The Wilting of a Rose (Part One)

It had been a scene of horror that Harry had arrived to when he entered the magical streets of Norway. As far as they eye could see, both sides of the walkway were lined with mutilated corpses hung from lampposts or lashed to any other fixing that could be used for such a thing. Each person had been stripped naked and the sign of the Deathly Hallows had been crudely carved into their chests.

Not for the first time since Harry had begun his campaign against Grindelwald, he found himself sickened to the core.

The Norwegians had not been so accommodating to the invading forces, and they had paid dearly. Their punishment the macabre display to serve as a reminder that defiance would not be tolerated.

It was the first time that Harry had seen the cruelty that Grindelwald could exact upon those that did not share his vision, and although Harry knew the man was to blame for what had transpired here, the blame equally lied with those that did nothing to prevent it.

The ICW had indeed deployed a token force to protect Norway, a force that had immediately fled when Grindelwald's men had arrived according to what Harry himself had uncovered since his arrival.

To the young Hit-Wizard, the inaction here was unacceptable, and it only brought Nicholas's words to the forefront of his mind.

'You must be more ruthless than the enemy you face. If you're not willing to do to them that they will do to you, you will lose.'

Harry knew those opposing Grindelwald had lost in Norway.

Whether it was because they fled instead of fighting or they became one of the unfortunate casualties in the aftermath, there was no victory here, but that didn't mean there couldn't be any justice, that there was nothing he could do to give those that remained hope for a brighter future.

In the days he had been here, Harry had observed he comings and goings of Grindelwald's men who continued to harass and torture any citizens they came across.

No, victory was indeed unattainable, but Harry was not content to leave before he did something to assuage the wounds that had been inflicted.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked the man he had captured.

He was a German that Harry had come across assaulting a woman who was cradling a dead infant to her chest.

She had been unresponsive, any fight she may have once had all but absent as her attacker had been fumbling with the buttons on her dress.

"A dead man," the German sneered.

Harry chuckled darkly before ploughing his fist into the man's nose, the bones snapping under the force.

The German spat on the floor, his mouth and mangled nose oozing with blood.

"You have no idea who you are messing with," he sneered.

Harry nodded and hissed as he waved his wand.

He watched as the flow of blood increased, the man's eyes bulging in a mix of fear and his oxygen being cut off.

The snake wrapped around his throat hissed contentedly until Harry ordered it to stop throttling the man.

"It's you!" he wheezed, coughing as he gasped for breath but choked on his own blood at the same time.

"It's me," Harry confirmed quietly. "Now, there are things that I would like to know, and you will tell me. One way or another, I will get what I want from you."

The man cursed in his native tongue, aiming his spit this time at Harry's feet.

"I will tell you nothing!"

"We will see," Harry returned, aiming his wand between the eyes of the bound man. "Legilimens!"

The defences he came up against were poor, and Harry delved into the man's mind with ease, tearing through the past days of torture, gratification and enjoying the spoils of war.

There would be no more of those for this man.

He slowed down the memories of conversations that could prove to be useful and nodded to himself before pulling himself free.

The man groaned, the intrusion undoubtedly leaving him with quite the headache, but Harry had discovered all he needed to.

"What is your name?" he asked curiously.

"Fuck you," the German choked.

"Then you will die nameless, and your loved ones will never know what became of you."

Before a protest could be uttered, Harry instructed the conjured serpent to tighten its grip once more and he watched as the life was drained from the eyes of his prisoner.

He felt not an ounce of guilt.

Having seen what the man had subjected his own victims to, he had been granted a merciful death in comparison.

For now, he left the body and took his leave from the house he had taken residence in.

Harry dreaded to think what had happened to the former occupants, but as he entered the streets of Oslo once more, it was not a difficult deduction to make.

Grindelwald must have murdered hundreds of witches and wizards here. Not even the children of those that had opposed him had been spared.

Still, he would ensure their deaths were not in vain.

He couldn't bring them back, could not give them the justice they deserved, but reparations would be made in the blood of those that had spilled theirs.

Having gathered all he needed from the nameless man whose corpse had yet to grow cold, he had formed a plan.

Grindelwald and his followers needed to be reminded that not all would flee from them.

The ICW may be willing to allow those that they did not deem worthy enough to die, but Harry wasn't.

He had come to realise that the warlocks were no better than the Wizengamot he had experienced in Britain. They were as idle, as personally driven, and as ineffectual as the Ministry.

Once more, Harry found himself disillusioned with a body whose sole purpose it was to serve those they represented.

They served only themselves and their own agendas, and Harry was sick of it.

If they were unwilling to do what was right and what was needed, Harry would.

According to the memories he had viewed, most of those that had been sent to Norway would be leaving soon to head for Belgium, Grindelwald's next target.

They would not do so without fear of what would be waiting for them there.

Harry would ensure that.

(Break)

The Swedes and Danish may have welcomed him with open arms, but the Norwegians had not. The fighting had been vicious, a bloody battle that would never be forgotten by the natives who had fought valiantly.

To the rest of the world, however, it would merely be a footnote in a rich history of many skirmishes to come that Gellert had won.

With the Norwegians conquered, the Scandinavian countries were now under his control, even if he had needed to make an example of the last of them.

"Gellert," Weber called triumphantly as he uncharacteristically burst into the room. "I believe I have found someone you will wish to speak with."

Gellert frowned but grinned as the Italian representative of the ICW was marched in front of him.

"I was under the impression you had died," he commented. "You have not been seen since Mr Sato was taken into custody, and I wouldn't believe that you would dare flee from me."

"It wasn't you I f-fled from," the Italian sputtered. "It was the ICW, they would have taken me too."

"But you did not come to me," Gellert pointed out. "You hid from me as much as you did them. Now, why is it that I find myself without the support of the Supreme Mugwump?"

"It was Federov," the Italian defended. "He was sniffing around and found out Sato was supporting you. He ambushed us in the chambers."

Gellert nodded thoughtfully.

"And you allowed him to be arrested?"

The Italian shook his head.

"It is not what you think. The Serpent was there and…"

Gellert held up a hand to silence the man.

"Tell me, did you and Mr Sato manage to retrieve the personnel files of the Hit-Wizards?"

"No," the Italian whispered. "Only Federov has access to them and he has taken them out of the ICW headquarters. No one knows where."

Gellert shook his head disappointedly.

"Then it seems you are no longer any use to me," he muttered.

"Wait, no!"

The protest fell on deaf ears as the Italian clutched desperately at his throat, the pulsating veins turning a sickly black as his contaminated blood flowed through his body.

In a matter of moments, he released a final gurgle, a splatter of dark liquid spewing from his mouth as he collapsed to the floor.

"I want to know everything about this Federov," Gellert instructed, his eyes firmly on the deceased Italian. "I want to know his weaknesses, where drinks, and where he lives, understood."

"Of course, Gellert," Weber replied obediently.

Another knock on the door sounded and Perseus entered without being bid to do so.

"Has all decorum been abandoned today?" Gellert muttered to himself. "What can I do for you now?"

Perseus was transfixed on the corpse littering the floor, and it wasn't until Gellert waved a hand in front of his eyes that he was pulled from his stupor.

"What is it?"

Perseus swallowed deeply.

"I think you should see this for yourself, Gellert," he replied nervously. "You won't like this."

"See what?" Gellert pressed.

Perseus shook his head.

"I don't know how to explain it," he said worriedly. "It's a mess, Gellert. The men are terrified."

"You'd best show me then," Gellert urged. "Come Weber. If it is as dismal as Perseus seems to think, perhaps you should see it too."

Weber nodded.

"Where are we going?" he questioned.

"Oslo," Perseus answered.

Gellert felt a sense of unease overcome him, but he placed a hand on the portkey he had given to Perseus the day he had taken his leave of Norway.

After a moment of discomfort, the three of them arrived in a hotel room that Perseus had evidently claimed for himself.

"It's this way."

Gellert followed with Weber in tow and when they exited the building, it was to a scene and smell that would horrify all but those with an exceedingly strong stomach.

The streets were lined with the dead as they had been when Gellert had left, but these were not the dead natives.

These were his own men, around two hundred of them in all.

They hung from lampposts and others were tied to the bases. Some had even been left to rot in the gutter when the places to secure them had run dry.

Emblazoned on each of their chests was a still-burning mark, the one Gellert had adopted, but this one was different.

Each element of the Hallows was represented by a snake burning brightly in emerald fire, and the very same symbol hung in the sky above, bathing the streets in its glow.

"How?" Gellert demanded to know.

Perseus shook his head.

"We cannot be sure," he answered. "He cleared out the entire hotel across the street. The first I knew of it was when the symbol went up."

Gellert clenched his teeth.

"That's not all," Perseus continued. "The prisoners are all gone, and the guards are dead."

Gellert took a deep breath to compose himself.

It would not do to lose his temper when so many were looking at him expectantly.

Nodding, he took a step forward with the intention of addressing the men that were looking on, only to turn sharply towards the restrained bodies that had begun fighting against their bonds.

They were not alive.

Their eyes glowed an eerie emerald, the wounds inflicted upon them undoubtedly fatal.

They stopped moving as suddenly as they had become animated and stared at him in unison.

"A slaughter for a slaughter," they hissed before the symbols burst, engulfing each of them in fire.

There was no screaming, but the already nauseating smell of burning flesh became overwhelming that some of those looking on empty the contents of their stomachs.

As a finale, the symbol that hung so ominously above them exploded in a shower of sparks and scorched the pavement; a lasting reminder that The Serpent had struck back swiftly.

Gellert trembled with rage, and it took several moments for him to calm himself enough to think clearly.

"Clean this mess up," he instructed the onlookers before turning back towards Perseus. "The prisoners?"

"They're gone, almost as though they vanished."

"There were twenty-eight of them," Gellert huffed. "People do not just vanish. Have you searched for them?"

"Of course," Perseus replied. "From what I can gather he took them to the port and stole a battleship. He could be anywhere by now."

Gellert nodded.

The Serpent and his prisoners were lost to him.

"We continue as planned," he declared, "but I want to know how he managed to do this without being undetected. He must have been here for hours."

"I will investigate it at once," Perseus assured him.

Gellert hummed and offered the young man a grateful nod.

"Be sure that you do."

With his instructions given, Gellert returned to the hotel they had arrived in with Weber falling into step beside him.

"What would you have me do?" the German asked.

"Find this Federov," Gellert answered. "This victory will be a short-lived one for the snake. It changes nothing."

(Break)

For Tom, the war couldn't have broken out at a better time. By the time the end of his second year had arrived, he had grown frustrated with how closely he was being watched by certain people in the castle.

He was no fool. H was aware that he was being followed.

Dumbledore doing so, Tom could understand. The man had taken an immediate disliking to him, a feeling that was mutual.

The Deputy Headmaster was interfering, and Tom did not take kindly to those that took an interest in his affairs.

Professor Dippet, however, Tom could not fathom why he had taken such an interest in the movements of a second year.

On more than one occasion he had caught the headmaster following him and paying more attention to him than was normal.

He certainly didn't watch the other students so closely.

Since the beginning of term, it seemed that the two men had other things to keep them occupied, and if they chose to be distracted by something so ridiculous, Tom would not stop them.

The war meant nothing to him.

He found it rather pathetic that so many were concerned about it.

Nothing could harm any of them whilst they were in the castle.

Still, it had given the young Slytherin time to finish his investigation into the Riddle family and their standing in the Wizarding world.

To say that he was both angry and disappointed by how little he had discovered would be an understatement.

Not a single book he had consulted had mentioned any other of the name, and even when he asked the man in the bookshop in Diagon Alley, he too had no knowledge to share on the matter.

Tom couldn't understand.

His father had to be a wizard; it was the only explanation.

Perhaps he had been given a false name?

The only other option was that his mother was a witch, but that couldn't be true.

According to Mrs Cole, his mother had died giving birth to him, but that was all the woman would tell him. Mrs Cole didn't hide that she despised him and wouldn't help Tom for anything.

No, his mother couldn't have been the magical parent he had. No witch worth anything would die during childbirth, and yet, he could feel that it was true, almost as though his magic was telling him.

Tom released a deep breath as he took his leave of the library.

He didn't even have a name for his mother, so how was he supposed to find out who she was?

He was pondering that very thought when he heard hushed voices ahead of him, and Tom disillusioned himself.

He wasn't out past curfew, but he was curious and edged closer towards where the people were talking, a frown forming as he came upon Dumbledore's assistant and a man he didn't recognise.

"I took them to Spain, but it is only a matter of time before Grindelwald takes it."

"Do you think he will?" McGonagall asked worriedly.

"If the ICW don't pull their fingers out he will take whatever he wants," the man grumbled. "It will be Belgium next."

"Belgium?"

The man nodded.

"I have informed those who need to know. Whether they do anything about it remains to be seen, but I'll be ready."

McGonagall appeared to be upset by what the man said, and though Tom didn't understand what the two were discussing, he continued to listen.

"Harry, please," she pleaded, taking his hand.

"I will be fine," the man named Harry assured McGonagall with a strained smile.

"At least speak with Albus. Maybe he will change his mind."

Harry laughed humourlessly.

"It won't do any good," he sighed. "He's content to sit back and allow innocent people to be murdered. If you saw what I did, you'd understand. He slaughtered hundreds of them all because they didn't want any part of the world he wants to force on us."

"I know," McGonagall comforted, "but you helped them escape."

Harry nodded.

"By killing dozens of his followers. I know I shouldn't have but I couldn't help it. What they did to the women and children…"

McGonagall placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

"You do not have to explain yourself. I don't think any less of you."

"Doesn't that make me just like him though?"

"Grindelwald?"

Harry nodded and McGonagall had the same look on her face when she was going to tell a student.

"Don't ever say that!" she said firmly. "You are nothing like him, Harry. You did what you did to save those people. He is a monster."

"And what does that make me?"

"The sweetest and most caring man I know," McGonagall answered softly. "You are nothing like him, Harry. You are doing everything you can to put an end to this, to protect everyone from him."

Harry released a deep breath.

"I know, I suppose I'm tired and not thinking clearly. It's been a long few days."

"Then you will go and get some rest," McGonagall insisted before leaning in closer.

Tom followed suit so he could listen to what she was saying, but as he did so, the man stiffened and turned, his burning green eyes transfixed on the suit of armour Tom was hiding behind.

"What is it?" McGonagall asked.

Tom dared not even breathe from fear.

It had been some time since he felt such a thing, but everything about Harry screamed of danger, and Tom's sense of self-preservation kicked in.

"Harry?" McGonagall pressed.

The second the man turned to look at her, Tom bolted around the corner, his stomach filling with dread as a spell whizzed passed his ear and tore an enormous chunk of stone from the wall in front of him.

Another followed, this one so hot that it melted the pile of rubble, leaving a smoking pool of liquid on the floor.

Tom didn't stop running until he reached Slughorn's office and burst into the room panting and sweating from a mixture of his efforts and the heat of the spell that had been sent after him.

"Tom, good lord boy, what have you been up to?" Slughorn asked worriedly.

"Nothing, sir," Tom answered, unable to prevent himself from trembling.

Slughorn shot him a look of disbelief.

"Take a seat," he offered, pouring a potion into a goblet, and pushing it into Tom's hand. "It is a calming draught. Merlin knows you could use it."

Tom nodded gratefully and drained it.

After a moment, he felt himself relax somewhat, but the fear remained.

"Now, would care to tell me what left you in such a state?" Slughorn pressed.

Tom knew the man wouldn't let him go until he explained.

"I heard Ms McGonagall speaking to someone, and I listened in," he admitted.

"You were snooping," Slughorn accused.

Tom nodded before hanging his head.

He felt no shame for what he had done but appearing to be apologetic would go a long way with his head of house.

"And this conversation was one you shouldn't have been listening to?"

"I didn't know that," Tom defended. "I was coming back from the library, and I heard them."

"Heard who?" Slughorn asked curiously.

"Ms McGonagall and a man named Harry. He's killed people, professor, I heard him admit to it. He said he killed dozens of them."

Slughorn held up a hand to silence him.

"Did this Harry have dark hair?"

Tom nodded.

"And green eyes," he confirmed. "He looked a little like me," he added quietly.

Slughorn smiled sadly.

"The man you saw was Harry Evans, and I don't suppose he would have taken kindly to being eavesdropped on."

"Harry Evans?" Tom asked with a frown.

The name was familiar, but Tom couldn't place it.

Slughorn nodded, the fat around his neck wobbling.

"He graduated the year before you joined us," he explained. "He has gained quite the reputation for himself since. Have you not read of him in the newspaper?"

Tom shook his head.

"Well, if you had, you would know that he recently fought Cassiopeia Black in a duel in Hogsmeade, and Mr Evans certainly got the better of the exchange."

"Cassiopeia Black?" Tom questioned.

He had read about the Blacks whilst researching his own family.

They were a family not to be crossed and had a reputation of producing some of the most dark and dangerous wizards in the past six centuries.

"Cassiopeia Black was a student here some years ago now. She is a feared witch who is as talented with her wand as they come. That should give you an indication of just how gifted Mr Evans is. I have it on good authority that he defeated Professor Nott in a duel before he graduated."

"Really?" Tom asked, impressed.

Professor Nott was a brilliant witch.

Slughorn nodded severely.

"I would advise not drawing his attention to you. He is not a man you would wish to be on the wrong side of. From what you have said, I can only gather that he has joined the fight against Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald was mentioned," Tom confirmed.

"There you have it," Slughorn said cheerily, "but I must advise you to forget what you may have heard, Tom. Without context, it is dangerous to speak of things you have little understanding of, yes?"

"I will," Tom assured the potions master, "but what if he comes after me?"

Slughorn chuckled.

"I do not think it likely he will come after a schoolboy, Tom, but if it makes you feel better, I will have a word with the headmaster and explain that what happened this evening was an accident and that you have apologised for listening in on private conversations."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom returned with a bow.

"Now, why don't you head to the common room? I think you have had more than enough of an adventure for one night, don't you?"

Tom nodded gratefully and left the office, shooting a furtive glance towards the end of the corridor before hurrying towards the wall that would grant him access to safety.

Not even Harry Evans could get in the Slytherin common room.

"What's up with you, Riddle?" Yaxley, a sixth year asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The housemates around the boy laughed at the poor gaff, but with the boy being the age he was, Tom allowed him his moment before approaching.

Yaxley wasn't so bad.

He'd never given Tom a hard time for not having an important name, not like most of his housemates.

"Yaxley, did you know Harry Evans?" Tom asked the older boy who narrowed his eyes suspiciously before shaking his head.

"Not personally, but I knew not to mess with him. I heard he took out Parkinson and five other Slytherins on his own. They were in the hospital wing for days by the time he was finished with them. Why are you asking about Evans?"

"No reason," Tom answered dismissively as he headed towards his dorm room.

Whoever this Harry Evans was had a reputation, one that Tom wished to have for himself.

People were scared of Evans, respected him, and spoke his name with nothing but respect.

Tom wanted that too, and Tom would have it.

No matter what he had to do, his name would be held in the same regard as Harry Evans.

No, Tom's name would be held in higher regard, and it would be him the wizarding world feared.

When that day came, Harry Evans would be nothing compared to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He grimaced at the use of his own common name.

He had come to despise what his mother called him.

Perhaps he would change it? It may be that it would be another name they feared to speak?

Tom nodded thoughtfully.

There was nothing that could force him to keep a name he didn't like, after all.

(Break)

Harry watched from within his cloak as the boy left Slughorn's office, the young Voldemort showing enough awareness to glance in his direction.

He wouldn't have heard anything of importance, but the feeling of the boys' magic as he'd approached had brought many unpleasant memories to the forefront of Harry's mind.

Were it not for Minerva pulling his wand arm off target as he fired his spells after him, Harry would have killed the boy in the heat of the moment.

Not that he cared, but it certainly would have brought much more trouble that he didn't need at the moment.

For now, he had Grindelwald to focus on, and Harry had no doubt the man was already planning his next move against him and the ICW.

(Break)

Once more, Weber appeared quite fatigued from his efforts to carry out Gellert's request with the efficiency expected from him. He had been gone for only three days but had evidently not slept in that time.

"What have you discovered?" Gellert asked the German curiously.

"Ivan Federov is a former Hit-Wizard of nineteen-years' service," Weber informed him. "He does not frequent public houses and spends what little free time he takes for himself at home where he lives alone. He is a widower, and his property is well protected. It will take someone of exemplary skill to not only breach his wards, but to kill him also. I would recommend a team of no less than forty people. His home can be found in Rostov."

Gellert nodded.

"I will see to him personally," he declared. "I will take thirty men I trust implicitly. Send for Gaulitier and tell Perseus to ready the men. He is to attack the Belgian Ministry of Magic at nine pm in two days' time."

"Of course," Weber returned with a bow. "I will do so immediately."

"Good and remind Gaulitier that this is the Head of the Department of Justice of the ICW we are dealing with. He has some of the best wizards the world has to offer at his disposal, including a certain slippery man we must be ready for."

"I will," Weber assured him.

With that, he left to conduct his orders and Gellert removed the Elder Wand from within his sleeve.

Since he had faced The Serpent, it had been as faultless as ever, but he could not forget the momentary lapse in loyalty it had shown.

He still did not understand what had occurred that night, but perhaps defeating a man like Federov would reiterate his bond with the wand?

Gellert knew not, but he would not be without it.

Having tasted its power, he would be reluctant to revert to his original wand.

(Break)

William yawned tiredly as he left his hotel room. He and the rest of his group had been on patrol until midnight, and it was now only three am. A few hours of sleep were not enough to get through a day in Bruges, but he had been summoned.

Gabriel would not have sent for him unless it was important.

Knocking on the door of the commander's room, he was bid to enter and found Moody fully dressed, poring over a map of the city.

"What is it, Gabriel?" William questioned the man.

"In a moment," Moody muttered. "The others will be here shortly."

If Gabriel had sent for the other group leaders, then the impromptu meeting could only mean one thing.

"What is it, Moody?" a Frenchman demand grumpily as he entered the room, followed by seven others from various member nations of the ICW.

Gabriel looked up from his map and greeted them with a grim nod.

"I have received word from the ICW that an attack here is imminent," he explained. "Grindelwald is moving a force of around two thousand men to take Belgium."

"Two thousand?" William asked worriedly.

"Aye, but we have more of our own arriving in a few hours. This won't be like Sweden, Denmark, or Norway. We are expected to hold to Belgium."

"How many more are coming?" the Frenchman questioned.

"Around eight hundred."

The Frenchman nodded contentedly.

"Will it be enough?" William pressed.

"Maybe," Gabriel answered uncertainly, "but our orders are to repel them."

"And where did this information come from? How do we even know they will come here?"

"The Hit-Wizards," Gabriel explained. "From what little I was told, he did quite the number on Grindelwald's forces in Norway and rescued twenty-eight prisoners in the process. I think we can all guess who that was."

"The Serpent," William sighed.

Harry had evidently been busy this past week.

"It hasn't been confirmed, but I would bet my house on it," Gabriel replied with a chuckle, "and we can be certain they will be coming here because the Ministry is here. If he takes the Ministry, then Belgium is lost to us. Everything from the prison to the hospital is controlled from that building. He must not be allowed to take it."

The group leaders murmured amongst themselves, most having been hoping that another city would be targeted.

"Will The Serpent be coming here?" the Frenchman questioned.

Moody shrugged.

"I wouldn't expect so, but then again, I don't know what to expect from someone like him. He may well make an appearance."

The others seemed to be pleased by the thought but, William was not.

He wished Harry would keep away from the fighting, but he knew that any protest he made would fall on deaf ears.

"So, what do we do? We can't just wait for Grindelwald's men to arrive," he pointed out.

"No, we can't," Gabriel agreed turning his attention back to the map. "We have the advantage that we can choose where the fighting will take place, and I would rather that it was not close to the Ministry, but we can't risk being too far from there. It would only take a small group to get past us, and it will be all over. Any suggestions would be welcomed."

"Why don't we do what The Serpent did in Poland?" a Spanish man asked.

Gabriel shook his head.

"They will be expecting that, and our own traps could be used against us. We need a solid defence more than anything else."

William nodded thoughtfully as he eyed the map.

"I have an idea," he announced, pointing to where would be best to implement his plan.

It wasn't perfect, but it was the best they could do with what little time they likely had.

"And if we fail?" an Irishman asked.

"Failure is not an option," Moody said firmly. "They must not be allowed to get past us."

(Break)

Perseus had learned from his previous error, but he could not help but compare the feel of the streets of Bruges to those he experienced in Warsaw. It was as quiet here as it was there, and with every step he took in the direction of the Ministry of Magic, he grimaced, expecting to be blown off his feet.

Of course, he and his men had been cautious and were searching for every nook and cranny to ensure no nasty surprises were left for them this time.

He would not fall victim to the same set of circumstances twice.

Still, he could feel the eyes of his enemies on him, waiting for their moment to strike.

Perseus would not until he received the order from Gellert to do so.

There could be no mistakes this time.

"They're there," one of his men muttered from beside him nodding towards the darkened streets ahead.

"I know," Perseus whispered, stiffening as his wand vibrated. "That's our signal to attack. Carefully," he insisted. "We do not want a repeat of Warsaw."

Lighting the tip of his wand, he held it aloft before pointing it sharply ahead, and hundreds of men spilled from the shadows around him.

They charged towards the Ministry building, but Perseus remained behind the frontrunners, a decision that proved to be the correct one.

When they were around one hundred yards away from the entrance they came under attack.

Spells rained down from two buildings either side of his columns of men.

"PULL BACK!" Perseus yelled.

He could only shake his head as they scrambled over one another to do so, the spell fire cutting down them down in droves.

Dozens were lost, but Perseus would not be deterred.

"We need to bring those buildings down," he explained to his shaken men.

"How?" one asked breathily, the sound of cheering coming from the opposing side irking Perseus.

"I have an idea," he mused aloud.

(Break)

"You are certain this will work?" Gellert asked.

The tiny bespectacled man nodded assuredly. He was one of Gaulitier's brigade and not one Gellert knew well.

"When the wards are brought down, this device will disable any portkey within one mile," the man explained excitedly. "The apparation ward behind it will ensure he cannot escape."

"I told you he was good," Gaulitier boasted. "I took young Steiner from the German Department of Magical Transportation. He knows what he is doing."

Gellert hummed and gestured for the man to continue.

"You are ready?" he asked Gaulitier who merely grinned. "Then you'd best prepare for anything. There is no telling what Federov may have lying in wait for us."

"You need only give the word and I will activate it," Steiner announced.

Gellert checked his watch.

Perseus should be well into keeping those in Belgium occupied, and if they were fortunate, The Serpent would be too busy there to interfere with Gellert's efforts.

It would not do to be intruded on this evening, not when so much hung in the balance.

"Proceed," he instructed, sliding his wand into his hand.

(Break)

"Where have they gone?" Moody mumbled, more to himself than any other.

"They're still there," William said darkly, ignoring the cheering men around him.

"Aye," Gabriel agreed. "SHUT UP!" he snapped, silencing the cheering of the men they were sharing a roof with. "Something isn't right."

As he finished speaking, a series of blinding lights began to flash in front of them, forcing them to shield their eyes from the burning onslaught.

"Fuck!" Gabriel cursed.

His outburst was punctuated by the sound of something colliding with the building.

Chunks of stone began to crumble away.

"We need to get down from here before it collapses!" Gabriel said urgently.

William reached out towards where the voice was coming from.

"Come on, we'll be crushed," he urged.

With the lights continue to flash and the building being bombarded, finding the door to the stairwell proved to be difficult, but after a few moments, they managed it.

"HERE!" William called. "FOLLOW MY VOICE!"

One by one, most of the team made their way to them.

"We can't wait any longer," Gabriel coughed as the rooftop trembled once more. "We need to get off here."

William nodded, and with a little effort on his part, he managed to force the door open.

"Watch it, Potter," Gabriel warned. "They'll be waiting for us."

William led the way, peering round each corner he came to as they descended to the lower levels, the onslaught on the building continuing.

"Oh shit," he muttered as he pushed open the door leading onto the street.

Countless wands were trained on him, and a smugly grinning young man was looking at him triumphantly.

"Instruct your men to drop their wands, Lord Potter and none of you will be harmed."

"Perseus Black?" William asked disbelievingly.

"Traitorous bastard!" Gabriel seethed pushing William aside. "You chose Grindelwald over your own country?"

"Ah, you must be a Moody," Black replied. "Lower your wand."

"Piss on you," Gabriel spat. "You'll have to kill us all."

Perseus shook his head disappointedly.

"Such a shame," he sighed as he raised his wand only for his eyes to widen in horror as an ominous hissing filled the air, and William breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry had come to help them.

(Break)

Ivan woke suddenly, his breath hitched in his chest.

With Grindelwald's men edging ever closer towards Belgium, he had decided to sleep early so that he would be well rested to direct the ICW forces, and fight if he was needed.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

An agonised scream rent the air and Ivan sprung to his feet with his wand already in hand, and he quickly made his way to the window.

Something had fallen afoul of one of his bear traps, but what had been caught was no animal.

The screaming was of a man.

He stared into the darkness looking for any sign of movement, but it was no good.

He could not see a thing.

With an elaborate wave of his wand, several balls of light were sent into the sky and his land was illuminated.

That was when he saw them.

Tens of men were sprinting towards his house, the one leading them familiar to him.

Hans Gaulitier's photograph had been a prominent feature on the wall of wanted criminals for many years now, and in any other circumstances that didn't involve the man arriving at his home, Ivan would have been delighted to come across him.

Now, however, was neither the time nor place, not when he was at such a disadvantage.

Cursing under his breath, Ivan summoned his portkey only to laugh when it would not activate.

There was no humour in his outburst, it was more an acknowledgement of how truly dire his predicament was.

With a nod and a final look at the photo of his wife he kept on the bedside table, he removed the licence he had carried in his wallet for close to four decades now and gave it a final tap with his wand.

None would make it to him in time, but he would be found if he was unable to escape the clutches of those that had come for him.

"Ya tebya lyublyu, Galina," he said to the picture, a sad smile gracing his lips. "Skoro uvidimsya."

Wiping away the tear that rolled down his cheek, he approached the window once more and began firing spell after spell into approaching enemies, laughing maniacally with each one that dropped.

"Bastards!" he roared, grunting when a cutting curse left him nursing a deep wound in his shoulder.

Ivan continued to fight on, refusing to be defeated so easily.

He had at least slowed the advance of his attackers, but a sudden snapping put any thoughts he may have had of escaping to rest.

The entire front of his home was torn away by a single spell, and Ivan found himself tumbling down a cascade of rubble before he hit the ground with a dull thud.

Even with the air having been knocked from his lungs, he forced himself to stand and continue fighting until his very last breath, but found his wand ripped from his grip almost immediately after he made it to his feet.

"You have fought bravely, Mr Federov," a voice spoke.

"Grindelwald," Ivan spat as he spotted another face that featured on the wall, the taste of blood filling his mouth. "I suppose I should be honoured that you came to kill me yourself."

"Kill you?" Grindelwald asked. "No, no, my dear man, there is no reason for you to die this evening. You merely have something I want, and if you give it to me, you will live as my prisoner."

Ivan laughed, wincing as he realised that one of his legs had been injured in the fall, a pain the now ebbing adrenaline had hidden.

"And what may I have that you want?" he questioned.

"I want all files pertaining to your department," Grindelwald demanded. "All of them."

Ivan nodded his understanding.

The man wanted the personnel files that Sato had tried to access.

"I don't have them," he replied with a smirk. "They are somewhere that you will never get them, isn't that right, Serpent?"

Grindelwald and his men turned sharply towards where Ivan had been looking, and he took the opportunity to rob the man of the opportunity to force the information from him.

The Dark Lord was too far away to strike a blow against, so there was only one thing for it.

In one deft move, Ivan removed the knife he kept up his sleeve other sleeve and rammed it into his own stomach, just above his navel. That would ensure he bled out in a matter of seconds.

"NO!" Grindelwald despaired when he realised he had been deceived.

Ivan smiled, the taste of blood becoming stronger as it spilled freely between his parted lips.

"Fuck you," he choked, his final words filling him with much satisfaction before he collapsed lifelessly to the ground.