The Wilting of a Rose (Part Two)

With Harry's arrival having caused quite the stir, William and the rest of his group had managed to retreat back to where another gathering of ICW fighters were defending the entrance to the Belgian Ministry of Magic.

Even so, the battle was edging ever further in Grindelwald's forces favour.

During the tactical withdrawal, they had erected large barriers from the fallen debris of the buildings and taken up positions behind them.

Worse still, the other building that a group consisting of Spanish and French fighters had been was brought down completely, and not a single person had emerged from the pile of rubble.

They were dead.

William would not fool himself by thinking otherwise.

"We won't be able to keep this up," Harry called to him.

The young man had been kept occupied by defending against onslaught after onslaught of spells sent his way. So much so that he was unable to mount any offense.

William reluctantly conceded that it was a brilliant tactic by their enemies.

If Harry was kept busy defending himself then he posed little threat.

No, something would have to be done.

"Gabriel, we need to free him up."

Moody shook his head.

"It won't do any good, Potter," he growled, sending a flurry of spells towards where Perseus Black had been seen last. "There's more of the coming."

William looked towards where Gabriel had pointed, and his heart sunk to his stomach.

From the street on the left, another wave of men was sprinting towards them, screaming their battle cries with their wands already in hand.

William could not count how many there were, but having already been considerably outnumbered, the situation was about to take a much worse turn.

"IF YOU'VE GOT ANY BRIGHT IDEAS, LAD, NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME FOR ONE," Gabriel shouted over the din.

"I think its time to think about leaving," Harry replied. "If we don't, we'll be overrun. We have to live to fight another day."

After a moment of hesitation, Moody nodded.

"Aye, but how? The portkey wards are up, and the Ministry won't shut them down. The ICW will have a bloody fit as it is."

"No, they won't," William broke in. "I have an idea, but you'll have to keep them occupied for a while. Can you do that?"

"Whatever it is, make it quick!" Gabriel commanded.

With a nod, William hurried towards the Ministry building, pulling his cloak over himself before entering, grateful that Charlus had insisted he bring it along.

Hurrying through the empty reception area, he consulted one of the signs that would point him in the direction he needed to go and rushed up a nearby staircase.

"Department of Magical Transportation," he muttered to himself, blasting the door off its hinges with a flick of his wand.

They may not achieve victory in Belgium, but neither would Grindelwald.

Not the way he expected to at the very least.

With a smile, William found what he was looking for and he set to work, ensuring he remembered the other rooms he needed to visit for his plan to be successful.

(Break)

There had been no reprieve for Harry since he'd arrived. The moment he had appeared, dozens of spells had been sent in his direction, and they had not ceased since.

Grindelwald had planned it this way, Harry had no doubt of that.

As he continued to duck and weave through the magic he was defending himself against, he couldn't help but think where the man himself was.

Surely if he had any inkling that Harry would be here, he would be too.

Harry shook his head of that thought.

He did not want to cause the man to appear and worsen their already disadvantageous circumstances.

What William was doing, he knew not, but Harry hoped he would hurry.

With each minute that passed, men were dying, and most casualties were the people Harry was fighting side by side with.

"We have to do something about that lot," Gabriel Moody said urgently, nodding towards the reinforcements that had arrived and were quickly breaking through the makeshift defences.

"I've got an idea, but it's not strictly legal."

"I'm not an auror here, lad. Do what you have to."

Harry grinned almost excitedly, and Moody shot him a look of curiosity.

"Cover me."

With Moody shielding him, Harry had a moment to focus, and doing so, he used his wand to cut into his palm.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Moody snapped.

Levitating a drop of his blood in front of him, Harry blew on it gently before hissing and banishing it in the air.

"Lad?" Moody pressed.

"I've wanted to try this for a while," Harry replied ominously.

The spell had come to him the same way many others had.

Perhaps he had come across it in one of the Slytherin books he had liberated from the Chamber of Secrets so many years past, but he didn't think so.

No, this was a piece of magic from Voldemort himself.

With a bird-like screech and burst of golden flames, an enormous, winged serpent appeared, the visage of the basilisk Harry had fought with a sword as nothing more than a boy one he would never forget.

The wings were that of a phoenix, not that anyone else was paying attention to such trivial things.

"What the hell is that?" Moody yelped.

"Later," Harry huffed. "Shouldn't we be moving?"

Not knowing what it was they faced, the reinforcements scattered as the winged serpent swooped over them.

Harry wouldn't pretend to know what damage it could do, but it served to buy the ICW forces some time.

"PULL BACK!" Moody shouted, coming to his senses.

Harry followed the man as he sprinted towards the ICW building only to halt as a breathless William exited.

"Not this way!" he wheezed. "RUN!"

Neither Harry nor Moody needed telling twice and followed the Potter lord as he ran back towards the fighting, only for an ear-splitting explosion to rent the air.

The Ministry building was engulfed in emerald flames and more explosions sounded.

"What the hell did you do, Potter?" Moody demanded.

"You said that we couldn't let the Ministry fall into his hands. It won't now."

Moody looked at William in disbelief before he roared with laughter as the men fighting on behalf of the ICW continued to retreat from the fighting where they were outnumbered, but not being pursued.

The explosions courtesy of William were spewing out plumes of fire and debris towards Grindelwald's men, preventing them from giving chase.

"PORTKEYS, LADS!" Moody commanded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

With a final look over his shoulder, Harry could see that much of Bruges was burning.

He remained transfixed on the city until he felt someone grab hold of the back of his robes and he was transported away to the room in the British Ministry he had arrived in when the events of Poland had concluded.

"Alright, Potter," Moody huffed. "What the hell did you do? I have to explain what happened to Diggory."

"I used the reserves of floo powder from the Department of Magical Transportation," William explained. "I doubt there's anything salvageable left in the building."

Moody shook his head, though his lip curled in amusement.

"Well, the ICW did say Belgium mustn't fall under his control by any means necessary," he mused aloud. "And you, whatever your damned name is, what did you do?"

Harry shrugged.

"It's just an old spell I came across," he replied. "I didn't expect it to work like that."

Moody hummed unhappily.

"Any idea how many we lost?"

No answer was forthcoming, but from what Harry could see, the numbers were not insignificant.

"Looks like I'm going to get it in the ear before you," he sighed, feeling his licence vibrating urgently in his pocket.

He removed it and frowned, the flashing symbol not one he had seen before but one he had been taught to recognise as a priority.

Federov needed him, and with the adrenaline of battle, he couldn't be certain of how long ago the request for aide had been sent.

"I have to go," he said simply before activating his portkey, hoping that he wasn't too late to answer the call.

(Break)

It was a deeply unhappy Gellert that arrived in Bruges. The Head of the Department of justice was dead, but the personnel files were nowhere to be found.

Federov had taken his own life rather than risk those of his men.

Though Gellert would concede it was a respectable move, it didn't prevent his anger, something that only increased as he took in the chaos around him now.

Before he could question any of his men that were currently running here and there in an unorganised rabble, the reason for their behaviour was made known to him.

Ducking to avoid the swooping creature that descended upon him through a towering wall of flame, Gellert tracked it with his eyes as it continued harassing his men.

"Impressive," he muttered to himself.

There was likely very few who would know of this spell, and it seemed The Serpent had put his own twist on it.

With a shake of his head, he waved his wand in an intricate pattern, and a brilliant white ball of magic emerged from the tip of his wand.

Banishing it into the sky, Gellert watched curiously as it formed into an enormous Thestral and set upon whatever monstrosity it was The Serpent had conjured.

"Let us see if you can hope to match me."

The two creatures collided, the Thestral striking out with the pointed end of its tail, and the snake with its wings, resulting in both exploding in a shower of white and red sparks.

Gellert grit his teeth.

How?

How could The Serpent's magic match his own? Was it what he had done differently with the spell that had made it as strong?

Gellert couldn't be certain, but he didn't have time to ponder this latest, unwelcome development.

He needed to understand what had happened here and judging by the destruction he could see in every direction, he had little hope that he would feel any better than when he'd arrived.

"Perseus," he called when he managed to locate the leader of his troops.

The man was exhausted, his robes torn, and his face covered in soot.

"We have taken Belgium," the man announced.

"I can see that," Gellert praised, "and what of our enemies?"

"I have men searching through the rubble as we speak for any survivors. The rest fled when they realised they could not hold us off. They blew up the Ministry of Magic."

Gellert rubbed his eyes tiredly, digesting what he had just been told.

"You allowed them to blow up the Ministry?"

"It couldn't be helped," Perseus protested. "They had put most of their forces between us and it."

Gellert held up a hand to silence his subordinate.

Without the Ministry, holding the country was not only near impossible, but none would recognise this as a victory for him.

Once again, he had been defied by the fighters of the ICW.

Instead of conceding defeat, they had made a nuisance of themselves.

"I fail to see how this is a victory, Perseus," Gellert huffed irritably. "Without the Ministry, the defences around the country have been dropped and we will spend any amount of time here fending off retaliatory attacks. It will cost us men and resources to hold this!" he finished angrily, gesturing to the still burning buildings and piles of rubble that remained.

Perseus had the look of a puppy that had been kicked, and though Gellert was irritated, he couldn't place the entire blame on him.

"The Serpent was here," Gellert stated.

Perseus nodded.

"If it wasn't for him, it wouldn't be half as bad," he sighed. "What was that creature?"

"It is what is known as a wand guardian," Gellert explained. "In some ways it is similar to a patronus, but a much more dangerous piece of magic to wield, and instead of taking on the appearance of what your inner animal is, it takes its form from the creature in your wand. The Serpent's was different. I have never seen one like his. Perhaps he will share the secret with me before I kill him."

Perseus said nothing, and Gellert gazed across the length and breadth of what had been the battlefield this evening, the feeling his efforts had been wasted once more unable to be ignored.

"Salvage what you can, Perseus, and be proud of what you have achieved," Gellert urged. "We may not have gotten the victory we desired, but we won more than we lost."

Perseus nodded appreciatively, and Gellert turned his thoughts towards his other plans.

Soon enough, he and his men would be ready to move on to bigger and more important undertakings, but not until they were ready.

This evening may not have been a total loss, but Gellert had been generous with his praise so not to put his young commander under any further pressure.

If truth be told, what happened in Bruges could only be considered a step above the disaster that Poland had been.

Here, they had gained little, the effort it had taken to stage the attack outweighing the bounty they would receive.

Still, the war was in its early days, and Perseus would continue to grow as a leader.

Until then, Gellert did not expect perfection, but he did expect vast improvement from what he had seen thus far.

The men from the ICW may be inept for the time being, but the more they fought, and the more time that passed, they would become a competent force, a dangerous enemy that would soon stand as the equal of his own men.

If only the files he sought had come into his possession, the evening would have seemed much more fruitful despite the losses suffered here.

(Break)

Harry was too late.

The place he had been brought to was not familiar, but the sight of the burning house, the land laden with bodies, and the mark of the hallows hanging brightly above the scene told him that he had not gotten here in time.

With his wand drawn, he approached the first corpse he came to, the man's face bloated and expression one of sheer agony.

He had not died pleasantly, but the pendant of the Deathly Hallows hanging loosely from his neck halted any sympathy Harry ay have felt for him.

The rest of the bodies were in a similar state, but not the last, the one closest to the house.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as he took in the visage of Federov, the man's image almost one of triumphant, though the beginnings of a grimace marred his features.

A large knife was protruding from his abdomen, one he had seen the man sharpening in his office during a visit to him.

He shook his head as he crouched next to his, a sense of loss filling him.

"Ivan," he called, shaking the lifeless Federov by the shoulders. "Ivan."

Harry had not expected a response, but that didn't stop him trying to rouse one he considered to be a friend.

In the few short years they had known one another, they had shared some unique, though not pleasant experiences.

"Ivan, wake up!" Harry tried a final time, allowing the body to fall back to where it had come to rest.

Federov was dead and had been for some time now.

His skin had grown cold, and the fire had torn through most of the house.

The man had evidently been attacked in his own home, likely when he had been sleeping judging by the sleep attire he wore.

"Grindelwald!" Harry seethed.

The area was saturated with the Dark Lord's magic, and the reason for his absence in Belgium was clear.

He had used the attack on Bruges to conceal his own movements, knowing that Harry would likely be far away, and too distracted to help his superior.

Whatever the reasoning, Ivan Federov was gone, and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

Unconsciously, he reached for the ring he wore around his neck, only to turn sharply towards a sudden magical disturbance he felt.

Upon doing so, he found himself faced by six figures, their faces hidden by the shadowy, grey robes they wore.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, readying himself to respond to any untoward movement from any of them.

"Calm yourself, Serpent," a familiar voice replied as a man Harry had seen on only a few occasions revealed himself. "It's me, Ghost."

Harry did not lower his wand, and Ghost nodded approvingly.

"You have learned much," he praised. "Not many as young as you last this long in the job, and certainly not without a team watching his back."

"If this is what you call watching each other's backs, I'm not interested," Harry spat, pointing at Federov.

"Oh dear," Ghost sighed deeply. "It seems we were too late."

"Ah, shit, what happens now?" a man with an American accent asked.

"We will need to inform the ICW, and they will choose a new head of the department," Ghost explained. "They will need to do so quickly."

"It'll be you, Ghost," a woman with a thick eastern accent broke in. "You're the longest serving one of us left."

"Perhaps," Ghost replied, unconvinced by the support he was being shown. "As I said, the ICW will decide. For now, I want you all to search the area to make sure no one else is here. Now," he added when it appeared that another member of his team would question him further.

With a few muttered groanings, they left to carry out their orders.

"Where were you?" Harry demanded irritably. "The signal must have been sent ages ago."

"It was," Ghost confirmed. "We were in Italy following up on a sighting of Hans Gaulitier."

"From what I can gather, he was here," Harry huffed. "I recognise some of the men as those that were with him in Switzerland when I was there."

Ghost shook his head sadly.

"A decoy then," he explained. "Gaulitier was spotted their purposely to keep some of us away. What about you? Where were you when the signal was sent?" he added suspiciously.

"In Belgium trying to stop from being taken by Grindelwald's lot."

Ghost released a deep breath.

"Were you successful?"

Harry shook his head.

"I wouldn't say so," he sighed.

"Why were you there, Serpent? We are not common soldiers, and we have our orders. We are to continue carrying out our duty as normal unless we are called up to fight amongst the others."

"I went to where I was needed," Harry replied heatedly.

"Then we all failed to answer the call to be where we were needed most," Ghost pointed out, "but I would have thought the others would have come."

"How many of us our even left?" Harry asked.

Ghost shrugged.

"It's hard to say with everything that is happening. There will be those that have sided with Grindelwald, and others who may have been killed that we do not know about. I would say there is a few more than a dozen of us remaining."

Harry nodded his agreement.

It seemed to be a fair conclusion to have reached.

"There's no one else here," a dark-skinned man announced as he reached them, no longer finding it necessary to hide his identity. "The others have put the fire out, and it looks like they were after something."

"The personnel files," Harry mused aloud. "Before Sato was exposed, he tried to get hold of them for Grindelwald."

"Do you believe he was successful tonight?"

Harry frowned but shook his head after a moment.

"No, Ivan wouldn't be stupid enough to bring them to his house., not when he knew he could be targeted for them."

Ghost and his teammate looked at one another uncertainly.

"It is too much of a risk to assume that he does not have them," Ghost explained. "If he does, they will come for us and our families. We must get them to safety."

"What about Ivan?" Harry asked as Ghost beckoned his men towards him.

"I will send a message to the ICW to explain what has happened. They will send a team to retrieve him whilst his funeral is being arranged," Ghost assured him.

"Then I'll wait until they come," Harry decided.

"It is not safe here, Serpent, and until we know what Ivan has done with the files, we aren't safe as it is. Go home and get your essentials. You would be a fool to waste your time here."

Only a moment later, the six of them vanished and Harry began the process of clearing the land of the bodies.

Grindelwald's men were disposed of with fire, and Harry, against Ghost's advice, sat vigil by the remains of Ivan Federov until a team of Russian healers arrived to remove them a few hours later.

Harry didn't know what he would do now, but if he knew anything about Grindelwald, it wouldn't be long before he struck again, and Harry could only hope the ICW were better prepared for the next battle.

They could not afford to keep losing men and land the way they were.

Eventually, something would have to give, and at this rate, it would be those fighting against the seemingly ever-expanding regime of Grindelwald that may end up too broken to keep fighting back against him.

Not Harry.

No, the young man would fight until his dying breath, and if that meant killing Grindelwald himself, so be it.

He would not wait for the rest of the world to catch him up ion understanding just how dire the situation they faced was quickly becoming.

(Break)

Minerva had not known a meeting to be called before breakfast, and if the expressions of the other members of staff were anything to go by, it was not a common occurrence.

"What do you think this is about?" Horace asked with more than a hint of concern in his voice.

"We will find out soon enough," Rosalina replied, knocking on the door to the headmaster's office.

"Come in," a tired voice bid.

It was clear that Professor Dippet had not slept all night, nor had Albus for that matter. Both men were bleary-eyed, the visage of each quite grim.

"Thank you for joining us," Armando greeted them. "I will keep it short. In the early hours of this morning, I was informed by the Minister that heavy fighting took place in Belgium last night. A full report is yet to be made, but the casualties were high. It will be remarked upon in this morning's edition of The Daily Prophet, and I expect we will have many upset students to manage."

"Any news on the outcome?" Rosalina questioned.

"Grindelwald was successful, but the ICW forces took it upon themselves to blow up the Ministry of Magic. That is all I know."

"They blew up the Ministry?" Minerva gasped.

"Quite the feat," Horace commented, "and an inspired move. Without the Ministry building, the country is worthless. It would be too much effort to implement a new infrastructure. He'd be better off abandoning it."

"He will not do that," Albus sighed. "He will find a way to keep it under control."

Minerva had no doubt he would.

With how the war was going so far, she was finding it difficult to maintain her belief that he could be stopped.

Even with Harry doing all he could to combat him, the future was looking bleak.

Not that she had heard from Harry recently, not since the night she had stopped him from killing Tom Riddle.

Minerva knew that Harry had a ruthlessness to him. To do the job that he did he'd have to, but it was side of the man that she had never seen.

That night, she had gotten a glimpse of that part of him, the hurt and anger he carried that he hid from everyone else.

He had been furious with her for intervening, and though she felt bad for doing so, she did not regret her decision.

Had Harry succeeded in killing the boy at Hogwarts, he would never have seen the light of day again, and she couldn't face that.

Perhaps it was selfish on her part for stopping him taking his revenge, but it had not been the right moment.

As a member of staff, she had a duty of care to all students, even the ones that disgusted, but more than that, she couldn't see Harry throw his life away for someone for whom was not worth doing so.

"If there is nothing else," Armando's voice broke into her thoughts, "please show a little patience and understanding. The news will be devastating for many of them."

Minerva followed the rest of the staff as they filed out of the office, hoping that Harry would be able to forgive her for what she'd done.

Although longer periods of time had past between them without a letter from him, they had never been so far apart and on seemingly bad terms as they were now.

Thoughts of Harry filled her with worry as they often did.

She hadn't meant to hurt or upset him, but to prevent him doing something he would regret.

Not that he would, of course.

One day, Tom Riddle would no longer be a student here, and whatever remained of his life would likely be short and miserable if Harry had anything to do with it.

(Break)

Harry had remained in Russia for some hours after Federov's body had been collected, the prospect of leaving for home unappealing.

Perhaps he simply wished to be somewhere that peace prevailed in for a short while, an escape from the war that was dominating his life, or maybe it helped him feel closer to the man that had taught him all he knew about being a Hit-Wizard?

He knew not, but the sun had risen some hours ago when he reluctantly returned to his little cottage in Godric's Hollow.

He wished for nothing than more to be left alone with his thoughts, but he should have known better.

Perched on the outside of his kitchen window was a large eagle wearing a leather vest and carrying a scroll in its beak.

The golden symbol adorning the vest was not one he recognised, but without preamble, the bird dropped its missive into Harry's hand before taking flight immediately and Harry cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment.

Dear Mr Evans,

I represent and am responsible for ensuring that the final requests of Ivan Federov are carried out with urgency upon his death.

I understand that this may be an upsetting time for yourself, and you have my sincerest apologies for the intrusion, but Ivan was insistent his will be executed immediately, and to you specifically.

Please join me in my office in Moscow at your earliest possible convenience.

Time is of the essence with regards to this matter.

Sincerely,

Boris Yan

Senior Legal Advisor

Yan, Yan, and Sons Wizarding Solicitors

Harry huffed irritably.

If Federov had set this up so that this letter would be dispatched immediately, the importance of it was not to be underestimated, and with that in mind, Harry hurried about his own business by showering and dressing in robes that did not smell of burning nor were covered in blood.

When he was ready, he fetched his portkey and headed for the Russian capitol, a place he had visited on only a few occasions, none having left him with fond memories of the city.

Fortunately, it didn't take him long to locate the office in which the letter had been sent from. It sat between a post office and an apothecary in the magical district, and when he entered, he was greeted immediately by a young woman who was seated behind a polished desk where she was poring over stacks of parchment.

She first greeted him in her native tongue, and when Harry realised he couldn't understand her, he offered an apologetic smile.

"English?" he asked.

"Da," she replied enthusiastically. "How may I be helping you?"

Her words were heavily accented, but having spent years conversing with Hagrid, Harry could make do.

"I received this letter from Mr Yan," Harry explained, handing the letter to the young blonde.

"Da, Mr Boris is expecting you. Wait here, please, and I will get him."

She smiled at Harry brightly as she approached a door a short walk away from her desk and knocked.

For a moment, she received no response, but began chattering in Russian when a muffled reply was finally given.

"Mr Boris will be joining you shortly," she announced as she returned to her desk. "May I get a coffee for you?"

Harry nodded appreciatively.

He was exhausted from the events of the night before and had yet to sleep.

"Mr Evans, da?" a bald man called only a few moments later. "Please, come through."

Harry nodded and entered the office, taking a seat when he was gestured to do so.

The room he found himself in was unremarkable.

There were no personal items on display, and the walls were painted an off-white, the furniture all made from a sturdy dark pine.

"A terrible business," Boris muttered with a shake of his head. "Our country will mourn for Ivan, but that is not what you are here to discuss. I apologise for insisting you come so quickly, but when I give you what Ivan wished for you to have, you will understand."

Without delay, he placed a small box on the table and tapped it with his wand.

With a curious frown, Harry lifted the lid, his eyes widening at what was inside.

"Now you understand the urgency, da?" Boris asked.

Harry nodded.

This was what Grindelwald had gone in search of at Federov's home.

"What do I do with them?" Harry asked.

"I believe that Ivan left you a note," Boris explained.

He had.

Lying on top of the rows of files was a thin roll of parchment, sealed with the ICW crest.

Unfurling it, Harry snorted to himself when he had read the brief note from Federov.

Evans,

If you are reading this, it means that I am dead, and I can only hope I died well.

In this box is the legacy of many great men and women.

Protect it, and do not allow their sacrifices to be erased from history.

Your friend,

Ivan Federov

These were the personnel files of the current, and past Hit-Wizards that Grindelwald was so keen to possess, and opening one at random, Harry could see why.

Each file was a comprehensive map of the journey each person had taken from the moment the ICW had received their application, to the moment they were killed or retired.

From what Harry could see, not a single detail was missing.

The ICW may be slow and lacklustre in many ways, but their filing system could not be criticised.

If only everything else worked so efficiently.

"Thank you," Harry offered sincerely as he stood, realising he had taken up a considerable amount of Boris's time. "I will keep them safe."

Boris nodded gratefully.

"You will be at his funeral, da? Ivan must have thought a lot of you to give you so much trust."

"I will be there."

"Good," Boris replied as he stood and showed Harry out of the office. "I appreciate you arriving so quickly and know that I feel this loss as much as you do. Many here will."

"Was Ivan well-known?" Harry asked curiously.

Boris nodded.

"Not many Russians are chosen for a job like his," he explained. "We are not viewed as trustworthy, but Ivan made it, and he looked out for many. The people here loved him because he was a proud Russian, and one we could turn to in times of needs. During the last war, he patrolled the streets of Moscow so that we would feel safe, and always found a way to bring us food when we were left short."

"Really?" Harry asked.

Boris smiled.

"Ivan Federov was a great man, greater than you believed, da?"

Harry nodded his agreement as he realised that when he considered what he knew about Federov, it was very little.

To Harry, he had merely been his superior, and he hadn't thought much about the kind of person Ivan was away from his office or the ICW chambers.

From what Boris had said, he was adored by his fellow citizens, and it only made Harry respect the memory of the man more.

Ivan Federov had been a Hit-Wizard, the Head of the Department of Justice for the ICW, but more than that, he had been a fine man, and the world would be much worse off without him.

(Break)

"Will!"

Angelica's voice was full of relief as she threw herself into his arms, an embrace that he gratefully returned.

Belgium may have not been a complete disaster, but the cost of merely showing Grindelwald's men that they would not take what they wanted to easily had been a high price to pay.

In the hours since he had returned from Britain, William had helped compile a list of those that were missing from the British men, one that was much more comprehensive than he would have liked.

As far as he was concerned, any life lost in the pursuit of defending their world against Grindelwald's ambitions was too much, and the numerous names that had been scratched in the piece of parchment they'd used was sickening to consider.

Seventy-three in all were unaccounted for, and those that had not perished would undoubtedly now be a prisoner of an enemy who was not known for his mercy.

"I'm okay," William assured his wife tiredly.

Guilt washed over him as her tear-filled eyes roamed over William, looking for any sign of injury.

"What happened, Will?" she asked.

William could only shake his head as he explained what had transpired to his wife and son.

"Perseus Black?" Angelica asked disgustedly.

William nodded.

"We shouldn't be surprised really, not with what happened with Cassiopeia in Hogsmeade."

"So, the Blacks have joined him?"

"No!" Charlus interjected firmly. "Arcturus wouldn't."

"He hasn't, as far as we know," William pointed out. "If he has, he's got quite the pair on him to remain on the Wizengamot."

Charlus shook his head.

"He wouldn't involve himself in it," Charlus defended the Black heir. "I know him well enough to know he wouldn't."

William nodded, though he knew his son would have some bias on the matter with how he felt about the youngest daughter of Lord Black.

"What happens now?" Angelica asked worriedly.

William could only shrug in response.

"The only thing that would make sense would be for Grindelwald to make a move on France," he sighed. "He won't have an easy job with that. The ICW will use every available man they have to prevent it."

"Will it be enough?" Charlus questioned.

William released a deep breath.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "In every skirmish so far, we have been outnumbered considerably. We need more men, and if we don't get them, this could end badly for us."

Charlus deflated, and Angelica worried her lower lip.

William could not lie to his family.

As much as he wished he could spare them the knowledge of the danger they may yet face, he couldn't.

"Was Harry there?"

William snorted.

"Oh, he was there, and if he hadn't been, we might not have made it out at all," he replied. "People are starting to believe that he may be the one to kill Grindelwald. Even the foreigners see him as a hero."

"Harry won't like that," Charlus chuckled.

"No, but it is how he is seen," William explained. "Everyone just feels safer when he's there, and with good reason."

"And what part did you play in all this?" Angelica asked, holding up the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

William rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I might have been the one to blow up the Ministry."

Angelica gasped as Charlus stared at him wide-eyed.

"You blew up the Belgian Ministry of Magic?"

William nodded.

"We were told that it mustn't fall into his hands. I made sure that didn't happen."

Angelica shook her head in disbelief as Charlus laughed.

"I bet even Harry was proud of that," the latter declared.

"I wouldn't know," William sighed. "As soon as we arrived back in Britain, he was called away again."

"So, where is he?" Charlus asked worriedly.

"I don't know, but whatever dragged him away must have been important. He wouldn't have left so suddenly if it wasn't."

Charlus was not satisfied with the answer and summoned a quill, some ink, and a sheet of parchment.

"I'm going to write to him."

William offered his son a smile.

For how difficult Charlus must be finding this all, he was coping well.

Not only was it his father that was fighting overseas, but someone that had become a great friend, and if William was correct in his thinking, another family member, though his son didn't know that.

Not yet, at least.

Even William was still not certain of Harry's connection to them, but he had come to care for the young man.

If William had his way, Harry would play no part in this war, but at the same time, he too had begun to believe that it might just be the lonely orphan he had welcomed into his home so many years ago now that could be the difference between victory and defeat in the coming weeks and months.

(Break)

Harry watched as the coffin of one of the men he had looked up to was lowered into the ground, his expression grim, and the feeling of defeat not easy to ignore.

The war was beginning to take its toll on him, more so than he could have imagined.

It had only been three days since the events of Belgium and the subsequent death of Ivan Federov, but the Russians had not been idle.

Harry suspected they wished to bury Ivan quickly to deny Grindelwald the opportunity of adding further insult to injury, but he wouldn't pretend to know how funerals were conducted.

He had never attended one himself until today; not for Sirius, not Cedric's, and not even the one that would have been held for his parents.

Had they even been given a proper burial?

Harry shook his head of those thoughts. It would not do to dwell on them.

"That's the Russian Minister of Magic," Ghost whispered in his ear as a large man wearing a fur hat stood and approached the podium as the service was concluded.

Hundreds had arrived to pay their respects, adding credence to the words spoken by Boris Yan.

Ivan Federov was a national treasure, so respected that the most powerful man in the highest office had not only insisted on being here but also felt compelled to say his piece.

"Ivan Federov was one of the greatest men our country has produced in generations," the Minister began, and Harry was pleased he had the foresight to bring the translator he had still not returned to the British Ministry. "How his life was ended fills me with disgust, and even as we mourn one of our sons, I know that I am not alone in the rage I feel."

The Gathered Russians voiced their agreement.

It was no secret what had happened to Federov.

Across the front page of every newspaper in Russia, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows sat prominently above the remains of Federov's home.

"Our muggle government can sign what treaties they wish with the Germans, but I refuse to be beholden to them any longer," the Russian Minister declared, his words greeted by cheers of approval. "Our country has little to do with the ICW, but in light of what has happened, I will open talks with the representatives there where I will commit our support to putting to an end to the monster that has forced us together today."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked towards Ghost who was as shocked as him.

"It is now that I call upon the men of Russia to do their part, to be willing to take up arms against this Grindelwald and avenge the son that has been taken from us. Let us show him that the might of Russia is not something that should be provoked!"

The cheering that followed was uproarious, and as Harry stared across the crowd, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Well, this might just change everything," Ghost murmured.

Harry nodded.

"It may well do," he agreed, feeling the burden he carried lighten just a little bit.