Death to Fall

The memory of what happened in the cave still brought a feeling of euphoria to Tom and writing of it in his diary meant that he could relive it at his leisure. Benson and Bishop had screamed at the lightest of touches, his magic leaving no marks, but proving to be quite agonising for the muggles.

Hearing their pleading and the throes of their anguish reverberating off the jagged stone walls filled Tom with joy and seeing them stare at him so fearfully was perhaps the most thrilling thing he had ever experienced.

It proved to be the highlight of his summer so far, that and purchasing the diary.

He ran his fingers over the gold, embossed lettering over the quite lavish leather binding.

It truly was an excellent artefact.

He had no gold to his name, but he had obtained it from Borgin and Burkes using the pittance Hogwarts provided for him to buy his books for the school year.

Tom had no need of them.

He was far enough into his subjects that he was all but teaching himself now. He was certainly beyond the fourth-year material he would be studying.

Besides, if he had need of a text to refer to, it wouldn't be difficult to obtain one from one of his housemates.

He watched in fascination as the ink he had just scratched into a page was absorbed into the parchment.

To any that had not studied such things, they would never know what this diary was.

It was not just a book.

No, it was so much more.

Mr Burke had assured him that the more he wrote in it, the more magic it would absorb, and the more it would become a part of its owner.

To Tom who'd never had need of friends, this would be perfect.

If he could put enough of his magic into the diary, it could perhaps even become his own confidant, something he could use not only to relive his favourite memories through, but one that would start to think like him.

He smirked at the thought.

Mr Burke had no idea what he was talking about when he mentioned its limitations.

If the diary didn't work how Tom wished it to, he would find a way to make it.

There wasn't a magical problem he had encountered yet that he had failed to overcome, and it would not be an enchanted book that would see him falter.

(Break)

Dawn had broken some time ago, and Evans and Potter had yet to return from their excursion. Gabriel had given them three days, but that did not stop him feeling concerned.

William Potter would already be turning in his grave at the thought of his boy on the frontlines, now, he would be spinning like a top.

What Gabriel had been thinking letting the pair of them go, he didn't know, but he had, and he would have to manage the fallout.

"Insane buggers," he muttered to himself.

Breaking into a wizarding prison was just about the stupidest thing anyone could do, especially when so little was known about the protections.

Gabriel shook his head.

It would be a miracle if he saw either of them again.

Still, they had been gone less than a day, and Evans seemed to have a knack for performing feats most would deem impossible.

Perhaps his luck would continue?

Until he knew for certain the outcome, he would remain hopeful, and busy himself with his and their duties in their absence.

They had been putting their efforts into training the rest of the group, something Gabriel was very much behind.

Most of the men certainly needed it, and there was much they could learn from him.

"Alright you lazy sacks, off your arses and in the back field with you," he instructed as he came upon them brewing coffee in one of the lookout posts in the trench.

"Now?" Gilbert groaned. "We were just about to pour it. Do you want one?"

Gabriel eyed the men before releasing a deep breath and taking a seat on an empty box of uniforms.

"Aye, all right, but make it quick. I've got to get you lot whipped into shape."

Gilbert grinned as he poured them each a small measure of the dark liquid, adding a dash of whiskey.

"I'll pretend I didn't see that," Gabriel grumbled, accepting his share, and blowing on it.

"Where are Evans and Potter?" Yaxley asked curiously.

"Away for a few days," Gabriel answered.

"A few days?" Gilbert pressed. "That's a bit sudden."

"Something came up, now shut your yaps and get out there. Just because the lads are away, don't think you sods can slack off. I'll kick your arses from here to Grindelwald's lot if you do."

"When will they be back?" Gilbert asked.

Gabriel shrugged.

"Whenever they've finished doing what they need to, why?"

"What if Grindelwald attacks? We'll need them."

"We will manage," Gabriel huffed. "We'll do even better if you know what you're doing. Get moving!"

Gilbert nodded and jogged to catch up with the others.

"IN YOUR THREES!" Gabriel called after them, nodding his approval as they formed up quicker than they had been.

Evans and Potter were doing a respectable job with them thus far, a job Gabriel hoped the duo would be continuing soon enough.

(Break)

Charlus felt himself being shaken roughly awake.

He was cold, his body trembling, and for a moment, he wondered how he found himself in this state; curled up on a rough, damp floor with his head spinning.

"Bloody hell," he groaned as the memories came flooding back, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts. "What was that?"

"Our way in," a sodden Harry choked. "I don't think that was the front door," he added thoughtfully as he gazed around the room they were in.

It was a stone cavern with odd symbols carved into the walls, none of which were familiar to Charlus who had studied ancient runes.

"What was that creature?" he asked.

"I'm guessing that was a Shrake," Harry replied as he inspected the symbols. "The other things were Grindylows, and lots of them."

Charlus snorted at the casual reply, but there were other pressing questions he wanted answering.

"How long was I out?"

Harry shrugged uncertainly.

"A few hours at least," he answered, holding up the wound he'd cut into his own hand. It was no longer bleeding, and a scab had started to form.

They must have been unconscious for some time and were fortunate they had not been discovered here.

Then again, what kind of people would be found in a cave beneath the ocean?

"How did you know the creatures were there? I couldn't see a thing."

"I could feel them," Harry responded, "well, their magic. It's the same as the stones. Magic leaves traces, and they were like a puzzle to create a key. The magic just needed to be slotted together."

"I suppose that makes sense to you," Charlus sighed.

"I've had a lot of practice," Harry chuckled.

"I can see that. What did you do to that big thing?"

"I poisoned it with my blood. That is a long story, and not one we have time for now. I don't know what this room is, but this prison is much older than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"The symbol was an outline of Cesar. He ruled Rome almost two-thousand years ago."

"The prison is that old?"

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe they just used his image as the key," he replied uncertainly, "but I wouldn't dismiss it. The magic here is old, and archaic. The symbols are in Mermish, just as old as the magic I can feel."

"Then where are the Merepeople?"

Harry didn't answer.

Instead, he began running his hands over the symbols with his eyes closed before nodding satisfactorily.

"The protections are strange," he murmured. "They don't prevent people from entering, but are crafted in a way that will keep people in."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Harry agreed, "but at least getting in won't be difficult."

To prove his point, his tapped one of the symbols with his wand and a section of the wall slid away.

"Well, shit!" Harry cursed as the magnitude of what they faced came into view.

They found themselves at the bottom of what appeared to be another cavern, this one filled with clear water and stretching up as far as the eye could see.

This space had been neatly created, the walls smooth and shaped into a large dome.

Carved into uniform rows were more rooms like the one they found themselves in. There were too many to count, but they lined the entirety of the submerged building.

"There are hundreds of them," Charlus huffed. "Are they the cells?"

"They are," Harry confirmed, "and that's not the worst of it. Merepeople aren't the friendliest of creatures in my experience. I doubt they'll be welcoming."

He was pointing in the direction of the odd, human-like creatures that were patrolling the rows of cells, each armed with a trident and wearing a gold helmet.

"What's the plan?" Charlus asked.

Harry released a deep breath as he pondered the conundrum they faced.

"Can you transfigure us to look like them?"

Charlus frowned at the question.

"I think I could manage it," he mused aloud, "but it won't be perfect. It could be really dangerous. There are many reasons why we don't mess with human to magical creature transformations. They don't tend to end well."

"But you can do it?"

"On an aesthetic level, yes."

"Then do it," Harry decided.

Charlus shook his head.

This could end very badly for them both.

Nonetheless, he set to work, carefully and methodically making the changes needed so that both of them resembled the creatures they were attempting to fool impersonate.

As expected, the transfigurations were not perfect, but the tails both now sported, wild hair and bluish skin would perhaps be enough that they would get away with the undoubtedly stupid thing they were going to do.

"Stay close," Harry instructed as he reapplied his bubblehead charm.

Charlus followed

They passed through the magical wall that kept the water out of the room, and it took several minutes of ungraceful flailing of their tails before they became used to swimming with them.

With the bubbles in place, Charlus could not speak of how closely they were being watched by the patrolling Merepeople, but he suspected Harry already knew.

Still, they continued calmly on their way, checking each cell they passed.

Most were empty, but those that held inmates were housing men for the most part, and none of the women were seemingly familiar to Harry who paused when they were around halfway around the ninth row.

He pointed inside to where a woman was seated on the edge of a bed and nodded.

This was who they had come for.

Checking that the Merepeople were not paying them too much attention, Harry checked the barrier before shaking his head and making an unmistakeable gesture with his hands.

They needed one of the tridents to gain entry to the cell.

Much to Charlus's surprise and dismay, Harry began waving to one of the creatures who approached them, the expression it wore cautious.

Its eyes widened as it drew near enough to see them, but it was too late.

It had realised they weren't kin, something Harry had suspected would happen, and he'd cast the spell on the creature whose expression became blank.

Still, Harry's action had not gone unnoticed, and he frantically urged Charlus to fend off the hoard of Merepeople quickly bearing down on them whilst he wrestled with the one he had ensnared.

Not knowing what else he could do, Charlus began freezing the water around himself to prevent both he and Harry from being skewered by the vicious-looking tridents pointed their way.

The Merepeople began chipping away at the ice quicker than Charlus could build it, but he held firm, his resolve unwavering as he focused on keeping the creatures at bay.

Even so, his efforts would be for nothing soon enough.

The Merepeople would get past the ice, and Charlus wracked his brains for any other idea he could implement, nodding as one came to the forefront of his mind, though he was not filled with confidence at the prospect of it.

Still, he braced himself and acted as soon as a prong from one of the tridents punctured the final layer of ice.

He touched it with the tip of his wand, and the opposite end extended with several lengthening prongs that stabbed into several of the Merepeople who screamed in agony.

Before they could regroup, Charlus was pulled away and he found himself inside the cell with Harry, the woman, and a flailing Merman who was gasping for air on the ground.

The former of the trio hissed loudly, and the doorway filled with a variety of snakes, blocking the Merepeople from getting in.

Charlus didn't think he would ever get used to parseltongue.

It was no wonder Grindelwald's men were so unnerved by it.

"Now, if I give you some water, will you behave yourself?" Harry asked the Merman.

The creature was in no state to respond even if it could understand the words spoken to him.

Harry did however take pity on it and conjured pockets of water around its gills and a larger one around its head before he turned towards the wide-eyed woman.

She was in shock, but the paleness of her skin or blue of her lips had little to do with that.

It was cold in the cell, an uncomfortable place to live at best.

"Hello, Miss Summerbee," Harry greeted her.

The woman nodded, a grin tugging at her lips.

"I'm afraid you're not seeing me at my best," she croaked, her voice hoarse from lack of use but her eyes twinkling in amusement. "I must say, I am surprised to see you. Is my sentence up?"

Harry snorted as he shook his head.

"It could be if you agree to help us."

"Help you?" Summerbee murmured. "What is in it for me, Mr Serpent?"

She bit her bottom lip and Charlus looked between her and Harry questioningly.

"Your freedom," Harry offered, ignoring the flirty nature of the woman who pouted slightly.

"I suppose that will do to begin with," she sighed. "What do you need from me?"

"Maybe we should get the bloody hell out of here first?" Charlus suggested.

Summerbee looked at him speculatively.

"He's not much fun, is he?" she asked Harry who shook his head.

"Not when we spent hours breaking in here," he replied. "Now, will you help us?"

Summerbee huffed dramatically.

"Well, you did come all this way to see me," she sighed, "even if it was you that put me here. I suppose you could convince me to help you. Do you have a plan to get us out? We are trapped."

Harry nodded as he drew his wand, the charms work he performed something Charlus had heard of but not attempted himself.

It was a complex series of spells that would create a pocket within the wards they found themselves in, useless for breaking into a warded area, but perfect to make an escape.

Charlus made a note to ask Harry where he had learned such magic, but now was not the time.

"Come, quickly," Harry urged, "I won't be able to hold it for long."

Not needing to be told twice, Charlus took hold of Harry's arm as he removed his portkey, and the woman took the other.

The Potter lord had travelled by portkey several times, but as he was whisked away from the prison, he couldn't help but note how different this experience was.

A hooking sensation through the navel was normal, but this felt like he had been torn away from where he had stood, but his organs had been left behind.

It was jarring, and when the awful sickness passed, he found himself on the floor of the room he shared with Harry.

Charlus never thought he would be happy to see the trenches, but after his excursion with Harry, he found that he was quite fond of them now.

"Well, that was shit," he groaned from where he was curled up. "Bloody hell, remind me to never go anywhere with you again."

Harry snorted as he sat up, the welts and cuts he'd endured more prominent out of the water.

"We made it, didn't we?" he asked, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Made it where?" Summerbee questioned as she looked around the room.

Harry shook his head.

"A lot has changed since you've been locked up," Harry explained. "Let us get warm and we will tell you all about it.

(Break)

"One hundred men?" Gellert asked angrily. "What am I supposed to do with so few? Sato promised a few thousand!"

He paced about his study, his temper flaring.

Gellert had not risked so much to liberate the Japanese man for such a paltry offering.

If he would have known this was all he would get, he would have left Sato to rot in the French prison.

"His reasoning is sound," Cassiopeia broke into his thoughts. "Siam, Burma and the surrounding nations have been paying a lot of attention to Japan which means not only the British are watching them, but the Americans too."

"The Americans?" Gellert questioned, his steps pausing.

He'd had his fair share of troubles from those across the Atlantic, but they had no business interfering here.

"If the Japanese muggles declare war on any surrounding country, it would all but create another front to fight on. The Americans will not be able to ignore it, and the British certainly wouldn't either. Sato is convinced the muggle Emperor is up to something," Cassiopeia explained.

"Then he should put a stop to it!"

Cassiopeia shook her head.

"The emperor no longer entertains him. Sato has fallen out of favour, and the emperor has gone into hiding."

"He expects war to break out?"

"And to spill into one big conflict," Cassiopeia confirmed. "He doesn't know when, but it would be foolish to ignore it. If the Americans become involved there, they will not be able to ignore what is happening here."

"And then we will have another powerful enemy," Gellert mused aloud, displeased by this budding development. "Fine," he decided, "tell Sato that I wish to be kept informed of what is happening over there."

Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.

"Weber is here also. He wants to speak with you about some information that has been passed on to him."

Gellert sighed.

"More bad news?"

"I don't think so. He seems to in a good mood."

"Then send him in," Gellert instructed, taking his seat behind his desk.

The wiry Westphalian entered the office with Cassiopeia, his eyes alert, and the man seemingly quite pleased with himself.

"I just received word that Evans and Potter are away from their section of the trench and will be indisposed for the next few days," he informed Gellert who frowned.

"Where have they gone?"

"My informant does not know, but he took a great risk to himself to get the message to me. He believes that without them there, that section is particularly vulnerable to attack. Gabriel Moody is the only threat, but certainly manageable."

Gellert nodded thoughtfully.

He had been pondering the next blow he would strike against those resisting him in the enemy trenches, and it seemed the opportunity was presenting itself to him now.

"Your man is sure of this?"

"Completely," Weber assured him. "If you wish to provoke Evans into confronting you, this would be the perfect way to do it. Think of it as a way to cripple their morale further."

"Killing Evans and Potter would cripple their morale," Gellert pointed out.

"But breaking them first will make the task all the easier," Weber returned. "It shows that you can get to them any time you wish but do so on your own terms."

"He's right," Cassiopeia broke in. "It's a chance to reduce their numbers, especially if what Sato believe will happen does. We need to be more initiative-taking in defeating them."

Gellert conceded the point with a nod.

"I agree," he relented, unable to find any reason he should not proceed. "When will Sato's men arrive."

"They are already here," Cassiopeia explained.

"Then see that they are prepared," Gellert commanded. "I will take them, and you will come along too. See that Hans and his men are ready to play the same role. That will be all for now, unless you had anything else to say, Herr Weber."

"Nothing that cannot wait," the German replied with a smirk. "I will check in with Osbert who informed me that he is working on something special for our enemies."

What that was, Gellert knew not, and it didn't matter for the time being.

He had a fight to prepare for, and to that end, he needed to ensure he was ready.

He watched until Cassiopeia and Weber left the room before he drew his wand and ran his hand down it reverently.

Since his fight with The Serpent in the cave so many months ago now, it had performed perfectly and without any further hitches.

The Serpent.

Just the thought of the man filled Gellert with rage, but his time would come.

First, Flamel's nephew would experience the power of the Elder Wand, and then The Serpent.

He would relish that victory the most.

As much as he needed to eliminate Evans, he had nothing personal against the man, not the same way he did the foe he had already crossed wands with.

There was unfinished business between them, and it would only add to the already impressive legacy Gellert was building for himself to eliminate the scourge of his men.

With The Serpent dead, the morale of the enemy would never recover, and the strongest enemy Gellert currently had opposing him would be no more, paving the way to the victory he had worked towards for decades now.

(Break)

"The world really has gone to shit, hasn't it," Eleanor sighed. "And you, what are you doing here?" she asked Harry.

"Just doing my bit," he replied, tending to the wounds he had sustained during their attempt to free the woman.

Eleanor snorted as she took in his appearance.

"You looked older before," she commented. "How old are you?"

"I'll be twenty tomorrow."

Eleanor giggled.

"Out of everyone that should have caught me, it was someone barely out of school that managed it. I'm more impressed now than I was before, Mr Serpent."

"Don't call me that here," Harry said firmly, wincing as he pulled a bit of one of the large fish's spines from his shoulder. "He is the only one who knows who I am, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Eleanor nodded her understanding.

"You still haven't explained what you need from me," she pointed out.

"We have a spy in our trenches," Charlus broke in. "With how compact everything is here, it's all but impossible to find them without drawing unwanted attention to ourselves."

"I see," Eleanor murmured. "I suppose you would like me to find them for you?"

Charlus nodded.

"What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?" Charlus asked. "Gold?"

Eleanor shook her head almost amusedly.

"Mr Serpent here knows that gold means nothing to me. My family has plenty of that."

"Then why were you robbing banks?"

Eleanor shrugged.

"Out of curiosity more than anything else."

Charlus scoffed as he looked towards Harry for confirmation.

"It's true," Harry confirmed. "She didn't spend a Knut of what she took."

"Bloody hell, she's just as mad as you," the Potter lord groaned, eliciting a smirk from the woman.

"You can have your freedom," Harry offered. "I will even take you to get a new wand when you've done what we need."

"And spend the rest of my life being chased by the ICW?"

Harry shook his head.

"I will make sure they leave you alone," he promised. "If they won't pardon you, I'll make it look like you're dead."

"Now that would be exciting," Eleanor exclaimed. "You really are a naughty boy, aren't you, Mr Evans?"

"Is she always like this?" Charlus chuckled amusedly.

"You've not seen anything yet," Harry grumbled. "Do we have a deal?"

Eleanor hummed dramatically as she pondered the offer but eventually nodded her agreement.

"It's a deal."

"Thank Merlin for that," Charlus sighed as she and Harry shook hands. "I thought she was going to ask you to marry her."

"Was that an option?" Eleanor asked. "I didn't know that was an option!"

"It isn't," Harry huffed.

Eleanor pouted as her eyes roamed over him for a moment before she smiled.

"No, a marriage between us would be a disaster," she declared. "You'd always be trying to catch criminals, and I'd spend most of our marriage at the top of your list. It would make for very awkward dinner conversation, and pillow talk," she added with a wink.

Harry rolled his eyes at the woman, hoping he wouldn't regret fetching her.

"Anyway, you should eat and get some rest," he urged.

"You too," Charlus insisted. "I'll let Moody know we are back."

"No," Harry sighed. "We've still got time. You should rest too."

Charlus yawned as he nodded.

They hadn't been gone for days as expected, but their efforts had been tiring.

Food and rest were what they all needed, and then, they could begin locating the traitor among them.

(Break)

Except for the hushed whispering of the wizards on guard duty, the trenches, muggle and wizard alike, were quiet, though such an evident peace was unnerving for Gabriel.

At least when insults were being traded between the warring factions, or the sound of shells and machine gun fire could be heard, he knew where his enemies were, had a grasp of the current climate.

Silence on the frontline was ominous, and usually denoted the calm before a storm.

Whether it would be the muggles or wizards who broke it, he knew not, but it was undoubtedly on the horizon.

"What are you up to, Gilbert?" Gabriel snapped, catching sight of the man lurking in one of the alcoves. "You're not on duty tonight."

"I couldn't sleep," Gilbert replied as he came out into the open.

"Bloody hell, are you drunk again?"

Gilbert shrugged as he swayed on the spot.

"I told you I didn't want you drinking. Where did you get it?"

"Here and there," the unsavoury man chuckled, tapping his nose.

Gabriel's jaw tightened.

"Get your arse to bed. I'll deal with you in the morning."

With a mock salute, Gilbert staggered towards his bunk and Gabriel shook his head.

What the man was playing at, he didn't know, but there was only so much defiance he could tolerate.

Men at war drank, he wasn't foolish enough to believe otherwise, but Gilbert was quickly developing a problem.

Perhaps he should have just sent the man to Azkaban?

With a sigh, Gabriel continued on his way, almost relieved when the sound of gunfire was heard from their muggle counterparts.

Warzones should never be silent, but they were not places for drunken fools either, and as he came upon a group of Frenchmen who were deep into their cups, he felt his irritation rise once more when he realised where Gilbert had spent his evening.

"You're supposed to be on guard!" he growled to the men who seemingly sobered immediately. "Where is your commander?"

"He went to bed hours ago," one of the men answered, making a token effort to not appear to be so inebriated. "He always does."

Gabriel's nostrils flared in irritation.

He was here, along with everyone else ensuring that Grindelwald did not seize control of France and yet the man in charge of the French forces was nowhere to be seen.

"Always?"

The Frenchman nodded.

"I'll be having words," Gabriel promised, "now get back to your guard duty. If I catch a single person away from their post again, I will put my foot so far up your arses that my bootlaces will dangle from your noses, understood?"

The men grumbled unhappily but didn't argue as they made their way back towards their guard positions.

Gabriel watched them go, making a note to himself to speak with the French commander as soon as possible, and to work his own men harder as he heard snoring coming from a lookout post.

He peered into the alcove to see two of his group sitting back-to-back, leaning on one another as they slumbered.

Another example of unacceptable behaviour he had happened upon.

"Get up!" he hissed, hitting both men with a stinging hex.

They yelped as they shot to their feet, but Gabriel silenced them as he heard something resembling footsteps coming from outside the trench.

Carefully, he peered over the top and lit his wand.

His stomach sunk as he glimpsed the unmistakeable sight of a man throwing himself to the ground, and he cursed under his breath.

It seems as though he was right to despise the silence.

(Break)

Dear Harry,

I purchased this blade from a questionable auction in my younger years. It once belonged to a notorious Dark Lord from more than five centuries ago, and I acquired to keep it out of the hands of those that would use it for their own nefarious deed.

It was one of the first I added to my collection, and I thought that you could put it to use if you find yourself in need of it.

It is enchanted, or cursed, depending on how you wish to see it, to make any wound inflicted with it unable to heal through standard medical charms. The counter curse is inscribed into the blade and can only be seen when it is covered in blood.

It will remain a dagger for the most part but has quite the surprise if you flick your wrist whilst holding it.

It is best you do not tell Perenelle that you have this.

She believes the enclosed box of food and potions she made for you is all I have sent.

Happy Birthday,

Nicholas

The handle of the blade was in the shape of a scorpion with rubies for eyes, and the magic Harry felt emanating from it was cold, an underlying sense of cruelty to it.

Removing it from the leather sheath, he saw that the blade itself was black, the edge sharp and tip pointed.

It was as though it had only been recently forged.

Curiously, Harry grasped the handle.

The dagger was light, and even when he flicked his wrist as instructed and it grew to be the size of a sword, it remained so.

He shook his head as he resized it and placed it back in the sheath.

Nicholas may claim to be unskilled in the art of war, but he certainly had the tools at his disposal to be quite the threat if he chose to be.

The same could be said for Rosalina who had sent him an obscure book on curses that would not be out of place in the Black library.

Her accompanying note had been short and terse, though not without her own kind of affection.

She was still mad at him and wouldn't be satisfied until she had given him a piece of her mind.

Armando and Albus had forwarded him what must have been half the stock of Honeydukes, a gift gratefully received when the food provided here was basic and bland.

Placing the blade on the table next to box everything had been delivered, he retrieved the final package and opened it carefully.

What he saw within the paper filled him with a mixture of warmth and longing, the former at the memories it brought to the front of his mind, and the latter fuelling his desire to have more experiences like this.

It was a photo of him and Minerva, of the lunch she had prepared for him for his birthday after they had finished their sixth year at Hogwarts.

He chuckled as he watched her reluctantly give him the final bite of the treacle tart she had brought.

She must have created the photo from her own memory, and though he appreciated everything he had been given, this was just what he needed.

It reminded him of what he was doing here, what he was protecting back home, and what it meant if the ICW forces were to fail against Grindelwald.

Failure was not an option, not if he wanted to have more of what he saw in the photo.

"Something amusing, Harry?" Charlus asked tiredly from his bunk.

"No," Harry denied, his smile remaining in place.

Charlus shot him a look of disbelief before he stretched.

"What time is it?"

"Just after four."

"I hope you mean in the afternoon you git," Charlus groaned.

"Afraid not," Harry snorted. "Go back to sleep."

"I was going to. You can bloody wait for your present."

Within a minute, Charlus was snoring lightly once more, and Harry took the opportunity to look at the photo some more.

He was pulled from his stupor by a sudden shouting, not the drunken, jovial kind he was used to, but one of sheer panic.

Before he even made it to the door, loud bangs could be heard, and the voice of Gabriel Moody rousing the men.

"GET UP YOU LAZY BASTARDS!"

They were under attack, and without hesitation, Harry snatched the dagger off the table and kicked Charlus awake.

"Wazzat?" the man asked sleepily.

"Attack," Harry answered simply.

Charlus was immediately alert as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled his robes on.

"What should I do?" Eleanor asked worriedly.

"Transform and keep yourself hidden," Harry instructed. "You don't even have a wand. If the worst happens, you're free to go."

Before she could reply, Harry and Charlus charged from the room and into the trenches where the men that had been on guard duty were already engaged in ensuing battle against Grindelwald's followers.

"They're trying the same tactic! We need to break their formation," Harry said urgently.

Charlus nodded and the two of them climbed over the lip of the trench and threw themselves into the fighting.

"FORM UP!" Harry shouted, seeing the members of their group struggling to defend themselves without the benefit of the teamwork they had been instilling in them.

"EVANS!" Gilbert called, the relief evident in his voice.

"GET IN YOUR THREES!"

Bolstered by their appearance, the group complied and were quickly faring better as they faced off with Grindelwald's men who were attempting to isolate them from the rest of the trenches.

They were penned in on all sides, the other groups already trying to disperse their enemies outside the horseshoe formation they had implemented.

If the ICW forces couldn't seize an advantage, Harry, Charlus, and the rest of their group would be slaughtered.

"EVANS, HELP!"

Gilbert and Yaxley had lost their third man and were beginning to become overwhelmed by the onslaught sent their way.

"I'll go," Charlus volunteered, immediately engaging an enormous man at the front of Grindelwald's ranks who was causing problem for the men of the ICW.

"Happy Birthday to me," Harry muttered as he headed in the opposite direction to assist the rest of the group.

"Evans!" a feminine voice snarled, one Harry would sooner not hear again.

Cassiopeia Black was here, but Harry had nothing to say to the woman.

Gripping his wand in one hand and the dagger in the other, he began his own assault, sending several attackers sprawling with a powerful gust of wind, before picking up where he last left off with Cassiopeia at the Flamel's home.

Her wand work was as fast as ever as she indiscriminately fired spells towards Harry.

Even those on her own side gave her a wide birth as she went to work, her teeth bared as she attempted to maim Harry who took it in his stride.

As gifted as the woman was, Harry had survived both Voldemort and Grindelwald.

She couldn't compare to either of them, as much as she wished she could.

That didn't mean he would overlook her, but he wouldn't miss the opportunity to remind her that she was out of her depth.

The spells she sent his way, those of the Black family, were batted aside and sent towards her own comrades.

Those who were unable to defend themselves screamed under the effects, and those that managed to avoid the errant magic ran, helping break the ranks wide open and giving the men of the ICW room to breathe.

Harry, however, was granted no such respite.

Cassiopeia doubled in her efforts to put an end to him, and slowly but surely, he lost his temper with the woman.

He respected Arcturus Black, and this was his grandmother's sister, but he was tired of her attempts at harming him.

In retaliation, his wand snapped into action, gold and green sparks crackling from the tip before he'd even cast a spell.

When he did offer a response, Cassiopeia was immediately put on the defensive, her eyes wide as she did all she could to endure Harry's rebuttal, her movements desperate and composure all but absent as she struggled to keep up with him.

Harry upped the tempo quickly, and the woman found herself in a state of panic when she realised she was unable to fight back, all of her efforts needed to prevent herself being dismantled by a superior fighter.

Cassiopeia Black had been trained to duel in the comfort of a mansion.

Harry had spent much of his life simply fighting to be allowed to breathe.

It had shaped him, made him resilient, the adversity he had faced throughout his formative years turning him into the man he was now.

Cassiopeia could not compete with that, and though she gave it her all, it wasn't enough.

In a final attempt to escape the fate that awaited her should she continue with her engagement, she pulled one of the men trying to help her in front of a series of spells as several screams filled the air.

"Now you're in trouble, Evans," the woman mocked, her expression of fear now one of glee as she nodded over his shoulder.

The rest of the group on the opposite side of the horseshoe were handling themselves remarkably well.

With Charlus occupying the threatening behemoth, the others were slowly breaking up the attack, or had been.

The latest arrival to the battlefield made Harry's blood run cold, but not from fear.

No, the magic of The Serpent, the basilisk that had bitten him sought the fight that most would avoid.

Not Harry.

Ever since the night in the cave, he knew they would meet again, and after what Grindelwald had done to Federov and William Potter, he couldn't keep the monster within him at bay even if he wished to at the sight of the Dark Lord.

(Break)

The large man Charlus had engaged was well-trained, his spell work lethal, and his defence impeccable, but Charlus Potter had not come here to shy away from such things.

He had come to avenge his father, and this man and any other that aligned with Grindelwald were complicit in the death of William Potter.

With his preferred transfiguration being nullified by his foe, Charlus knew that it was time to switch the magic of his family, to show this man that he had made an error in his judgement in joining Grindelwald.

With a grunt, he sent forth a pair of cutting curses capable of dismembering any limb they struck, but the man was quick enough to deflect, though they certainly got his attention, especially when one of his comrades slumped to the ground missing half of his head.

Although Charlus too was surprised, he did not relent, and his spells came thick and fast, his opponent being firmly put on the defensive because of the output.

Still, the man held firm, shielding and deflecting when he could, uncaring of his own men who fell to the spells destined for him.

His evasiveness was effective, if questionable, but it was not destined to last.

Finally, he made a slight error, but that was all it took for Charlus to land a very unpleasant searing curse on the man, who howled in a mixture of pain and fury as he clutched his wand arm.

"Bastard!" he hissed, firing a spell that would tear through Charlus's torso.

With his injured arm, however, his aim left a lot to be desired, and realising that he had been compromised, he disappeared into his own ranks leaving behind an irritated Charlus who continued assisting Gilbert and Yaxley as they worked to break through the formation Grindelwald's men had adopted.

For several minutes, they worked tirelessly to do so, and just when there seemed to be progress being made, it was as though a presence was sudden felt on the battlefield, an unmistakeable tension.

Although the fighting continued, it couldn't be ignored entirely, but it wasn't until Yaxley cursed that Charlus took any notice of what was happening behind him.

In the middle of area that had been isolated stood a pale man, his hair as white as his skin, and his blue eyes visible even in the darkness.

Charlus watched as this almost ethereal man cut through swathes of men like they were nothing, the only resistance he met being that of Gabriel Moody who was not one to shy away from any fight.

"Grindelwald!" Gilbert gasped fearfully.

Charlus felt his rage begin to boil over at the sight of the man that had killed his father.

Time seemed to slow as the two faced off, Gabriel throwing everything he could at the Dark Lord, his efforts rebuffed almost lazily.

Grindelwald was toying with him, something that became evident as he laughed in amusement.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Gabriel snarled.

The jet of green light careened from the end of his wand, but Grindelwald did not even flinch, his head turning at the last moment and the spell passing his face by mere inches.

The retaliation came immediately, a spell that Charlus had never seen before, if it was even a spell at all.

Grindelwald spoke no words, his wand movement being little more than a purposeful wave, and whatever he did caught Gabriel off guard as he stiffened.

What was happening to the man, Charlus knew not, but he began to scream, his expression illuminated by the surrounding spell fire being one of terror and agony.

Gabriel's veins began to bulge around his eyes and forehead before blood leaked from his mouth and nose.

Charlus felt his stomach turn and heart sink as the commander's eyes exploded and he crumbled limply to the floor.

"No," Charlus whispered in shock as Grindelwald laughed.

Did he laugh the same way when he had killed William Potter?

His shock gave way to unbridled fury, the continuing laughter mocking him, insulting the memory of the man that had sired him.

Without thought, Charlus stalked towards Grindelwald with only one intention, but it seemed he wasn't the only one.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another figure, one walking at a more sedate pace, cutting down Grindelwald's followers on his way.

Grindelwald's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of Harry confronting him, evidently not having expected him to be here.

Perhaps he hadn't.

Maybe he had been informed of Harry and Charlus's absence from the trenches and that was why he had chosen tonight to attack?

For now, the reason was neither here nor there. What Charlus was focused on was the impending confrontation between his friend and the feared Dark Lord.

As Harry approached, it was as though a collective breath across the battlefield had been taken, and even Grindelwald's men stepped aside, his mere presence enough to give them pause.

He crouched down to check on Gabriel, his expression darkening, though his gaze never left Grindelwald's.

What struck Charlus was the lack of fear Harry displayed, and even as he stood and the two of them began circling one another, his features didn't shift.

Neither fired a spell immediately, content with staring at the other speculatively, almost as though each were getting a feel for their opponent.

It was a strange thing to see.

Grindelwald rolled up the sleeves of his navy shirt, and Harry cut his own robes away for the sake of his own movement and comfort.

To Charlus, the latter had always been just Harry, his friend he had met some five years prior who he had shared a dorm with, who had been in awe when he had seen the gifts waiting for him the Christmas morning he had spent at Potter Manor.

In this moment, however, it felt to Charlus that he was seeing the real Harry Evans for the first time.

As his gaze swept over Grindelwald, there was something Charlus hadn't seen before in his friend, a coldness, a glint of malice, a spark of something that made him realise that Harry Evans was not a man to cross lightly.

This was the man that had saved his father in Warsaw, the man that had come to the aide of the ICW men in Brussels, the one that had fought and killed a dragon.

His presence was felt just as much as Grindelwald's, two men cut from the same cloth, but both with different goals.

Grindelwald was a monster that wished to conquer the world, and Harry wanted to save it.

The first offerings from the pair came simultaneously, their spells colliding in mid-air, the resulting flash lighting the early morning sky and a sound resembling thunder trembled the ground beneath the battlefield.

The men on both sides took a step back, and though Charlus remained where he was, he knew better than to involve himself in this fight.

This was a clash of titans, and one that should be left alone.

It was Harry that brought his wand to bear, the spell he sent a blinding blue that screeched as it ploughed towards Grindelwald with so much force that Charlus could feel the wind that was displaced by the magic.

Grindelwald's shield exploded and the man was sent skidding backwards several feet, but he managed to keep his footing, adjusting his feet to slow his momentum.

If he thought Harry would allow him a reprieve, he was wrong, and if Harry thought the Dark Lord would remain defensive, he was just as mistaken.

Both men sprung into action, their wands ablur as they danced around one another, casting spells and avoiding what was sent their way.

The display was as unnerving as it was awe-inspiring, and the devastation they wrought was something to behold.

The ground was scarred deeply by the spells that were deflected into it, and the air was thick with the dirt that was kicked up.

The explosions of magic, however, were no less memorable than what was seen.

Each one left Charlus's ears ringing uncomfortably, the noise echoing in the distance.

It was like nothing the Potter lord had ever seen before, and yet, neither man would relent, would not give an inch to their opponent.

Both were willing to die here, and once more, Charlus felt a sense of unease settle within him.

He couldn't lose his friend, not to the same man who had taken his father.

How could he cope with that?

How would he tell Minerva and the others?

He couldn't bring himself to face the prospect, but it was very much out of his hands.

Any intervention could distract Harry, something that Charlus experienced as another sound filled the air, one that he had become accustomed to since he'd arrived here, but not one he had heard so closely.

"HARRY!" he shouted desperately.

The whooshing of the muggle shell was brief and garnered the attention of the wizards witnessing the unfolding duel between Harry and Grindelwald.

Charlus could only look on in horror as it landed close to the two men before he was blown off his feet, fighting to merely breathe with the air having been forced from his lungs as he thudded to the ground.

For a moment, he laid there in utter disbelief at what had happened, shocked stiff by the sudden intrusion.

"Harry!" he wheezed as he turned on his stomach and began clawing his way to where he had last seen his friend.

Men were running in all directions, none paying any mind to those that lay injured, or even dead.

Charlus, however, forced himself through the unfolding hell as more explosions followed and screams of men on both sides of the conflict filed the air.

Is this what hell looked like?

Fires burned, and the smell of seared flesh filled his nose, and Charlus fought the urge to vomit, did all he could to block out the pleas for help, the whimpering of the wounded he passed, and to not look upon the mangled and dismembered bodies of the fallen.

The muggle shells continued to rain down on them, the destructive fight between Harry and Grindelwald having undoubtedly been the catalyst for this.

Still, even through the shellfire, Charlus persevered, inch by inch he dragged himself until he eventually came upon an unmoving figure, the wand he still held one the Potter lord knew well.

"Harry," he gasped, shaking his friend who was in a bad way.

A long, deep wound had been opened up on his side and his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle with the bone protruding through the skin.

"Harry!" Charlus pleaded.

The man groaned, his eyes flickering open briefly before he fell still once more.

He was alive, and Charlus sobbed in relief as a wave of determination filled him.

He needed to get Harry out of here, back to the trenches where he could be helped.

Gritting his teeth, he fought through his own pain as he forced himself to his feet, steadying himself as he staggered from the nausea he felt.

Not knowing what else to do, he carefully bound Harry's legs together with some conjured rope and took him beneath the arms.

"Bloody hell, you're heavier than you look," Charlus snorted as he began dragging Harry back towards the trenches, every foot he covered draining what little energy he had. "Come on," he urged.

Whether he was speaking to himself or to Harry, it didn't matter.

Charlus was simply trying to endure, through laughter or through tears, he wasn't going to let Harry die here.

"IT'S POTTER!" a voice shouted after Charlus had pulled Harry what seemed to be miles.

He felt his burden lighten as the men who had managed to escape the explosions spilled from the trench to assist him.

"Help Harry, he needs a healer," Charlus croaked.

"YOU, GET ME A FUCKING HEALER, NOW!"

He never thought he'd be pleased to hear Yaxley's voice, but knowing he was acting with such urgency to get Harry the help he sorely needed was a testament to how respected his friend was, even by someone who came from a family known to be bigoted in their views.

"It's alright," Gilbert tried to assure him as he guided Charlus into the trenches and seated him against the wall. "We will make sure he's looked after. Here."

Charlus drank from the bottle that was placed to his lips, the water alleviating his dried parched throat, though a part of him wished he'd been given something stronger.

With the adrenaline wearing off, he began to shake, the horror of what he had experienced setting in, but as he watched Harry being carried away on a stretcher, Charlus realised how lucky he had been.

Still, nothing would shift the concern he felt for his friend, not until he knew that Harry was going to make it, that he wouldn't lose someone else to this damned war.