To Seek Vengeance

There was perhaps a half-mile that separated the men of the ICW and Grindelwald's followers on the border between France and Belgium, both groups having seemingly settled themselves in for a lengthy stay if such a thing became necessary.

Deep trenches wove their way through the landscape, and as Harry had suggested, the wards that protected the border on the French side were at the backs of the ICW forces, an observation that filled him with bitterness.

What had happened in Paris could have been avoided if Ghost and Fox had listened to him and William Potter might still be alive.

To Harry, it was not a case of 'better late than never.' The damage had already been done as far as he was concerned.

Not that he found himself here to lament on what could and should have been.

No, he had something much more important to attend to.

Concealed within his cloak, he approached the enemy lines, careful not to trigger any magical traps that may have been laid.

Fortunately for Harry, he'd had the foresight to investigate the area earlier in the day, so avoiding them was no difficult task.

Were he to trigger a single one, he would find himself on the receiving end of an onslaught of spells the like of nothing he had ever experienced, the caterwauling charms serving to spring Grindelwald's men into action.

Reluctantly, he conceded that it was quite a genius move on their part, but not one they would ever catch him out with.

Even in the darkness, he could feel the magic that fuelled their defences; the concealed pits that would plunge one into depths below until they were impaled onto waiting spikes, the assortment of creatures that lurked in the shadows, and even detection spells that would trigger quite the impressive explosion for cauldrons that house volatile ingredients.

The minor combustions in Snape's dungeon would pale in comparison to those.

For a little over the past week, Harry had meticulously accounted for every inch of hostile ground here, and it was likely that he knew the defences better than those that had created them.

Even so, it was not as though the entire ICW force could hope to venture across no-man's-land without incurring severe casualties.

So well placed were these defences that Harry didn't think he could even bring another with him and navigate them.

It was quite the relief to know that it was Grindelwald's men that needed to proceed forward.

The men of the ICW could remain where they were to keep France safe, from the Wizards, at least.

There was nothing stopping the muggles dropping bombs from above, the instructions as expected having been for the wizards to not intervene.

It was not their war, after all.

Having reached the lip of the trench, he peered down to see that torches had been added to the walls to light the way for those that would patrol throughout the night, a necessity to ensure the entire group wasn't ambushed.

Harry shook his head when he noticed two of those tasked with doing so had fallen asleep, back-to-back in an alcove in the wall they had dug for themselves.

If they were lucky and had bored deeply enough, they may just avoid an impending death for many when Harry began his campaign of once more instilling fear within Grindelwald's men.

Once more they would learn that danger for them lurked in the shadows, that the sound of The Serpent's hiss meant that someone would meet their end.

Harry reached a part of the trench that seemed like a good starting point for his production of the evening, a show so to speak to reintroduce himself to both sides of the conflict, though only one group would suffer.

With some muttered spells and a few checks to ensure all went to plan, he carefully retreated to a place he would be treated to the best view of his work, and when he once more stood between to the warring factions, he waved his wand in an exaggerated fashion, the same way a conductor would signal an orchestra to play the first notes of a symphony.

The sound of hissing filled the air, eliciting an immediate response from both trenches, though they were different in nature.

Those of the ICW peered over the parapet curiously, some cheering and others wondering just what was happening.

On Grindelwald's side, the reaction was much more frantic, chaotic as those that had been in Belgium for a prolonged period of time realised just who had arrived.

Night after night they had been stalked by The Serpent, the hissing having kept them from their sleep, and the man that plagued them had followed them here in what many would deem to be the middle of nowhere.

To them, it was a moment of realisation that there was no escape.

"WHERE IS HE?"

"THERE!"

"THAT'S NOT HIM!"

"BE READY!"

The voices came in various languages, panicked shouts that needed no translation. Grindelwald's men were spooked, just the effect Harry intended to have on them.

For as long as they remained where they were, they would be on edge, anticipating the next time the hissing began.

With another wave of his wand, Harry's spells were set into motion, a loud whooshing sound beginning the proceedings as a streak of green fire illuminated the trench in which Grindelwald's men were cowering.

Screams followed as those who failed to take cover quickly enough were engulfed, and the smell of burning flesh soon came after.

It was a nauseating smell, and those of a sensitive disposition emptied their stomachs at the aroma of their scorched comrades and foes.

Harry was no stranger to the smell, and he took it in his stride as his fiery serpent slithered from the end of the trench it had been let loose in and climbed upwards into the night sky where it split into three.

He watched as they formed his own bastardised version of the symbol of the Hallows for all to see, just as he had in Bruges, and across Belgium whilst his enemies were holed up there.

Grindelwald used the symbol as a scare tactic, and Harry would continue to do the same.

He watched as it burned so prominently, unable to be ignored by either side, and while one side cheered its appearance, the other was left to clear up the remains of their dead, the symbol hanging above a constant reminder of just who was responsible.

Grindelwald had chosen to play dirty with his cowardly attack on William, and Harry was certainly not beyond adopting such tactics.

Having been the victim of a master of cunning throughout his formative years, he had learned from the best, and the small part of Lord Voldemort that had become him was certainly being put to a use the Dark Lord himself would approve of.

For good measure, he took a photo. It was time the world learned that there was a threat against Grindelwald.

If nothing else, it might just give some a little hope in a time that things seemed so bleak.

Leaving the burning serpents as a reminder that what had occurred was not merely a nightmare, Harry activated his portkey, taking his leave and feeling satisfied with the work he'd done.

(Break)

His attempt on Paris had been a disaster. Those on the outside of the conflict may look upon it as a victory for Gellert, but if nothing, his efforts had caused nothing but a major setback and more enemies to contend with.

When the Germans had finished their unsuspected bombing of France, Gellert had once more deployed his men to take the capitol, this time in the wake of the carnage left behind from the battle between the wizards, and the damage from the bombs.

Much to his irritation, such a cunning move had been foreseen and prepared. Gellert's forces had arrived to be faced with a blockade of Russians that had taken up fortified positions.

There was no way to pass them without considerable loss.

All that his own men could do was follow suit and take up residence a safe distance away.

Throughout the days after, more men from the ICW forces arrived, and it resulted in the stalemate Gellert was faced with overcoming.

There had been a few minor skirmishes, though nothing of note, and it solved nothing other than a few deaths on either side.

It simply would not do, but Gellert was at a loss on how he could solve this latest problem.

The ICW knew if he wished to continue with his campaign that he would need to be the one to press the action, and they had prepared accordingly for this.

Traps had been laid, no resources spared, and with the news that William Potter had been killed by Gellert personally having reached the ears of the British, their men had been arriving in droves, affronted that a man held in such high esteem should perish as he had.

Another mistake on Gellert's part, and one he perhaps would reconsider if given the opportunity.

He hadn't known it was William Potter he had cursed. Not that it mattered now.

There were more enemies to contend with, ones that were angry and determined to avenge a Lord who by all accounts was fair and just.

The newly arrived British had proven to be a churlish lot, scathing, and trying to goad Gellert's men into a fight at every opportunity.

Insults would be hurled, and spells would follow until they grew bored, or they realised they would get no response.

"A damned mess," Gellert muttered as he eyed the map pinned to his wall.

He had considered attempting to pass through the border in Italy and Germany, but the same risk presented itself.

The ICW forces had been busy indeed with their trenches and traps that awaited anyone foolish enough to cross.

With portkeys, they would arrive in seconds, and as Gellert knew, it was much easier to defend a position than to take one.

For the time being at least, he found himself locked in a war of attrition, and with neither side willing to give an inch of the ground they held, it was not a problem that would be solved quickly.

"What is it now?" Gellert snapped as a knock sounded at the door.

The news that had filtered in recently had not been good, and he doubted that whatever he was about to be informed of would be any different.

"He's back," Weber said simply as he entered the study."

"He's back?"

"The Serpent."

Gellert slammed his fist into the top of his desk.

Rumours were abound that the man had perished from either his own fires, or the bombs dropped by the Germans.

It was too good to be true, but it was the one positive of his offensive in France that Gellert had clung to.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

Weber nodded.

"I think you should see for yourself."

Releasing a deep breath, Gellert summoned his portkey and activated it.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived in the trenches of his men was the smell of burning flesh, like someone had been cooking meat that was past its best.

The sight of his followers clearing away the slurry of bone, sinew and what could only be described as offal was sickening enough, but it was when he turned his attention towards the display The Serpent had left behind that he felt his anger rise.

"My Symbol!" he seethed.

The Serpent had no right using the mark of the Peverells. Gellert was the one that possessed the wand, not him!

With a growl, Gellert levelled the legendary creation in the direction of the usurper's creation, the snakes being reduced to a shower of sparks with a simple spell.

Booing and Jeering from the opposing trenches followed, the catcalls shortly after.

"UP YOURS, GRINDELWALD!"

"KISS MY ARSE, YOU BASTARD!"

"FUCK GRINDELWALD!"

The goading brought a smirk of amusement to Gellert's lips.

They were such brave men from afar, but they wouldn't be so if they were to face him.

Like many others, they would cower and fall to their knees, begging for their lives.

The smile he wore vanished as the hissing began, mocking him more than their insults ever could.

"THE SERPENT'S COMING FOR YOU, COWARD!"

"I BET HE SHITS HIS PANTS AND RUNS AWAY!"

"WHAT'S WRONG, GRINDY? GOT YOURSELF A CASE OF THE BROWNS, HAVE YOU?"

The laughing came then, irking Gellert.

He certainly didn't fear The Serpent, and when the time was right, the fools on the other side of the war would know that.

Not that his sudden and quick re-emergence was not disconcerting.

Gellert did not fear the man, but most of his followers did.

"Be on guard," he urged. "He could return at any moment. When he does, I wish to be the first to know. I will handle him personally."

His followers nodded their understanding, many not concealing the relief they felt at his declaration.

With a final survey of the destruction that had been wrought, Gellert activated his portkey and returned to his study.

He needed to find a way past the ICW forces, but how?

With The Serpent back on the scene, he needed a solution and he needed one in a timely manner.

The man would cause untold problems for him and his men if he were to be left unchecked, something that Gellert would not allow to happen.

Once and for all, The Serpent needed to be dealt with, though where Gellert would begin with such a monumental task, he knew not.

(Break)

"You said that you had received no communication from The Serpent, and yet, here he is in every major publication across Europe," the Supreme Mugwump huffed irritably, holding up a stack of newspapers.

"We have heard nothing from him," Ghost explained. "These headlines are as much of a shock to me as they are you."

"What he did was certainly not on our orders," Fox interjected. "His actions are his own. I have already instructed a team to hunt him down and bring him in."

"Whatever for?" Doge demanded angrily.

"For his rogue actions."

Doge chuckled humourlessly.

"You will call your Hit-Wizards off!" Abreo commanded.

Murmurs of agreement followed his words.

"Those in my country welcomes what he has done," the Spanish representative declared.

"And mine," the Portuguese representative echoed.

Fox shook her head in disbelief.

"So, we are to allow him to undermine what we are all doing?"

"No," Abreo said dismissively. "We are allowing him to continue fighting our enemies in his own way."

"By causing uncontrolled chaos, and further violence when Grindelwald retaliates?"

"By putting fear into them," Abreo corrected. "You seem to have a vendetta against him, and I'd like to know why."

"Because we have rules, standards to abide by and he spits on them!" Fox retorted.

"Well, perhaps that was your concern the short while he was under your command, but it seems that he has decided he no longer is. Maybe he became disillusioned with how you operate your department?"

Fox's nostrils flared in anger at the insinuation, but Abreo was not moved by it.

"You will call your men off and you will keep your attention on apprehending criminals."

"Is The Serpent not a criminal?" Fox asked.

"Of course he isn't you bloody daft cow!" Doge snapped angrily.

Fox made to argue with the man but a hand on her shoulder from Ghost prevented that.

"They will be called off," he assured the gathered representatives, shooting a pointed glare at his subordinate.

Evidently, he knew nothing of the arrangements made to hunt The Serpent down.

Not that it would have done much good.

The Serpent wasn't the kind of man to be found if he didn't want to be.

"Is that all?" Fox asked.

"For now," Abreo said warningly, "but you had better get your priorities straightened out. So far, it has been only your office that has made mistakes and it is not something that will be tolerated any longer. Shape up, or I'll have you replaced, and you can fight amongst the men who are damned well doing something out in those trenches."

Fox stormed angrily from the room.

"She is too hot-headed for a position of power," the American representative sighed embarrassedly. "I would see her replaced in whatever position she holds now."

"She is my assistant," Ghost explained.

"Your assistant?" the American chuckled. "Seems to me that you're hers. I've met power hungry women, and they don't come more power hungry than her."

Ghost nodded his understanding.

Fox had always been so dependable and loyal to him and the ICW.

He'd thought he was making a smart decision bringing her in to assist him, but her short time in the role had not gone well.

She could not handle the pressure the job brought and was making rash and dangerous decisions.

If the Hit-Wizards had gotten to The Serpent before her instructions for them to bring him in had come to light, the result would have been a bloodbath.

Ghost remembered what had happened in Prague vividly, and if he could avoid being at odds with what now seemed to be his former colleague, he would do so at all costs.

The Serpent was not a man to cross lightly, let alone at all, and Fox needed to be reminded of that.

She was taking his involvement too personally, and though Ghost felt slighted that his summons had been ignored by the man, he wouldn't see it in such a way.

The Serpent was merely doing what he did best, likely because he felt shacked by the rules of being a Hit-Wizard.

A thoughtful frown creased Ghost's brow.

Having The Serpent bound by so many rules and regulations was not necessarily a positive thing.

No, the man could do much more if, as Fox said, he had gone 'rogue.'

(Break)

It was odd to feel similar to his peers in anything. Tom was so different from all of them that there had never been something he shared in common with even his housemates but having been drawn into the excited whispering at the breakfast table, he found for once that they were discussing something of interest.

"It says here that he is British," a seventh year commented. "He must be related to them if he is a parselmouth."

"That's just rumours," another disputed. "You're not telling me that Morfin Gaunt is The Serpent, are you, Selwyn?"

"Not bloody likely," Yaxley snorted. "From what my father said, Gaunt is a madman. Locked himself away in that shack of his. No, it can't be him."

"Then who?"

"Well, if it was that easy it wouldn't be a mystery, would it?"

"Yaxley is right," Selwyn declared to all that would listen, "but he must be related to Slytherin if he can speak to snakes. We can't dispute that."

Whilst his housemates became pensive, Tom could only stare at what remained of his breakfast in stunned silence.

He could talk to snakes. Did that mean he was related to Slytherin too?

The last words Selwyn spoke played over in his mind.

This Morfin Gaunt that was mentioned must be able to speak with snakes too.

Was he a relative?

Tom's mind was awash with thought after thought and it would take time to put them into perspective.

He would need to ponder what he had learned.

For months, he had all but given up on his pursuit of identifying his family, but finally, he had a fresh trail to follow.

As things stood, however, there was one thing he wished to clarify, something that didn't take any thought on his part.

Having lost his appetite, Tom left the table, his disappearance unnoticed as the staff and students alike were much too invested in discussing The Serpent.

Another relative?

Tom shrugged indifferently.

It mattered not.

When he had been but a boy, perhaps he would have liked a family, but Tom had outgrown that notion. If nothing else, he wished to merely satisfy his own curiosity as to where he came from, who his mother and father were, and why he had been left to rot in an orphanage.

He held no sentiment towards the mother that had died birthing him, nor to his absent father.

Both were weak and Tom had no time for weakness in his life.

The weak were devoured by the strong, and that was what he was.

Clearing his throat, he put on his most innocent expression, the very same one that failed to charm Mrs Coles but seemed to work on his head of house quite well.

He knocked on the door to the office and waited.

Only a moment later it opened, and Slughorn's eye lit up at the sight of his guest.

"What can I do for you today, Tom? It's a Saturday morning, you know."

"I'm sorry, sir," Tom replied, "but there was just something I wished to discuss with you. You did say your door was always open."

Slughorn offered him a smile and gestured for him to enter.

"I suppose I did," the portly man conceded with a chuckle. "Now, what is so important that it couldn't wait until Monday?"

"Sorry, sir, it's not that important. It can wait," Tom said quietly before turning back towards the door.

"No, no," Slughorn insisted.

Tom smirked to himself before clearing his expression and taking the seat on the opposite side of the desk to the Professor.

"Come along, Tom, what is on your mind?"

Tom frowned thoughtfully for a moment.

"I was just wondering, sir, if someone was proven to be a descendant of one of the founders of the school, would they own it?"

Slughorn was taken aback by the question before he chortled, his ample girth bouncing up and down in amusement.

"That is quite the question," he mused aloud. "What inspired that one?"

"Oh, I heard the other students talking about this Serpent man and they think he must be related to Slytherin because he is a p-."

"Parselmouth?" Slughorn asked.

Tom nodded, offering the man a smile of gratitude.

"You must understand that these are only rumours from the battlefield," Slughorn pointed out. "You should never believe everything you read in the newspaper, Tom. But to answer your question, no, just because someone may be a descendant of one of the founders, that doesn't mean they can claim ownership to the castle."

"I see," Tom murmured, doing his best to hide his disappointment.

Nothing would have given him more joy than to evict the students and teachers from the grounds.

"No, you see, if that were true then the Smiths would have laid claim to it centuries ago, and then there's the Gaunts."

"The Smiths?"

"Ah, a prominent family with established and proven ties to Helga Hufflepuff. The Gaunts are similarly related to Slytherin himself, though they are not so prominent anymore. They fell out of public favour long ago with their tendency to inbreed and their horrific prejudices."

Tom grit his teeth to maintain his composure at the description of those he was most likely related to.

"What about Gryffindor? Does any of his relatives remain?"

Slughorn chuckled.

"I would say there are many families that could claim relation to him," he sighed. "Godric Gryffindor was considered to be a bit of a cad in his time, meaning that he fathered children with several women. You never know Tom, even you could be related to him."

Slughorn couldn't be further from the truth of the matter if he tried.

"And Ravenclaw?"

"Now, that is quite a sad story. Rowena Ravenclaw had only one daughter before her husband died, and that daughter died childless. Would you like me to tell you a little-known fact?" Slughorn asked in a whisper, his beady eyes lighting up the way they always did when he was about to reveal gossip not many knew.

Tom nodded enthusiastically.

"Rowena's daughter is the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw Tower."

"The ghost?" Tom asked in awe.

Slughorn nodded.

"Yes, but even she could never claim Hogwarts for her own. The magic of the castle doesn't work in that way, but there is always something that can be found that belonged to one of the founders if you know what you're looking for."

Tom filed that piece of information away for later.

"How does the magic work?"

"Now that is a question," Slughorn praised. "Well, it is said the founders did not simply wish to leave the castle to their children. I suppose they didn't expect them to be as dedicated to their collective vision and they didn't wish their hard work to be squandered. They wanted those as passionate as they were about education to continue on with their work."

"So, they appointed a headmaster?" Tom deduced.

Slughorn smiled proudly.

"As astute as ever," he said sincerely. "That is exactly what they did. The magic of the founders allows a guardian to oversee the running of the castle, that guardian being chosen by a predecessor. It has been that way since the last of the founders that resided within the castle died."

"What happens if a headmaster dies without naming a replacement?"

Slughorn hummed.

"I'm no historian, but I believe such a thing happened some centuries ago," he mused aloud. "I believe the headmaster that succeeded the man that died was very unpopular and was, let's say, disposed of. How he took the post is anyone's guess, but it must be possible to do so if there is no successor in place."

Tom already had much to consider before this impromptu meeting, and now it seemed he had much more, but he would need to put his thoughts in order first.

"Thank you, Professor," he said as he stood. "You've been a wealth of knowledge."

"Any time, Tom, any time," Slughorn replied jovially.

With a nod of gratitude, Tom left the office with much to ponder, but as interesting as what he'd discussed with his head of house was, there was one thought he couldn't shift.

He now had a clue, a real thread to follow in identifying where he came from, and if, as he suspected, he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, what he suspected all along was correct.

He was different, even compared to his fellow students, he was not like them.

He was better.

The thought brought smile to his lips.

(Break)

"Charlus, please don't," Angelica pleaded. "Your father wouldn't want this for you."

"MY FATHER IS DEAD!" Charlus snapped. "GRINDELWALD KILLED HIM!"

The anger he'd been keeping at bay could no longer be contained.

From the moment he had learned of the fate of William Potter, Charlus knew what needed to be done.

He had bottled up the rage in favour of being there for his mother, had delayed his own grieving so that he could be as strong as she needed him to be.

Finally, Charlus had reached his breaking point.

"I can't watch you go off and be murdered too," Angelica sobbed. "Charlus please, I can't lose you the same way I lost your father."

"And I cannot live my life knowing that I did nothing about it!" Charlus bit back. "Grindelwald is still out there, and you cannot expect me to allow him to get away with it."

"He won't!" Angelica assured him. "He will face justice!"

Charlus shook his head.

"It's not good enough unless it is me that brings it to him."

Charlus swept from the room, the guilt of leaving his crying mother in his wake difficult to ignore, but there was nothing else for it.

He had to do this for himself and for his father.

He wiped away his own tears with the back of his hand before continuing with his packing, not knowing what he even needed to take.

"Mum, you won't change my mind," he sighed as a knock sounded on his door.

He opened it, surprised to be faced with someone who was certainly not his mother.

"What are you doing here? Did she send for you?"

"She did," Harry confirmed unashamedly. "She's worried about you and thinks that your grieving is clouding your judgement."

"And you agree with her?"

Harry released a deep breath.

"Maybe it is," he replied with a shrug, "but if anyone understands how you feel better than anyone, it's me."

Charlus snorted, eliciting a pointed look from Harry.

"Bugger," he muttered. "Sorry, I forgot."

Harry waved his apology off.

"I suppose what I do is down to what happened to my parents for the most part," he admitted. "I was a baby, helpless to prevent it, and I carry guilt with me. I know it wasn't my fault, but it still happened, and you never get over it. Maybe when I catch up with who killed them I will," he added thoughtfully, "but I don't think so."

"So, I should just leave it?" Charlus asked disgustedly.

Harry shrugged once more.

"That is for you to decide. If you honestly can't get past what happened, then you must choose what to do, but if you're going to fight, then I'm coming with you. I promised your mother that I wouldn't let what happened to your father happen to you."

"I can take care of myself, Harry."

"I never said you couldn't, but I'd be a pretty poor friend if I let you go alone. If you're going, then I'm going."

Charlus huffed irritably.

"You're a stubborn prat, you know that."

"Something we have in common," Harry returned.

Charlus smirked as he shook his head.

"You can't fight, you're a Hit-Wizard."

"Has that stopped me before?"

Charlus frowned at the question.

Harry had been in Belgium and in France with his father, something Charlus hadn't given much thought to. But if Harry was a Hit-Wizard, then why had he been there?

"That was where I was needed most," Harry explained as though he had read Charlus's thoughts.

"Even thought it could have costed you your job?"

Harry nodded.

"Grindelwald is dangerous as they come," he said gravely. "Being a Hit-Wizard gave me the freedom to learn about him, to see what he was doing for myself, and help where I could."

"And that doesn't do that for you now?"

Harry shook his head.

"The job gives me freedom but also limitations. If I am to fight against him, I can't be bound by those rules, and I refuse to be."

"Why are you so determined to fight against him, Harry?"

"Because I thought that he was like the man that murdered my parents. I wanted to prevent happening to others what happened to me."

"Is he?" Charlus pressed gently. "Is he like the man that murdered your parents?"

"Not as much as I expected," Harry replied. "He's just as dangerous, just as ruthless, but Grindelwald is quite sound of mind from what I have seen. His ambition is fuelled by his belief, not because he believes he has an entitlement to the world."

"And the man that killed your parents?"

"Is a megalomaniac who has not an ounce of care for others. He is selfish and quite insane, a different enemy entirely."

"You hate him," Charlus stated.

"The very same way you hate Grindelwald," Harry returned.

Charlus gave Harry a sympathetic smile.

There were parts of Harry he had never understood; his need to put himself in danger the way he did, his protective side, and how he seemed so closed off to the world.

Charlus understood it now, or so he believed.

It had taken him losing his own father to do so, but the way Harry was made sense to him.

How he had carried the anger and pain he had for so long without breaking, Charlus would never know, but they were kindred spirits, both in the pursuit of justice for the wrongs done against them.

"I'll help you," Charlus vowed. "When the time comes and you find the man that took your parents from you, I'll help you in any way I can."

"The way I want to help you," Harry sighed.

Charlus conceded the point with a nod.

"I'm honoured that you would do that for me, and I know that my father would be too."

Harry nodded.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked. "Are you certain you're as prepared as you can be? It's not easy to take a life, and it only takes a moment of hesitation before yours can be taken from you."

Charlus had never seen Harry so serious, his demeanour forcing him to really think about what he'd been asked.

"No," he answered honestly, "but I will be soon enough. There is one other thing that I need to do, then I will be."

"Then do whatever it is," Harry urged, "and take it easy on your mother. She'll never support what you're doing but maybe you can make her understand."

Charlus nodded.

"I'll speak with her," he promised. "I will need a week, and then we can sign up. At least the other Lords won't be able to say that I didn't do my part."

"Bugger what anyone else thinks, this isn't about them. You have a week, don't do anything stupid until then. I will damned well hunt you down myself and lock you up for the duration."

Charlus chuckled.

"I have no doubt you will. Thank you, Harry, for everything."

Harry merely nodded before taking his leave of Charlus's room.

"One week," the Lord Potter muttered to himself.

Somehow, he felt better knowing that he would have his opportunity to avenge his father, and even more so for his talk with Harry.

He had been a good friend to Charlus since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, but neither were the children they had been.

They were men now, and though Harry had been acting like a man for years now, it was Charlus's turn to follow suit.

There was no father to protect him from the evil of the world, and in the man's absence, Charlus would need to confront it.

Firstly, however, he had some potions ingredients to obtain, and what he expected would be some unpleasant days ahead.

(Break)

Despite there being a war taking place on the continent, The Three Broomsticks was as bustling as ever with the residents of Hogsmeade seemingly gathering to discuss the happenings abroad and the impact it had on their lives.

Harry and Minerva had no intention of indulging in such frivolous things. They were taking some time they seldom had free to see one another, a short, but sweet escape for them both for the most part.

"So, you didn't try to talk him out of it?"

Harry shook his head.

"Angelica wanted me too, but how could I when it would make me a hypocrite? Charlus is only doing the same thing that I am. Why should he be denied seeking his own justice?"

Minerva nodded her understanding.

"But Charlus isn't you, Harry," she pointed out. "Charlus lost his father, but he hasn't lived the life you have."

"I know, but I'm not going to be the one to stop him. The best I can do is be there for him and keep him safe."

"And just how will you do that?"

"I'm going to sign up with him."

Minerva's face fell.

"Harry, no," she begged, taking him by the hand. "Please, you can't."

Harry released a deep breath, tightening his grip on her.

"It is where I can do the most good, Minerva. Doing what I am won't put an end to the war. We need good fighters on the front line."

"But why you?" Minerva asked sadly. "Why is it always you?"

"Because as much as you wish I wasn't, this is what I'm best at."

Minerva met his gaze, her own filled with concern.

"Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life worrying about you?"

Harry smirked at her.

"Probably," he answered.

Minerva shook her head.

"It was difficult enough with you being a Hit-Wizard. I don't know how I'll cope knowing you're purposely putting yourself in the firing line."

"I've spent my life in the firing line. The only way out of it is to be there for a little longer."

"A little longer?"

"Until Grindelwald is forced to confront me himself. He can't ignore a threat like me forever. Eventually, he will be forced to face me."

"Not Charlus?"

"It doesn't matter to me who kills him," Harry answered honestly. "I've claimed enough lives for myself and there will be many more before I'm done. Whether Grindelwald is or isn't one of them means nothing."

Minerva nodded.

"Well, if nothing else, you're carving out quite the reputation for yourself. You're all the students are talking about."

"Not me exactly," Harry pointed out.

"True," Minerva conceded, "but it's not a secret that will last forever. It will come out eventually. Things like this always do."

"But not before I'm ready," Harrys aid firmly. "The Serpent is my way of keeping the people I care about safe."

"Does that include me?" Minerva asked with a grin.

Harry jumped as he felt her foot slide up the back of his leg.

"Bloody hell, if you carry on like that, you'll kill me before Grindelwald does."

Minerva raised an amused eyebrow at him.

"I'd ensure any death you got from me would be much more pleasant than what he would do to you."

"That I do not doubt," Harry huffed good-naturedly.

"You still haven't answered my question," Minerva reminded him.

Harry smiled at the woman.

"You're at the top of the list of people I care about."

His words brought a bright smile to her lips, one that filled Harry with warmth.

He'd meant what he said.

He didn't know when it had happened, but the lady seated before him was just another reason for him to keep fighting.

His parents would always be at the forefront of his mind along with Sirius, but Harry hadn't thought much beyond what he would do when he eventually killed Tom Riddle.

He still didn't know but he was certain he wanted Minerva to be a part of it.

(Break)

The runes had been easy enough to carve into the basement floor of Potter Manor, but as ever, Charlus had struggled with the brewing of the potion. Even if his father's written instructions had been clearer, it wouldn't have made the task any more joyous.

Still, the liquid in the cauldron was as described and as Charlus removed his clothes and took a seat in the middle of the circle of runes, he eyed the two knives, picking one up before taking a deep breath.

In one swift movement, he dragged the gold-handled, silver blade across his left palm before switching to the other knife and mimicking the action on his right.

With what he hoped to be the worst of it over, her pressed his hands together and held them over the cauldron. When it turned a golden yellow, he nodded satisfactorily and drained the contents.

He immediately felt light-headed and the pulsing of magic through his veins.

It was a surreal experience in itself, but not something he was granted long to dwell on.

Only a moment later, the pain began, an unbearable burning searing every fibre of his being, ripping a scream of agony from his throat before he knew nothing more than darkness.