Breaking Boundaries

Having managed to snatch only a few hours of precious sleep whilst preparations were underway, Harry had called a meeting of the other Commanders, his tired state and irritation from what had happened in Spain having left him in a particularly foul mood.

Seeing the Spanish Commander enter and take his seat only irked him further, and he glared at the man who was looking quite pale for someone hailing from the Mediterranean.

The other Commanders noticed his presence also, their expressions one of questioning, and all seemingly displeased with him.

"Explain," Harry demanded. "Explain to the rest what you did and what happened."

The man wilted under Harry's glare, his eyes fearful as he recounted his actions that led to what had occurred the previous evening.

"We were outnumbered," he murmured. "Most of my men were killed and the rest of us captured to be imprisoned. Evans came for us, and we manged to escape."

"Something I will not be doing again," Harry growled, "and that goes for the rest of you," he added, his gaze sweeping across the others seated around the table. "How many men did you lose?"

The Spaniard swallowed deeply.

"Four hundred and twelve," he answered.

"Four hundred and twelve," Harry echoed. "And what did you achieve?"

The Spaniard shook his head.

"Nothing."

Harry nodded, his jaw tightening.

"Whatever remains of your men will be split up and added to other groups," he informed the cowed man. "You will no longer be in command of anyone and think yourself lucky that I came for you. If you ever put mine or anyone else's life at risk like that again, I will personally find the coldest, darkest prison and ensure you rot there for the rest of your days. Do you understand?"

The man flinched and Harry glared at him for a few seconds before looking away in disgust.

He was angry that this man had led his men on such a foolish venture, cost most of them their lives, and yet, here he sat still living and breathing.

"How are the preparations going?" he asked the room at large.

"My men are ready for whatever they're needed for, comrade" Sokolov answered.

Harry nodded appreciatively at the Russian who was almost grinning.

"As are mine," the Canadian added.

"And mine," the Indian assured him.

Other than Petr, the rest of the men were quite subdued, displeased with the Spaniard, and seemingly not wanting to provoke Harry's ire.

"Good," Harry declared. "Bloody hell, we need to cooperate with each other. Us being here isn't about our egos, it's about winning a war against a madman who is trying to invade our homes. We can't win if we can't come together to do it. I didn't ask for this position, and I'm not here to lord any sense of perceived power I have over you. I want us to work together so that we can all go home at the end of this."

The other men nodded their understanding, relaxing somewhat.

"If you think I'm doing something wrong or that you have a better idea for how we should proceed, then voice it. I want to avoid situations like the one I faced last night, but we must keep the bigger picture in mind. We must formulate a plan and stick to it, or we all may as well leave now and wait for him to take our homes from us one by one."

"He's right," Petr spoke up. "We have our differences, there is no denying that, but we must put them aside for now to defeat Grindelwald. My father knows this, that is why he is willing to fight alongside the ICW. None of our countries can defeat him alone, not even mine."

Harry nodded gratefully at the man before releasing a deep breath and unfurling a large map of the world across the table that he had color-coded to show the layout of the current territories.

"This is what we are up against," he murmured. "As much as I wish we could head west into France and then Spain, we do not have the men to do so. The only way we can get more men is to liberate the lands that will be less guarded."

"So, where do we begin?" the Portuguese commander questioned.

"Here," Harry said, pointing at the Netherlands. "It is small enough that we can take quickly, and then add some much-needed men to our ranks. I have sent scouts ahead and am awaiting their report."

"It is a good plan," the Indian agreed thoughtfully. "What of Germany and Austria?"

Harry shook his head.

"For now, it would be foolish to attempt to take either," he sighed. "Grindelwald has strong support in both. I think from the Netherlands, we should take Denmark, Norway, and then Finland. Petr, do you know how many fighting men we may be able to get from them?"

"If they are mostly untouched, we could double our army from those four countries alone," the Russian explained. "It would be a good place to start. It is winter, and Grindelwald's men will not want to fight in the cold if they are not used to it."

Harry nodded.

Those had been his thoughts on the matter.

"Do you know these places well?"

Petr shook his head.

"Njet, but my men are adept at fighting in those climates. You will need us."

"We will," Harry agreed. "Does anyone else have any thoughts?"

"I would also volunteer my men for this," the Canadian broke in.

Harry nodded appreciatively.

"I do not think my men would be suited to this," the Indian sighed. "We have no experience of the cold."

"Then I would ask that they take the place of the Russians on the borders and Canadians that will come with us," Harry requested, receiving an eager nod in response.

"Of course," the Indian consented.

"The plan is that when we liberate a country, we will use the men their to hold it, supplemented with some of our own," Harry explained. "We do not wish to lose the ground we gain as we move on."

"What comes after the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, and Finland?" the Canadian asked curiously.

"If all goes well, we will head into the Baltic States," Harry explained. "We may not get as many men from them, but they're equally as important. It also removes the threat from the Russian border once we take the Ukraine along with them."

"And from there, we can call upon many men," Petr interjected. "The Ukrainians will fight with us against Grindelwald."

"It seems to be a good plan," the French Commander conceded, though he did not seem pleased that they would be heading north and then east.

"It is," Harry murmured thoughtfully, "but we can't get ahead of ourselves. For now, our focus is on the Netherlands, and I would like it taken before the morning."

"Will you lead the men?" Petr asked.

Harry nodded.

"I would like you to remain behind with yours and guard the Belgian border as you have been. Your time to fight will come soon."

"Of course," Petr complied. "Who will you take with you?"

"My own men, and the Portuguese will support us."

"What about the rest of us?" the Frenchman asked.

"You will be ready to arrive when I give the signal. The Dutch will need help; healers, food, and their houses repaired. Can you manage that?"

"Oui, my men will be glad to help them."

"And mine," the Indian insisted. "We have plenty of food to share and several healers."

"Then we all know what we are doing?" Harry questioned, receiving nods in response. "Good, then continue with your preparations," he instructed.

He watched as the Commanders left the room, chatting amongst themselves as they did so.

"You handled that well, friend," Petr chuckled. "I do not envy your position."

"Well, you shouldn't since you are my second in command," Harry replied with a smirk.

"Damn!" Petr snorted, though his eyes were alight with amusement. "Most will not like that."

Harry shrugged.

"Right now, I don't care what they like. After the shit I have put up with from most of them, they can piss off."

Petr laughed as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit, comrade," he praised. "Maybe now we can get to winning this war, da?"

(Break)

She had felt the trembling of the building as chunks of the mountain were brought down and had even hoped that someone was coming to rescue her, but that was not to be.

Through the wind and rain, she had only been able to see the occasional flash of light from spell fire, and perhaps a scream of agony, though that could have merely been her imagination.

It wasn't until the weather had cleared and the sun risen that Fox, through the tiny slit in the wall that served as a window, could look upon the devastation that had been wrought in the night.

Chunks of stone were strewn across the mountain pass along with a few corpses that none had cared to clear away.

What had happened, she knew not, but since she was still a prisoner here, it didn't matter.

She didn't know how long she had been held, each day bleeding into the next, and after scratching the thirtieth day into the wall, she'd given up doing so.

A part of her still clung to a shred of hope that she and her fellow prisoners would be freed from here, but such a thing was pointless to conceive.

They had been forgotten, and their numbers had only swelled with each passing day, week, or month.

She had seen them marched along the path and into the prison in droves: by now, there must be hundreds of others just like her, waiting and praying for freedom.

Fox couldn't help but think that none ever would, and though she knew her treatment could be worse, it was no substitute for life outside of these walls.

She missed her home, and even the days she risked her life as a part of Ghost's team, the danger she faced day in and day out.

It was strange to reflect on the years gone by, and yet, here she was, with nothing else to do other than look back.

With nothing to seemingly look forward to, what else did she have left?

Nothing but memories and time to give to them and tears to spill.

Was there any hope she would leave this place?

Fox could not envision it, but still, she could hope, even if it was foolish to do so.

(Break)

Since having been shown the Room of Requirement, Tom had spent most of his free time within it, testing its limitations, seeing what it could and couldn't offer him.

Food was not something it could provide, nor could it provide gold or anything else of monetary worth that hadn't been placed in it by another, but there was so much more that it could do that the limitations didn't matter.

Tome after tome could be called upon, knowledge that he would not likely find elsewhere, or at least struggle to come across.

Here, he could train his magic beyond what he would be shown in the classroom, here, he could hone his abilities, and even experiment without worry that his work would be discovered.

Here, he could become what he knew in his heart of hearts he was destined to be.

Within these walls, he would grow stronger than any that had come before him; more powerful, his ambition coming to fruition without being impeded by the rules of the school or even the Ministry.

His potential was unquestionable to himself, and every obstacle he faced would be overcome.

There was nothing that would stand in his way in becoming the greatest wizard to have ever lived.

Tom Riddle was willing to do whatever that took, things that no other could conceive, if necessary.

"You look like the niffler that found the galleon," Rosier commented as Tom entered the common room.

Ever since their disagreement that saw Tom asserting himself over the older boys, Rosier had been much friendlier, cautious, but no longer antagonistic.

They didn't speak often, but their interactions had become more civil, though Tom couldn't help but think there was something Rosier wished to say to him.

Often, the older boy would look at him questioningly, though he never spoke his thoughts.

"Nothing of the sort," Tom replied dismissively as he took his usual seat by the fire, his housemates knowing better than to occupy it now.

Once more, he saw that same expression adorning Rosier's features and he sighed irritably.

"What is it?" he snapped.

Rosier swallowed deeply.

"I've been thinking, well, you're a parselmouth," he whispered.

Tom nodded, his eyes narrowing at the direction the conversation was taking.

"As a parselmouth, you must be related to the Gaunts."

"Perhaps," Tom conceded.

"That should make you the heir of Slytherin with only Morfin left."

"Morfin?" Tom questioned curiously.

He had not had the opportunity to look into his wizarding family and had not wished to mention it to Slughorn or any other on the matter.

The records available in Hogwarts ended in the 1800s, so Tom was not privy to those that yet lived.

Not that they mattered.

They were no family of his.

Rosier nodded.

"The Gaunts are the only family left in centuries with any ties to the Slytherin line, and who have the Parseltongue ability," he explained. "Morfin is the last of them though. His father, Marvolo died in Azkaban some years ago."

Marvolo?

That was the middle name he had been given and could not be a coincidence. Marvolo was not a common name, not even in the wizarding world.

"Were they the only two?" Tom asked.

Rosier shook his head and appeared to be nervous.

"No, Morfin had a sister, Marvolo's daughter," he revealed. "No one knows what happened to her, but there's a rumour that she ran off with a local muggle more than a decade ago. She hasn't been seen or heard of since."

Tom nodded thoughtfully, schooling his features so not to give his thoughts away.

Internally, his emotions were at war as he finally confirmed the origins of his mother.

She had come from a once prominent pureblood family and had fled from it with a muggle who had evidently left her when she was pregnant with him.

"Anyway, that is all beside the point," Rosier continued. "The person I wanted to mention to you is The Serpent," he added in a whisper, checking to ensure no one was attempting to listen in on their conversation. "Is he your father?"

The very thought made Tom clench his jaw to keep his fury at bay.

"No," he said firmly.

"But he must be a relative of yours," Rosier replied excitedly, missing the tension of the younger boy in his excitement of finally voicing his thoughts. "He is British, and he is a parselmouth just like you. There must be a connection."

"Perhaps," Tom conceded unhappily, "but he cannot be a Gaunt or he'd be known."

"That's what makes him so mysterious," Rosier pointed out. "I spoke with my father, and he is certain The Serpent is not a Gaunt. Marvolo, despite his choices, registered all of his children with the Ministry. To him, there was nothing more important that ensuring his line continued. Another son would not have gone unnoticed."

"Until his identity is known, it will remain so," Tom sighed, growing tired of the conversation, his mind still focused on the woman he was convinced had mothered him.

"But if there is a connection, Tom, that makes him the heir," Rosier explained.

This time, Tom could not hide his anger, and his lip curled in distaste at the thought.

The Serpent was the heir of nothing! Tom was Slytherin's direct descendant, not the pretender who had chosen to fight against Grindelwald.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…"

Tom waved Rosier off and smiled at the other boy.

"I can see why you would think that," he acknowledged, "but when the time is right, I will leave the world in no doubt as to who is Salazar's heir," he vowed as he stood and began walking towards his room.

He paused, however, unable to walk away from the conversation without knowing one more thing.

"What was her name?" he asked. "Marvolo's daughter?"

Rosier frowned at the question before nodding knowingly to himself.

"Merope," he answered.

Tom said nothing else, choosing to continue on his way as he internally repeated the name.

Merope.

She had evidently been a weak woman, unable to even survive the most natural thing that was childbirth.

Merope Gaunt had been pathetic, more so than the muggle father that had abandoned them both for reasons unknown to Tom.

He would be nothing like either of them.

Tom would never perish from something so shameful, and if he had his way, he would never perish at all.

He had read about Nicholas Flamel and his achievement in creating a philosopher's stone. Tom would never become so accomplished in alchemy to replicate the feat, but he was certain other options were available.

Death meant weakness, and he would not succumb to such a thing.

No, he would live forever, something his mother had failed to do.

How he would achieve it, he knew not, but Tom knew there were other methods of doing so.

He merely needed to learn of them.

(Break)

Throughout all of her travelling, the various countries she had visited whilst she had liberated vast amounts of gold from the goblins, never had Eleanor experienced anything like she had in Austria.

It was as though a fever of sorts had gripped the nation, both magical and muggle alike swept up in an almost unanimous support of perhaps two of the most unpleasant men on the planet.

In Vienna, rallies were held daily as the muggles ardently offered their support to their fellow countryman who had ascended to the very top of German politics, his face appearing on almost every building in the form of posters.

Were it not for the despicable acts rumoured to be carried out by the man and his regime, Eleanor would have perhaps found some respect and admiration for what he'd achieved.

The same could be said of Grindelwald who was very much held in the same regard in the wizarding populace of Austria, though she knew of his crimes against humanity, her own country having been amongst the first to be swallowed up by his movement with hundreds, maybe even thousands having been murdered by the man and his ilk.

Like the muggle that had somehow managed to garner so much support there, the Austrian magicals had almost come to worship Grindelwald. Their adoration of him on display for all to see should they venture into the magical district of the city.

It sickened her to see him vaunted so and she could not help but think the men and women had taken complete and utter leave of their senses.

Still, she had ventured to Austria for a reason, and after many days that had bled into weeks, she had gotten no closer to identifying just who Weber was.

Night after night, she had gone from seedy bar, and even into the most unpleasant hovels for any mention of the man, but it seemed that either those that were associated with him did not discuss him, or they did not frequent these establishments.

From there, she had changed venues into the richest Vienna had to offer and had still learned nothing, not even a whisper of the elusive man.

What she had discovered, however, was that Grindelwald had built a prison in the north of the country, a place that had taken her days of exploring the mountains to find.

At first, she had believed that he would have concealed the building, perhaps warded it so that it would not easily be happened across, but no. Grindelwald had made no such effort to hide his creation, the stone tower standing proudly for all to see who cared to do so.

When Eleanor had found it for herself, she dared not get too close.

Even as a spider, the magic was overwhelming, as foreboding as any other she had come across.

No, it was not her place to investigate such a thing, and though she felt for any that found themselves within the walls, there was nothing she could do to help them.

She had informed Harry of her findings, or lack of for the most part, and had left Austria shortly afterwards, frustrated but no less determined to complete her task.

Germany, it turned out, was not so different from Austria other than the destruction in Berlin from the muggle bombings that had taken place here, though not even that had broken the spirit of the German people who continued to take to the streets to profess their support for their leader.

Eleanor was dumbfounded by what carnage could be caused by the weapons the muggles used, the piles of stone and wood that had once been houses and other buildings attesting to their devastation.

She had not remained in the muggle world for long here, and even if the same level of fanaticism had reached the magical populace, albeit the support for another man, she felt safer amongst her own kind.

It certainly wouldn't do to find herself in the muggle side of the city when the bombs dropped; and drop they did.

The explosions could not be ignored as the planes flew over head and deposited their bombs onto the city almost every night she had been here thus far.

Even on the wizarding side and behind the wards and charms that kept them separated from the muggles, the tremors in the ground could be felt.

What would happen if one was to land here, she knew not, but she was grateful that it hadn't happened, and even though she wanted nothing more than to leave this place, she remained steadfast, listening to the portly native she had been following for the past two nights.

She had noticed him as soon as he entered the bar she'd decided to investigate first, the other patrons turning to greet him, and his beaming smile revealing several gold teeth.

He had propped himself against the bar and ordered a drink, seemingly waiting for someone, and the other customers gave him his privacy, something Eleanor found odd with how enthusiastically he had been welcomed.

Carefully, she made her way closer to him as he was eventually joined by another man, this one having been pointedly ignored as he entered, his face not a comely one, marred with scars and his eyes as cold as any she had ever seen.

The conversation they'd had was brief, barely murmured before the fatter of the two discreetly handed the other a bag of what was unmistakably gold.

"Compliments of Mr Weber," he'd explained with a coy wink.

The grin he'd received in reply was more of a leer, sinister even, and Eleanor got the impression this man was not one to cross lightly.

Eleanor had not seen him again, much to her relief, but her suspicion that the other was a frequent customer here proved to be correct when he arrived the next evening, though this time, he simply drank alone.

He did not have any meetings, nor did anyone attempt to spend time in his company.

The man had left after only being in the bar for an hour.

Tonight, however, was different, the mood in the pub not as jovial or warm as it had been the previous two evenings.

It was as though the patrons, some that had become familiar to her, were waiting for something, and the expectation only became more apparent when the man she had been listening in on entered.

This time, he didn't smile, his expression quite severe as he took in each patron before leaving the bar momentarily, returning with a trio of other men, one of them being the very same that Eleanor had hoped not to see again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the overweight one called, "if you would join me in the courtyard, the festivities for this evening will begin shortly. Those of you that are duelling, report to Mr Steiner and he will match you with another."

With that, he stepped through a side door next to the bar and the rest of the patrons followed him.

In her spider form, it took Eleanor longer to do so, but when she did, she found herself in a large space with a duelling platform running through the centre, and the chat amongst those in attendance having become excited, each guest anticipating the start of the festivities.

She situated herself in one of the corners, watching keenly as the large man took to the centre of the platform and placed his wand to his throat.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we all know why we are here," he began with a chuckle. "With the current climate, the ICW…"

His words were cut off by a series of jeering and booing at the mention of the governing body and the man held his hands up, his smile unwavering. "…all official duelling contests have been suspended, but fear not. We do not recognise the authority of the ICW!"

The crowd cheered at the declaration and the man laughed heartily.

"That is why we have put together our own contests for your enjoyment, and of course, where you can even make a little gold for yourself. So, without delay, let us begin."

Eleanor would not consider herself much of a duellist., but she had seen her fair share of competitions, and this was like nothing she had ever experienced.

Here, there were no referees, only two men acting as judges, who, as far as she could tell, were happy for any and all spells to be used during the bouts, many of which ended when one of the duellists were unable to continue due to injury.

Many were severely cut, and one man even had an arm removed from a curse that no sanctioning body would have allowed to have been used.

There were seemingly no rules here, and as the event came to an end a few hours later, she felt relieved.

There was only so much bloodshed she could stomach, and tonight, she had reached her limit.

With those needing medical attention having been taken away, and the other guests leaving, some richer than they had arrived, the large man remained behind with the two others that had arrived with him.

"What's the final count?" the man called Steiner asked.

The fat man shook his head irritably, like a hippo that was being bothered by a fly.

"Six hundred galleons," he answered.

"Do you think they know?" the third, unidentified man asked.

Steiner shook his head.

"How would they? Only us and the loser knows they aren't going to win. They make a good bit of gold to keep their mouths shut, and if they don't, Weber makes sure they will not speak again."

"How much will we get from this?" the third man asked again, evidently new to this.

"Here," the fat man grumbled, handing him a sizable stack of coins. "Now, get out there and find some more duellists."

The man nodded and disappeared through the side door into the bar.

"You know what to do," the fat man sighed after a moment.

Steiner grinned maliciously.

"Are you going to see him?"

The fat man snorted as he shook his head.

"I don't get to see him personally, but one of his contacts will reach out to me soon."

Eleanor cursed internally.

If this man didn't meet with Weber, how could she hope to identify him?

Still, she had made progress and all that remained to do was somehow follow the fat man and learn who it was he met with.

If she followed the trail, eventually, it would lead her to Weber, or so she hoped.

Satisfied with the answer, Steiner followed in the wake of the third man, and Eleanor suspected she would not see the latter again.

He seemed new and clueless to how this odd duelling setup worked, likely because he was, and would be disposed of when Steiner caught up with him.

(Break)

"Finally," Harry huffed, breathing a sigh of relief as Arcturus returned.

The other scouts he had sent had done so hours ago and he was beginning something had happened to the Lord Black.

"You have my apologies," Arcturus offered. "I wanted to be sure that no others were hiding elsewhere in the city before coming back."

Harry waved off the apology.

"How many?" he asked.

"Around two hundred at most," Arcturus answered confidently. "I followed some of them, and there isn't any more lying-in wait, not in the city at least."

"That doesn't mean there won't be reinforcements," Charlus pointed out.

"No, but if we get in quickly and secure the border, reinforcements won't matter so much," Harry replied thoughtfully. "Anything else?"

"No," Arcturus yawned. "The citizens are avoiding the magical district as much as they can, so they won't be a problem, nor will they be any help. They're scared, Evans."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"We do have one problem," Yaxley interjected. "There are anti-portkey wards up, and the main entrance into the district will only allow a few of us to enter at once. We will be noticed before we can get any significant number of people in."

"I saw someone enter using a portkey," Gilbert explained, "I even managed to take this from him."

He removed metal effigy of the Deathly Hallows symbol and placed it on the table.

Harry picked it up and inspected it before nodding.

"You sneaky bastard," he praised, pleased he'd sent the often-unsavoury man as a scout. "You may well have just made our job much easier."

"How?" Yaxley asked, shooting a questioning glance at Gilbert.

"This isn't a regular portkey," Harry explained, "well, it is, but it has been tuned to bypass the wards that are in place there."

"You can tell that just by holding it?" Arcturus asked.

"I can feel the magic in it," Harry said dismissively. "It acts as a regular portkey would, but the emphasis is on the key part. If I had to guess, whomever erected the wards included a magical lock of sorts, and this is a key to open it."

Arcturus continued to stare at him curiously but did not say anything further.

"There is a problem, Harry," Charlus sighed. "We only have one of them. It won't be powerful enough to transport as many people as we need."

"True," Harry conceded, "but I can replicate it."

"You can do that?" Arcturus questioned disbelievingly. "You can just feel magic and replicate it?"

"Most things," Harry replied, eliciting a shake of the head from the Lord Black.

"Bloody hell," he snorted. "Can you do it with spells?"

Harry nodded as he drew his wand and cast one towards the wall.

It left no marks, but Arcturus looked at him wide-eyed.

"That's one of my family spells," he said accusingly.

"One your sister tried to use on me," Harry explained.

Arcturus's jaw tightened before he shook his head, muttering irritably under his breath.

Harry wasn't sure if he could simply replicate any spell in such a way, but he suspected that Bellatrix had found a way to teach Voldemort some of the Black family magic at least.

He'd immediately recognised the spells Cassiopeia had attempted to use on him, the same way he had others he had not learned since undergoing the ritual Nicholas and Perenelle had performed on him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a scary bastard, Evans?" Yaxley chuckled.

"A few, but we're getting off topic," Harry pointed out. "We need to figure out how we are going to approach this. Did any of you manage to map the streets?"

"I did," Gilbert declared as he removed a sheet of parchment from within his robes and placed it next to the portkey on the table.

"This is a good map," Harry praised, taking in the detail Gilbert had put into, each building labelled with what it was. "I think we may have just found what you're best at."

He'd even gone to the trouble of marking out the winding alleyways they'd need to be aware of in case reinforcements arrived or they needed to make an escape.

"When you've been chased by the aurors as many times as I have, you quickly learn that you need to be familiar with the streets you operate in," he pointed out.

Harry shook his head amusedly.

"Where did the man arrive when he used the portkey?" he asked.

"Here," Gilbert explained, pointing to an alleyway between a restaurant and a jewellery shop. "It's big enough to hide us from view if we arrive in groups and make room for the next."

Harry scanned the rest of the map before making up his mind on how they would proceed.

"Well, all that is left is to make some more portkeys," he announced. "Charlus, you'll take our group and some of the Canadians, and exit the alley through the rear. From there, I want you to clear the path to the Ministry from these side streets. Arcturus will go with you."

Charlus nodded his understanding.

"I will take some of the Portuguese, the French, and the Irish. We will make our way down the main street. It should split their forces, but if it doesn't, you can join us by filtering through these alleyways and vice versa," Harry explained, marking these points on the map before replicating it, and handing it to the man.

"Seems like the best approach," Charlus agreed. "We will keep any back in reserve?"

Harry nodded.

"Yaxley will lead a group to ensure we aren't attacked from behind. He will have some Russian's, Poles, and Belgians with him."

"Me?" Yaxley questioned worriedly.

"You will be fine," Harry assured him. "Bloody hell, this isn't new to you."

Yaxley swallowed deeply but nodded, nonetheless.

"Alright, go and ready yourselves, gather your men and be prepared to leave within the next two hours," Harry instructed.

"Who is going to secure the border?" Charlus asked.

"Petr is in charge of that," Harry informed him. "Once we are in, the Russians will spread across, taking out anyone in their way."

"And are we doing the same?"

Harry nodded gravely.

"I want the Netherlands captured by whatever means necessary. We can't afford to balls this up. If people throw down their wands, stun them if you can, but don't take any risks. Understood?"

The others nodded and took their leave of the room whilst Harry set about the task of replicating the portkey Gilbert had taken.

It was going to be a long night, but he hoped that by the time the sun rose, they would have freed another country from Grindelwald's grasp.

(Break)

The very same sense of nervousness Charlus had felt when they'd taken Belgium only weeks prior had settled over him, his mouth dry as he looked upon the cluster of three hundred men he would be leading into battle.

More than ever, it dawned on him that he was responsible for their lives, and though he had led a group in Bruges, it had been Harry who was in charge.

He shook his head of those thoughts as Yaxley arrived with his men.

The alleyway they'd arrived in was cramped, but they had managed to squeeze in, seemingly undetected.

The element of surprise could be the difference between how many of their own men they lost, and should things go according to plan, the numbers would be minimal.

"Everyone is to keep silent for as long as possible," Harry whispered as he made his way through the ranks of their own men. "Remember. Circle around to the Ministry and don't take any stupid risks. If anyone else arrives, send a signal," he added to Reg who nodded nervously.

"I will," Yaxley assured him.

Harry gave the man an encouraging smile.

"Wait for two minutes until after we leave, then you move out. If we're lucky, they'll flock to the main street, and you can flank them. Any questions?"

Charlus shook his head, wondering how Harry could be so calm about this, though he had little time to dwell on it as the man led his group out of the alley and into the main street in the magical district of Bruges.

When the last of them had vanished from sight, Charlus began his count, ignoring the sounds of fighting that sounded before he had even gotten to thirty.

"We hold," he said firmly, the men he was leading becoming restless, the wait almost unbearable.

Charlus too wanted nothing more than throw himself into the mix especially when the agonising screams started.

From their position, it was impossible to know what side of the battle the screaming was coming from, but as he finally reached the end of his count, he breathed a sigh of relief, gesturing for his men to follow him.

As much as he wanted to sprint the length of the route he was to take, he knew it would be foolish to do so.

Grindelwald's men could be lying in wait at every turn, and it would not do to be caught off guard, but such worries proved to be unfounded.

It turned out that the forces stationed here had indeed swarmed to the main street as the fighting commenced, and as Charlus rounded the final corner with Arcturus, who had kept pace with him, it was to see the myriad of men with their attention focused on where he knew Harry would be.

"Let's go," Charlus commanded.

Now, he did sprint, closing the distance between himself and Grindelwald's men, unleashing a flurry of spells that his own group added to, and once more, screams of the wounded and dying filled the air only more so as few had managed to shield themselves.

What may have been something resembling a battle before Charlus and his men had intervened, quickly turned into nothing short of a slaughter.

Grindelwald's men were overwhelmed quickly, and though Harry had prepared for it, no reinforcements had arrived.

As Charlus had suspected, none had surrendered, and in truth, no opportunity to do so had been presented. The invaders had simply been eradicated, and as he found Harry directing healers to their own wounded, the man gave him a tired, sad smile.

"We did it," Charlus sighed.

Harry nodded as he took in the devastation around them.

Unlike Belgium, no buildings had been destroyed, and the skirmishes had lasted only a matter of minutes.

"We did," Harry acknowledged, "but there isn't time to celebrate. I want Gilbert, Yaxley, and six Russians in Denmark before Grindelwald learns of this. We need to press the advantage we have."

"I'll see to it now," Charlus assured him, squeezing Harry's shoulder as he left him to the burden of dealing with the aftermath of the battle.

His expression must have given an indication that their night was not over yet because as he approached Yaxley and Gilbert, their own became quite grim.

"Take six Russians and make your way to Denmark," he instructed. "We will need a good map of the area and knowledge of what forces they have."

"Now?" Yaxley asked.

Charlus nodded.

"Harry doesn't like it any more than us, but we can't be idle. Grindelwald will hear of this soon, and it's best we don't give him too much time to think about what he can do."

"Seems like a good idea," Yaxley huffed. "Come on, Gil, we can celebrate when the bastard is rotting in the ground."

Charlus appreciated that they didn't question their orders but breathed a sigh of relief as he headed back towards his own men.

"What's next?" Arcturus asked.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't get too comfortable here," he advised.

"I wouldn't expect the rest of it to be this easy either," Arcturus replied.

Charlus nodded his agreement.

Another battle had been won, but there were many more to fight, and the more territories they claimed back from Grindelwald, the more dangerous life would become for them.