gellert slammed his fist on top of his desk, the morning headlines angering, and filling him with concern. Had he known the Russians would react in such a manner, he would have taken an alternative approach in dealing with Federov.

What choices he had, he knew not, but anything was better than the result achieved.

Not only had he failed to retrieve the documents he needed, but he'd also managed to provoke the ire of the one nation he was currently avoiding.

Of course, he intended to seize Russia as he had those that had fallen under his control, but not until he was ready to do so.

"Damn!" he cursed irritably.

If Minister Sokolov was a man of his word, all Gellert had achieved from his recent efforts was creating further enemies for himself and his men.

"Where's Weber?" he asked a nervous Perseus Black.

"I have sent for him," Perseus assured him. "He should arrive shortly."

Gellert took a calming breath, his gaze sweeping over the various newspapers that had been placed in front of him only a moment ago.

"This was not the desired outcome, not yet at least," he muttered.

"We can manage it," Perseus replied confidently. "The ICW forces have already proven themselves inept in combatting us. The Russians will not do any better."

"And what if they form an alliance?" Gellert snorted. "Our numbers advantage will no longer stand."

"Perhaps at first," Perseus conceded, "but we have more men joining us daily, Gellert. It is not an advantage that will be lost for long."

"Let us hope you're right," Gellert sighed. "The Russians are not the ICW. They play by their own rules and should not be taken lightly."

"We will not underestimate them," Perseus comforted. "Look at what we have done in such a short amount of time," he urged, gesturing to the map that adorned the wall.

Gellert nodded proudly.

"You're right, of course," he praised. "I do not like unexpected developments, my dear boy. It is something we could do without, particularly when they do not favour us. Ah, Weber, how nice of you to join us. Have you seen the wonderful headlines today?"

Weber scowled as he perused the various offerings, grunting unhappily.

"The Russians are unpredictable," he declared. "They always have been."

"It is your job to ensure we are prepared for all eventualities!" Gellert snapped, sweeping the newspapers off his desk.

The German was unmoved by the outburst and removed a cigarette from a gold tin before lighting it calmly.

"I do not believe I have failed you yet, have I?"

"You have not," Gellert conceded.

Weber exhaled a thick cloud of smoke as he nodded.

"The Russians are unpredictable," he reiterated. "Despite your misgivings, I considered that they may react this way."

"And what have you done about it?" Gellert pressed.

"It has taken much effort on my part, but I have found Mr Sato."

"You found him?" Gellert whispered excitedly as he stood. "Well, where is he?"

"That is the problem," Weber sighed. "He is in France. The country has been locked down to all visitors since Abreo was made Supreme Mugwump."

"Then how did you get in?"

"I didn't," Weber muttered. "I have sources in high places, not high enough to get us in, but people important enough to have access to information."

"So, we must take France," Gellert decided.

Weber nodded.

"But not yet," he urged cautiously. "Attacking France will incur the wrath of the entire ICW, and with the Russians joining them, the casualties would be great."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We wait," Weber answered simply. "We must have more men, and we must plan for all possibilities. If we do not, all could be lost."

Gellert hummed.

Waiting was not a problem.

His men had been working tirelessly these last months and a rest would serve them well. Of course, he would need to keep a presence in the countries he had liberated, but that could be done on a rotational basis.

"Okay," he agreed, "but where will we get these additional men?"

"If you allow young Perseus to join me, I will take him to lands where I have heard whispers of those that support your cause. All I would need is as many portkeys as you can provide."

Gellert nodded.

More men would be needed, if not now, in the future.

"Pack your bags, Perseus," he instructed.

"What about the men?"

"I'm sure Cassie and Hans can manage in your absence," Gellert assured him.

"Is she not looking after my father?" Perseus asked.

Gellert had all but forgotten about the state of the current Lord Black.

Despite the best efforts of the healers, the man's condition was continuing to deteriorate.

For the most part, Orion Black spent most of his time living in the past, rambling about his dead wife, and raving about how proud he was of his children. Perseus had taken exception to his father evidently favouring Arcturus over him.

'Now Arcturus is a real Black,' the man had commented to all that would listen to his madness.

Gellert couldn't be certain if he meant to slight his older son, but Orion Black had done himself no favours.

Only Cassiopeia would deign him with her presence for any period of time, and though she hadn't voiced it, seeing her father's decline was upsetting the woman.

"Then I will take it upon myself to train them," Gellert declared. "Worry not, Perseus, you will resume your position when you return."

Perseus nodded gratefully.

"Then I will pack," he announced, taking his leave of the room.

"You are certain of this?" Gellert questioned Weber.

"I am," the German said assuredly. "When we return, you will have more men."

"Enough to fight off the Russians?"

"Enough that we will add more men at a later date by freeing Sato. The Japanese will be a powerful ally."

"That they will," Gellert mused aloud, shooting a final glance at the newspapers before engulfing them in fire. "They will indeed."

(Break)

Excited whispers filled the Great Hall with students who had invested little time in wizarding history asking after the significance of the headline in the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

The Russians are coming!

A poor choice of wording in Minerva's opinion.

The Russians had not shared good relations with many throughout the previous dozen or so decades, and the headline implied that they had perhaps sided with Grindelwald.

Minerva had believed so, as had many other staff members.

It wasn't until Albus had explained that the article was informing them of an unexpected alliance between the International Confederation of Warlocks and Russia that those within the castle realised that the headline was a positive one.

The students certainly seemed to be reinvigorated by the news, especially those who had fathers, uncles, and brothers on the continent.

"What does this really mean, Albus?" Minerva asked.

The transfiguration professor offered her a sad smile.

"It merely means that the conflict is growing, my dear," he sighed. "The Russians may have joined the ICW, but Gellert will have contingency plans in place. I wish it were good news. Alas, it just means that more will die until the war is concluded."

It was a sobering thought and not one that filled Minerva with the same relief she saw amongst the students as they ate their breakfast.

Unable to look upon the naïve teens, she focused on her mentor.

Albus was tired, his expression uncharacteristically filled with guilt.

Having learned what she had from Harry about his relationship with Grindelwald, it was hardly surprising, and though she understood why Albus felt he couldn't act against him, it frustrated Minerva to no end.

She looked up to her mentor, admired him for his ability in transfiguration and for the man she had always believed him to be, but knowing he remained idle, that he could read of the horrors of what was occurring on the continent and still refuse to offer his aide did not sit right with her.

It made Minerva look at him in a way she wouldn't have believed possible only a year or so ago.

She was disappointed, and more than a little hurt.

Harry was doing what Albus should be, and Minerva could not help but think her mentor a coward.

"I can barely look at myself some days," Albus said almost reassuringly, catching her gaze with his own.

With a final smile, he left the hall, and Minerva could only shake her head.

As frustrated and hurt as she was, she knew that Albus wasn't a bad person. He would not wish harm on any if he could prevent it, but it seemed that Grindelwald, for reasons known only to Albus, was his crux.

Minerva released a deep breath.

In a way, she could understand it more than she had first thought.

If Grindelwald was Albus's crux, then Harry was certainly hers.

She couldn't begin to fathom what it would take for her to feel strongly enough against him that she would bring herself to cause him harm.

She cared for him more than she did any other, and though he was likely still angry with her, she didn't care.

She wanted to see him, if only to apologise, even if she did feel she was in the right.

It didn't matter to her, and never did really.

Minerva missed her friend, and if the unspeakable were to happen and Harry was to be killed in the pursuit of doing what was right, she couldn't be certain if she could ever carry the burden of him believing she'd chosen Tom Riddle over him in any capacity.

(Break)

"With the unfortunate demise of Mr Federov, we must now decide who will be his replacement," Monsieur Abreo announced, the man having been nominated to the position of Supreme Mugwump shortly after filling in for the now incarcerated Sato.

To Harry, the Frenchman was as good as any to chair the ICW meetings.

At the very least, he had proven himself supportive of the efforts to combat Grindelwald, even if it hadn't changed Harry's mind in how he felt towards the ICW as a whole.

"We have discussed the appointment amongst ourselves, but we would like to offer you the opportunity to put forward any names for consideration that you believe should accept the post," Abreo continued.

Harry noticed his gaze sweep over him, and he cursed internally.

"It should be Ghost," a voice Harry recognised as belonging to the dark-skinned man he had met the night Ivan was murdered. "He is the longest serving Hit-Wizard and most of us know him well enough to trust him with our lives. I don't think anyone here would object."

If any did, none spoke their thoughts.

Ghost's team made up six of the remaining thirty-eight Hit-Wizards. It wasn't the biggest group, but the most reputable among them.

"Then we shall take Ghost into account," Abreo acknowledged, making a note on a sheet of parchment in front of him. "Any others?"

"What about The Serpent?" the Portuguese representative questioned. "He has done more than any in the fight against Grindelwald."

"And his capture rate is astounding," the Irish representative added.

Harry received his fair share of agreement from many others, but another spoke before he could.

"He is inexperienced!" a heated, feminine voice protested.

The tone irritated Harry, and the Supreme Mugwump leaned back in his chair as he stared at the woman.

"You are a part of Ghost's team?"

The woman nodded.

"Your name?"

"They call me Fox," the woman answered.

"Well, Fox, could you inform myself and my colleagues how many wanted criminals your team has captured in the past two years?"

Fox looked towards Ghost who shook his head disapprovingly at her.

"Eight," he answered on her behalf.

"Quite impressive," the Supreme Mugwump praised. "Serpent, how many have you captured."

"I don't see how that is relevant," Harry sighed.

"Come, now is not the time for modesty," Abreo urged. "How many?"

Harry knew the man wouldn't let it drop, and that this wasn't about anything more than putting Fox in her place.

He'd rather not play the political games that happened in places like this, and he didn't appreciate being put in the middle of one.

"Twenty-four," he answered.

Harry could feel the eyes of the other Hit-Wizards burning into the side of his head before they roamed over him as if they were looking for something that set him apart from them.

"Twenty-four," Abreo echoed, "and you did this alone?"

"Yes, but I'm not interested in the job," Harry huffed. "I like doing what I do now. So, thank you for the vote of confidence, but no thank you."

Abreo scrutinised him for a moment whilst the other representatives whispered amongst themselves.

They had expected him to jump at the chance to take over from Ivan, but Harry had no intention of doing so.

Being a Hit-Wizard was not easy, but it was what he had come to know, at what he was good.

"Then if there are no others, then the position shall be offered to Ghost," Abreo announced. "Do you accept?"

"I do," Ghost replied immediately.

Abreo nodded as he scratched away with his quill once more, rolling it up and sealing it with a tap of his wand.

"In normal circumstances, you would be given all the relevant paperwork that pertains to your job, but it has not yet been found. I am hoping that the required files will make themselves known to you in due course."

They wouldn't, and Harry would not be sharing the knowledge that the files were in his possession.

He had met Ghost on only a few occasions, and though the man had given him no reason to distrust him, Harry did so as a rule, a lesson learned from Barty Crouch Jr in his fourth year at Hogwarts.

"I'm sure they will be returned," Ghost returned with a bow.

Abreo hummed, though he didn't comment further.

"Whilst you are here, we would appreciate it if you could remain behind for the next proceedings to take place," he requested. "The Russian Minister of Magic will be arriving shortly to discuss a potential alliance with us. Our relationship with the country has been quite volatile in the past. I would rather that things did not deteriorate again. It will serve neither us nor them to be at odds with one another now."

"We will stay," Ghost replied. "If we are to win this war, we will need all the help we can get."

Abreo nodded gratefully as the door opened and one of the white-robed guards of the ICW headquarters entered. He said nothing, merely nodding towards the Supreme Mugwump who sat a little straighter in his chair.

"Send him in."

"And his escorts?" the guard asked. "He has six men with him."

"They may enter," Abreo decided after a moment. "They are significantly outnumbered," he explained, gesturing to the gathered Hit-Wizards.

With another nod, the guard vanished and returned only a moment later, his expression one of caution as he was followed in by seven men, six garbed in red robes trimmed with white who surrounded the man Harry had witnessed at Ivan's funeral giving a speech.

Up close, the Russian Minister of Magic appeared much larger than he had previously, his large arms, rugged frame and intense blue eyes giving him the air of one that should not be crossed.

"Minister Sokolov," Abreo greeted him.

The Russian offered a slight inclination of his head.

"Da," he replied. "You are the Supreme Mugwump?"

"I am," Abreo confirmed. "Please, feel free to take a seat."

"That would be much appreciated," Sokolov replied, moving to a section in the stands that had been kept aside for their guests. "I have had little time for sitting these past days. As you can understand, I have been very busy."

"As have we all," Abreo sighed. "You have our condolences for the death of Mr Federov."

Sokolov grunted.

"It is not condolences the people of Russia seek. We will only be satisfied when Grindelwald is strung up by his guts for what he has done," he declared. "We are not fools. We have seen what he has been doing and to go against him alone would be inadvisable. That is why I am here."

"And we are pleased to have you," Abreo assured him. "I will not pretend that he is not causing us problems."

"Then let us discuss what we can do for one another," Sokolov urged. "Our politics are different, but we have one enemy. The people of Russia are keen to spill their blood. I have one thousand fighting men preparing to be dispatched as we speak, and we are willing to work with yours under certain conditions."

"Name them," Abreo insisted, ignoring the unhappy muttering of his peers.

"My men have their own commander. They will not fall under the command of the ICW, but they are willing to fight beside you. The commander of my forces is happy to meet with your own where they will strategize for battles, decide on roles and positioning, but that is all."

Abreo nodded thoughtfully.

"Does anyone have any objections to Minister Sokolov's terms thus far?"

When none spoke, the Russian continued.

"The priority of my men will always be the defence of our home. If they are required to leave where they are stationed to protect Russia, they will do so. I will not have the men and women of my home vulnerable in the defence of others that would not help us if our positions were switched."

"That is fair, but if you are to be an ally of ours, we would not leave you alone to defend your home. If our forces are needed, they will be there," Abreo assured him.

Sokolov hummed.

"That remains to be seen," he muttered, "but for now, they are our terms."

"And amiable ones they are," Doge declared. "I for one am pleased for the alliance, for as long as it may last."

Sokolov nodded appreciatively.

"Then allow me to introduce you to our commander," he requested.

One of the men that had escorted the Russian Minister stepped forward.

He was a middle-aged man, his expression severe but one of confidence.

Harry had become good at identifying those that had been trained to use their wand for combat, and this man was undoubtedly one of them.

"This is my son, Petr. He has been the leader of my personal guard for many years and will serve Russia with the same dedication and loyalty that he has served me."

Sokolov was beaming proudly at the younger man who remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

Abreo offered both a respectful bow as he stood.

"Then let us begin," he suggested. "There is much planning to do, non?"

(Break)

Cassiopeia watched her sleeping father, the man having finally exhausted himself from pacing about his quarters, ranting incoherently about her mother and how he missed her.

He'd never shown it.

When the Lady Black had died, Orion had not mourned, nor barely acknowledged that his wife was no longer with them.

These past months, however, it was often that the man would become inconsolable when he was reminded of her passing.

It was painful for Cassiopeia to watch, but she could not help but think her father had brought whatever condition he was suffering with on himself.

Still, she wouldn't see him suffer alone.

More than her siblings, she remembered the man that had raised her along with her mother, the man that would tell them all stories in his study, using his wand to create awe-inspiring light shows and make dramatic sounds.

That man was long gone.

Cassiopeia believed that when her mother died, the part of her father that doted on his children went with her. He became reclusive, ill-tempered, and had seemingly held in all the agony and sadness he'd felt.

The healer believed this was why he had become so unwell, all in the name of not losing face, even with his children.

"How is he?" the voice of Perseus broke into her thoughts.

Cassie shook her head.

"Not well," she sighed. "He was lucid for a while earlier, but it didn't last."

Perseus nodded grimly.

It was no secret that in his moments of madness Orion took to speaking about Arcturus, and Perseus had taken what their father had said to heart.

Oddly, the one child he hadn't mentioned was Dorea, the sibling that mostly resembled their mother in look and how she acted.

Dorea had been a sweet girl, probably still was for all Cassiopeia knew, but it was as though she didn't exist in their father's eyes.

It was as though he had blocked out her existence because she reminded him so much of his late wife who Cassiopeia now believed he loved dearly.

"I'm being sent away for a while," Perseus announced. "Gellert wants me to go with Weber and recruit some more men."

"And what about me?"

"You're going to stay here and keep an eye on him," Perseus explained, nodding towards the prone form of the Lord Black.

Cassiopeia wasn't displeased by the revelation.

It gave her time to watch over her father when the healers were absent with enough left that she could continue with her own training.

Her defeat to Harry Evans plagued her, and she would not experience such a loss again.

Not that she wanted to think back to that night for now. It only served to stoke her already fiery temper.

"I was thinking of trying to get Arcturus and Dorea to visit him," Cassiopeia announced.

Perseus stiffened at the declaration.

"I don't know what good it would do, but they should see him, even if it is only one more time."

"Good luck with that," Perseus muttered bitterly. "If you can get near Archie without being called a traitorous bastard, it will be a miracle."

Cassiopeia snorted.

"Archie feels like we abandoned him," she pointed out. "He always was vengeful."

Perseus grunted.

"I don't think Gellert will like it."

"He will allow it," Cassie countered. "Arcturus isn't one of those that is fighting us. I will speak to him."

Perseus merely shook his head, evidently displeased by her decision.

"Then I will leave you to that," he replied. "I just came to let you know that I'll be away for a while."

"How long?"

Perseus shrugged.

"I don't know, but not for too long, I hope."

Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.

It never was easy to grasp how long something would take until Gellert was satisfied.

"The I will see you when you're back."

Perseus said nothing but offered her a nod and took a final look at their father before taking his leave.

For a grown man, the elder of her brothers was rather bitter and childish, and Cassiopeia could understand why their father spoke highly of Arcturus.

The younger brother was a Black through and through; strong-willed, determined, and ruthless, all with the benefit of a brilliant mind.

Perseus shared some of those traits, but he was weak in comparison to Arcturus.

The young Perseus Black had been easily manipulated by Cassiopeia, convinced to join her on her venture here, and without question.

She had merely told him what he should believe, and he had packed his bags and followed her like a sheep.

Arcturus hadn't.

Despite knowing it would create a rift between him and the rest of the family, he had been steadfast in his belief, unwavering, and were he to live through the war, he would be an excellent Lord Black.

With a sigh, Cassiopeia kissed her father on the cheek and left him to rest.

He would be asleep for hours yet and remaining within his quarters, allowing her own mind to stew over all that had happened and what was yet to come, would only frustrate her.

No, her efforts were better spent preparing for the next time she met Harry Evans, and if she decided to follow through with her plans to pay a final visit to her brother and sister back in Britain, that meeting may come sooner rather than later.

(Break)

Having spent most of the past months away from Britain, there was much that Harry had missed. When he'd finally returned home after his summons to the ICW chambers to discuss how the war would progress with the involvement of the Russians, it was to a large stack of unopened mail.

There were letters from the Potters, from Augusta, Poppy, and even Tiberius informing Harry of his upcoming nuptials, but one had certainly piqued his curiosity.

It had arrived attached to a distinct package, the note brief but filling him with excitement.

Out of the fifty we have made, you should have the first.

Within the wrapping of the parcel was a broom, one in a much older style than Harry was used to flying but the dark wood had been polished to the highest standard, the gold lettering gleaming in contrast.

Nimbus 100

Harry had known this investment would be worthwhile, but he hadn't been prepared for the nostalgia that filled him.

He remembered when he'd received his Nimbus 2000 during his first year of Hogwarts, and this felt no less special, so much so that he'd been compelled to venture to Diagon Alley to see for himself the display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

It brought what had become a rare smile to his lips, and for the first time in as long as he cared to remember, it felt as though something was right with the world, that where he had come from was still on the horizon.

"Thinking of buying one?" a voice broke into his thoughts.

Harry turned to see Charlus Potter staring appreciatively at the broom and he shook his head.

"I already have one," he replied.

Charlus snorted.

"Why am I under the impression that this is one of the companies you invested in?"

"Because it is," Harry confirmed. "I own 49% of it."

Charlus chuckled and slapped Harry playfully on the shoulder.

"Of course you do," he said amusedly.

The two remained silent for a moment as they continued staring in the window, though neither of them was focusing on the broom.

"I just wanted to thank you, Harry," Charlus offered sincerely. "Dad said that if it wasn't for you, well, you know."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"I did what was needed," he explained.

"You did," Charlus agreed, "and because of you, he came home. Mum still wants to kick you arse, but that's just her way of coping with this. You should visit, if only for her to make sure you're alright for herself."

Harry laughed.

"I will," he promised. "With how things are going, I expect it will be quiet for a while. Until I am called in for a meeting with the new head of department, I'm on leave."

"On leave?"

Harry nodded.

"The man who has taken over has his own ideas of how he wants things to work. I expect that he has been considering it for years, and with his own team behind him, I don't know what will happen."

"Sounds ominous."

"It is," Harry sighed, "but it's not my concern. I'm just glad to be home for now."

"So, you'll be at Ogden's wedding?"

"I wouldn't miss that," Harry chuckled. "I'm just surprised the git found someone who can put up with him."

"Me too," Charlus concurred. "Anyway, I need to head to Hogwarts. Dumbledore wants to assess me on carbon-based transfiguration. Answer your letters, Harry. There's a lot of people worried about you, especially a certain Scot."

"Minerva?"

Charlus nodded.

"She's not been herself much recently. I don't know what is up with her, but if anyone can fix it, it's you."

With a final pat on the shoulder, Charlus headed towards the apparation point, leaving a confused Harry in his wake.

What was wrong with Minerva?

Following in Charlus's footsteps, Harry returned home and to where he'd left his stack of letters.

Sorting through it twice, there was not a single missive from Minerva to be found and it concerned Harry deeply.

She'd never failed to write to him whilst he was away, even if it was to provide him with a rundown of what was happening at Hogwarts.

The last time they'd seen each other had not ended on the best of terms, but Harry hadn't expected to be shut out.

Had she decided she no longer wished to speak with him having seen his temper for herself? What must she think of him now?

With a shake of his head, he decided he would get to the bottom of it, but he needed to shower first.

Being a wizard, he was never deprived of being hygienic but there was nothing that could beat a long shower.

Not even the best cleaning charms could match the feeling of scrubbing yourself in a cascade of hot water.

When he was done, he dressed.

It was early evening and lessons at Hogwarts had finished for the day, and with that in mind, Harry headed towards the front door, only to pause when someone rung the bell.

With a frown, he drew his wand.

People didn't visit, not without an invitation from him. Even the villagers were unable to do so.

This was his place of escape, and he had cast charms here to ensure he was not disturbed.

The bell rung again, and Harry peered through the spyhole he'd installed on the front door, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw who it was.

"Minerva?" he asked as he opened it, surprised by her appearance. "I was just coming to find you."

"Were you?" the woman asked, seemingly relieved but somehow not believing him too.

Harry nodded as he gestured for her to enter.

When she did so, he closed the door and the two of them simply stared at one another for a moment before Minerva spoke.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered.

"You're sorry?" Harry asked confusedly.

Minerva nodded.

"I shouldn't have tried to stop you, I should have…."

Harry cut her off by pulling the woman into his arms.

"If you hadn't have stopped me, your career would be over and I'd be rotting in Azkaban," he pointed out. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, but when it comes to him, I can't help it. I will kill him one day, but I will not ruin my life to do it."

Minerva swallowed deeply.

"You will, won't you?"

"Kill him? If it is the last thing I do," Harry said firmly.

Minerva looked at him sadly.

"I wish you didn't have to," she murmured. "I wish that you didn't have to do any of this."

"Someone has to," Harry replied with a shrug. "If no one fights back, Grindelwald has won, and then Tom will win too."

"I know, Harry, but I'm allowed to wish it was someone else, aren't I?"

Harry nodded.

"I haven't really thought about how this is affecting you," he said apologetically.

"Most days I can cope with it, but there's others where I struggle," Minerva explained. "I'm terrified that someone from the Ministry will arrive and tell me that you're dead, or that you'll disappear, and no one will know what has happened to you. It's hard, Harry," she choked. "It's hard for me to know you the way I do and think of you out there doing what you are."

"I know," Harry comforted. "I can't make any promises, but I'm still here. With all the things I have faced, I should be dead several times over, but I'm not. If there's one thing I am good at, it's surviving against the odds."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Minerva huffed, though a ghost of a smirk formed.

"It's the best I can do."

"I know," Minerva sighed. "It won't stop me worrying about you. I just don't want you to get hurt or end up in Azkaban. I'd never choose him over you, Harry. I know what he did and what he will become. I couldn't let you throw everything away for him."

"Then it was a good job you stopped me," Harry pointed out. "I would have killed him. It's me that should be sorry. I didn't want you to see that side to me."

"It's not like I can't pretend it doesn't exist, Harry," Minerva replied evenly. "You're the sweetest and most caring man I know, but if you didn't have that other side to you, you wouldn't be alive now."

"That doesn't mean you have to like it."

"It is who you are," Minerva shrugged, "or what the world has turned you into. Do you think you would be doing what you do if it wasn't for everything else that's happened to you?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully before shaking his head.

"No, I'd probably be playing Quidditch, or I'd be an auror."

"Or a professor."

"A professor?"

"I think you'd be good at that, and I think you have a lot to teach."

"True, but then I'd have to put up with moaning teenagers all day. I did that enough whilst I was at Hogwarts myself."

"If I remember correctly, you moaned more than anyone else."

"I did not," Harry denied. "Ogden moaned more than me."

Minerva conceded the point with an amused nod.

"Will you be here for the wedding?"

"I will," Harry confirmed. "I'll be here for a while whilst the department undergoes whatever changes will be put in place."

"They chose a replacement."

"Another Hit-Wizard," Harry explained. "He's been at it for a long time as far as I can tell."

"But?" Minerva pressed.

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "He seems competent enough, but why did Ivan not bring him and his team in on the work we were doing?"

"Maybe he had his reservations?"

"I don't think Ivan fully trusted him. He said more than once I was the only one he knew for certain wasn't leaking information."

"Then you should be careful," Minerva urged. "If he's not trustworthy…"

"There's not much he can do," Harry broke in. "Ivan left all the important files to me in his will, not that anyone else knows that."

"So, his replacement won't even know who any of the working under him are?"

"Other than their operational name. I think it is for the best that it is kept that way, just in case."

"I agree," Minerva replied. "Do you think he is working for Grindelwald?"

Harry shook his head.

"I don't think so, but I don't know him."

Minerva released a drawn-out breath.

"Nothing can ever be easy for you, can it?"

"No," Harry snorted. "Tea?"

Minerva nodded gratefully and followed Harry through to the kitchen.

"Well, haven't you grown!"

Theseus barked excitedly at seeing the woman as he bounced across the width of his purse.

"I knew you would be handsome," Minerva cooed, running her fingers through his feathers. "Is he spoiling you?"

Harry could only shake his head, eliciting a glare from the Scot as he grinned.

He wouldn't say Theseus was spoiled, but he never went without. Nonetheless, it didn't prevent Minerva from giving him a treat from his jar.

Harry didn't know if it was because Minerva had been the one to purchase him, but Theseus had always liked her more than he did others, and he was certainly much gentler when accepting food from her.

"The perfect gentleman," the woman declared, and the owl preened under the affection.

"He's not this nice to anyone else," Harry explained. "Ogden seems to think Theseus purposely tries to bite his fingers off."

"Tiberius is dramatic," Minerva said dismissively before adopting a look of shyness. "Will you be taking me to the wedding?"

As reservedly as she'd asked, she was still very much the blunt woman Harry had come to admire.

"Only if you'd like me to."

Minerva nodded, smiling warmly for the first time since she'd arrived.

This was an improvement that Harry was grateful for, and though there was a part of him that wished he'd managed to kill Tom, perhaps it had been for the best that he hadn't.

'Or perhaps not,' he muttered internally.

With what Tom could become, he didn't revel in leaving anything to chance with the boy.

Not that he thought Minerva or Armando would let him down. Both were watching Tom closely, but Harry knew they could never do so closely enough.

Tom Riddle would find an avenue to reach his destination.

The one thing Harry had learned about his nemesis over the years was that Lord Voldemort always found a way, and no matter what Harry nor anyone else did, that would never change.

For now, however, Harry once more shifted his attention to the pressing matter of Grindelwald.

If there was to be a hiatus in the fighting as he suspected, it served no purpose other than to allow the muggles time to finish their own preparations for war, something he could do little to prevent.

Still, just because Ghost wanted to rethink things, it didn't mean Harry had to be idle, did it?