Words of War

Gellert had never seen Cassiopeia so shaken as she was when she'd arrived in his study only a few a few moments prior. In her state, she had barely managed to provide him with an abridged version of what had occurred to leave her in such a way, and unable to fully understand, he'd asked her for her memory of the event.

It had been many years since he had visited Hogsmeade.

He and Albus would frequent the village to dine and plan for the future they intended to share. Gellert would order them a bottle of wine and the hours together would vanish in what felt to be the blink of an eye.

All of that had ceased when the unfortunate incident involving Aberforth and Ariana had come to pass.

Gellert shook his head at that memory.

The friendship between him and Albus had ended that day, and it had been left to Gellert to pursue the dream they once envisioned living together.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Gellert turned his attention back to the inside of The Three Broomsticks, andthe parlour room that Cassie had met with the group that allegedly supported his efforts.

"Are you sure about this?" a bald man asked.

"Just follow my lead," Cassiopeia tutted irritably.

Cautiously they did so, and they passed through the main area of the pub and Cassiopeia waved them passed onto the cobbled streets outside without incident.

Almost immediately, they were set upon by two people, neither of whom were familiar to Gellert.

The young woman that accosted the fleeing men was using transfiguration to keep the larger group from escaping. Her wand work was impeccable and Gellert had only seen one other that used the branch of magic as efficiently as her.

Whoever this woman was, she had undoubtedly been taught by Albus.

Gellert would recognise his former friend's influence anywhere.

The man too seemingly had a preference for the difficult branch, but his style was distinctly different, yet no less effective.

Both wielded their wands with practiced ease, and though the odds were stacked heavily against them, they faced little adversity from their foes who were doing the bare minimum to engage in a duel.

Had they adopted some organised teamwork, the duo would be easily overwhelmed.

That, much to Gellert's annoyance, didn't happen.

Instead, they made fruitless attempt after fruitless attempt to escape when their goal would have been all the easier if they stood their ground.

Gellert shook his head disappointedly.

If this was the best Britain had to offer, he needn't bother mustering a great force to take it.

The country would fall with twenty of his best men if it wasn't for a certain transfiguration professor that called this place his home.

Albus was an army himself, and if what Cassiopeia had said about this Harry Evans was true, he too could be one to keep an eye on.

The man in question appeared seemingly from the shadows shortly before Cassie left the pub, and Gellert took a brief moment to observe him.

He took care of himself, that was clear.

He was a lean man, wiry, but undoubtedly strong, and his burning eyes were sharp.

He drew his wand confidently and was undoubtedly experienced in such affairs that were unfolding around him.

Still, there was nothing familiar about him, but there was indeed an aura he exuded.

Gellert nodded thoughtfully as the young man and Cassie began trading spells.

Evans was exceptionally good, much better than any his age should be.

His wand work was flawless, his defence impenetrable to the woman he had spent considerable time training, and the magic he wielded as impressive as any he had seen.

Evans was certainly one to watch, if only for the interest Gellert immediately felt at watching him work.

The final spell Evans fired sent Cassie sprawling, quite the feat Gellert admitted to himself reluctantly. Nonetheless, seeing such wonderful magic would never fail to bring a smile to his lips.

Albus had done that often with his own brilliance.

Gellert made sure to school his features as he felt himself returned to his study, the memory he had witnessed giving him much to ponder.

This Evans was a talented man, exceedingly so from what Gellert had seen.

"Well, do you think he could be The Serpent?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Gellert replied, "and though I cannot be certain, my dear, I am not inclined to believe so."

"Really?" Cassiopeia asked in disbelief. "You saw what he did, Gellert."

The man held up a hand to silence her.

"He's gifted, but you must understand that he also has access to perhaps the most enviable collection of magical knowledge in existence," he pointed out. "If he is the nephew of the Flamels, he has need to be able to defend himself. I have no doubt that he is extensively trained to do so, as you saw for yourself."

Cassiopeia frowned but conceded the point with a nod.

"He did hint that he was able to take care of himself well enough if the need arose," she sighed.

"It is not only this that gives me doubt," Gellert assured her. "Although he could well have adjusted the way he fights, you were attempting to kill him. Not once did he resort to the magic I have seen him wield. Those in life-or-death situations will play to their strengths. What he did was exceptional, but different to The Serpent enough for me to question it. Again, that is not all that leaves me unable to confirm your suspicions."

Cassiopeia deflated and gestured for Gellert to continue.

"His wand, my dear," he said simply.

"His wand?" Cassiopeia scoffed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

A smile tugged at Gellert's lips.

"Everything," he mused aloud. "You can learn much about a witch or wizard by the wand they carry. This Evans, his wand is different to that of The Serpent's. Evans' is of a much lighter wood than The Serpent who carries one made of holly. I have seen it enough times in my own return visits to the night we duelled to be in no doubt of that."

Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.

"So, you do not believe it is him?"

Gellert shrugged.

"As I have just explained, there is much to doubt, but I will not rule it out entirely. Things and people are always changing, and in this case, it matters not."

"It doesn't matter?"

Gellert shook his head.

"He is a dangerous foe who has now proven that he would oppose us. For those reasons alone, he must die, and he will," he added thoughtfully. "It will happen soon enough in a way that is to our advantage. Leave it with me for now, his transgression against us will not be long-lived."

"I want to be there," Cassiopeia demanded.

"You will, my dear," Gellert promised. "I would not have you miss it, but before then, Nurmengard must be finished. We cannot have a repeat of what happened with the Polish prisoners."

"So, soon?"

"You will be the first to know when we are ready to take the leap," Gellert replied.

Cassiopeia was not satisfied with the answer, but she raised no objections.

She had shown a lot of trust in Gellert, and she would need to continue to do so.

His vision was not something that would materialise overnight, nor would it in a matter of months. It would take years, and many obstacles would be overcome.

This Harry Evans was merely another to add to the list, but he could not be ignored.

As with Gellert's vision, his demise would not come immediately, but it would within months, and by the time Gellert was living in the world he desired, Evans would be a distant memory of a young man who had been nothing more than fortunate on one occasion.

Even if he did prove to be The Serpent as Gellert admitted the possibility he was to himself, what would be achieved by his death would be all the more satisfying.

(Break)

Armando had been unaware of the unfolding altercation in Hogsmeade the previous evening. He had been in his office finishing the final preparations for the upcoming school year when he had been disturbed by what he believed to be an unusual rumble of thunder.

It wasn't until Minerva returned to the castle to explain what had happened that the headmaster decided that he would investigate it for himself.

When Armando arrived at the village, he saw for himself the remnants of the fighting that had taken place.

For the most part, the buildings, and streetlamps were untouched, but quite the fissure had been torn through the cobbles a little more than a foot deep and several more in length.

Armando couldn't fathom what caused it, and it wasn't until he spoke to the attending aurors who pointed him in the direction of Harry did he understand.

A single spell, one that the headmaster was not familiar with was used, but what surprised him most was the fissure was a result of indirect magic.

Armando dreaded to think what devastation would have been left in its wake had it hit its intended target.

There would likely have been nothing left of Cassiopeia Black, nor perhaps the pub she had been standing before.

Whatever Harry had done seemed to have taken the young man by surprise just as much as those dealing with the aftermath.

'It's just something I've been working on," he had explained with a shrug.

Though he hadn't voiced such, Harry had been unnerved by the damage he had caused.

Armando had been too, as had Albus when the headmaster had discussed the incident with his deputy.

Both knew that Harry was talented, and certainly above average when it came to his ability, but even Albus was surprised by how far he had come.

"Headmaster? Everyone is here now," Albus's voice broke into his thoughts.

Armando nodded gratefully as Horace took his seat at the staff table.

"I'm sure by now that you are all aware of what occurred in Hogsmeade last night," he began, pointing to the headline of the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. "Albus and I had been discussing the possibility of escorted visits to the village, but in light of what happened, I feel that the students could be at great risk were we to proceed."

Most of the members of staff nodded their agreement.

"Of course, I will continue to monitor the situation closely, and if anything changes, we can revisit this discussion in the near future. For now, other things pertaining the approaching school year require our attention."

"Indeed," Dumbledore broke in. "During the summer, I visited with a concerned father whose son will be joining us."

"What concerns does he have?" Horace asked.

"His son Rubeus is half-giant," Albus revealed.

Horace balked.

He was not alone in his reaction.

The other members of staff began murmuring amongst themselves and it wasn't until Armando cleared his throat loudly that they fell silent.

"Albus and I discussed his placement here at length," he explained. "He is gifted with magic, and he does not share the temperament of his mother. We will of course monitor his behaviour as he grows, but for now, I am content with offering the boy a place here."

"And you are certain he doesn't pose a threat to the other students?"

Albus shook his head reassuringly.

"I spent several hours with the boy. He is quiet, and rather shy. He prefers the company of creatures, but I am hoping he will come out of his shell."

"And what of his size? If he is half-giant, surely he is larger than the average first year."

"He is much larger than the average seventh-year," Albus chuckled amusedly, "but any adjustments that may need to be made for him will be."

"You're sure about this, headmaster?" Rosalina asked.

Armando nodded.

"The boy should not be denied an education. The Ministry have been informed and so long as we watch him closely, they will raise no issue with him being here."

"Very well," Horace sighed, "but what do we tell the students."

"We tell them nothing unless necessary," Armando said firmly. "There are those that would target him because of his status, and I will not see him provoked. This is Hogwarts, Horace, and there are many more strange things within the castle than one boy."

He frowned at his own words.

That may be so, but there was another student that gave him further cause for concern than Rubeus Hagrid did.

He shook his head of those thoughts.

"Everything is in order for the school year, and we will proceed as we normally do. The Quidditch cup will be competed for, and exams will take place. Despite what is happening outside these walls, Hogwarts is not currently under threat. If there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

The professors filed out of the office leaving only and Armando still seated.

"I do hope you're right about this boy, Albus," Armando sighed.

"You have my word, headmaster," Albus assured him. "Rubeus Hagrid is a gentle boy. You need only spend a few moments with him to see it."

Armando nodded.

"I will trust your judgement on the matter," he replied.

Having a half-giant attending the school was an additional stress the headmaster could do without, but Albus was right in this instance.

Rubeus should be allowed to complete his education, though Armando would be a man of his word.

He would be watching the boy closely and would reconsider his decision should the need arise.

(Break)

It was seldom that Charlus found himself the recipient of his mother's ire, but as she held up the frontpage of The Daily Prophet for him to see, she was certainly in no mood to offer him praise for his part in what had transpired in Hogsmeade.

"Oh, mum, you know that's been exaggerated," Charlus defended.

Angelica raised an eyebrow at him.

He had of course explained what had happened to his parents when he'd returned home the night before, but he had perhaps diluted his version of events to avoid the very reaction he was witnessing now.

"Did you, or did you not, find yourself in a fight that you were heavily outnumbered in?" his mother questioned sharply. "What part of this is exaggerated, Charlus?"

He couldn't dispute what she had said, not that she gave him the chance to as she waved the image the newspaper had printed in front of his face.

"Look at this!" she demanded.

It was a picture of the damage left behind after he, Harry, and Minerva had confronted the would-be Grindelwald supporters.

Admittedly, the photos made it appear to be much worse than it had seemed at the time.

"What even is that?" his mother asked, jabbing a finger at the large split in the pavement.

"Now that was Harry," Charlus defended.

"Oh, I will be having words with him too," his mother declared. "Stupid boys."

Charlus did his best to ignore the look of amusement his father wore as the woman continued to read the article.

Recently, it had been the Lord Potter who was being lectured for his actions.

Taking pity on Charlus, William spoke up.

"Despite how foolish your actions could have proven to be, we are very proud of you," he offered sincerely.

Angelica's gaze snapped towards her husband.

"Charlus only did what he has been taught too," William pointed out. "Has he not been raised to protect those that cannot do so for themselves? It was not long ago that I reiterated the importance of it."

"That is not the point, William," Angelica huffed. "He could have been killed!"

"But he wasn't, and he handled himself admirably from what I can gather. You're not hurt, are you son?"

Charlus shook his head.

"Then there is no reason to fret. I agree he should have perhaps considered his actions more before acting. But in the circumstances, he did what was expected of him."

His mother was not placated, but she let the subject drop and Charlus stood.

"Where do you think you're going?" his mother asked.

"I'm going to write to Harry and tell him the news of his impending funeral."

William laughed, but Angelica did not.

Her nostrils flared as she hummed.

"Do tell him I'm looking forward to his next visit."

Charlus nodded enthusiastically.

"Anything else?"

"No, that will do for now."

Grinning to himself, Charlus left the kitchen to pen the missive to his friend.

It wasn't that he relished seeing Harry in trouble, but it certainly was hilarious when it was the Lady Potter giving him a hard time.

Besides, if Harry wasn't such a nosy git, they wouldn't have found themselves in the situation they had.

Being told off by Charlus's mother was the least he deserved as far as the Potter heir was concerned.

The memory of Angelica chasing his friend around the church in Godric's Hollow surfaced and Charlus smiled gleefully to himself.

Perhaps he would be treated to a repeat of that?

(Break)

Harry rolled his wand between his fingers as he stared at it, waves of warm and cold magic washing over him and a myriad of green and gold sparks crackling from the tip.

Duelling Cassiopeia Black had been odd in itself, but the way his wand had behaved was something he had not experienced.

It was as though it wanted to prove itself, that the elements of the creatures residing within were itching to be unleashed.

Harry had happily obliged and found himself in awe of the results.

The spells came with little more than a thought, his wand unyielding to the onslaught of spells it swept aside.

Whatever had happened to Harry's wand was incredible and it felt as though it had become a part of him.

He supposed such a thing wasn't far off the mark.

He had given it his blood, and in turn, it had given him its trust and loyalty.

The same, however, could not be said about the egg that remained on his bedside table.

In the past months, there had been no changes.

It had grown to be almost twice the size of an ostrich egg and no bigger, the vibrant blue also remaining the same.

Harry was certain there was something alive within it and was sure he had felt movement when he had held it.

Still, the egg refused to hatch, and he was at a loss as to what he should do about it.

Not that the egg was his priority. No, he had much more severe things hanging over him.

War was drawing ever closer, and despite all he had done to put an end to it before it began, it was inevitable.

Learning that Grindelwald had a network of support in Britain, regardless of how feeble, had come as quite the shock.

He had never considered there would be those that sympathised with the man's vision, but Harry had been naïve.

The very same were the ones who would ally themselves to Voldemort in the years to come, so he shouldn't have been as surprised, not really.

He released a deep breath as he checked the time.

In light of the evening being disrupted a few nights before, Harry had promised Minerva he would join her and her family for breakfast before the students returned to school later in the day.

September 3rd was always a hectic day, and if Angelica Potter had her way, she would make it more so.

The letter of warning he had received from Charlus about the earful he would be subjected to the next time he played guests with the Potters had arrived the day before.

Harry had almost expected it, but he didn't appreciate the amusement of his so-called friend he could feel in the penned words.

"Bloody git," he grumbled.

It seemed as though he would be avoiding the Potter matriarch for a while.

The thought brought a grin to his lips.

During his younger years, he had wondered what it would be like to find himself in trouble with his parents. With all of his adventures at Hogwarts, he imagined James and Lily Potter would have much to say.

He knew that Angelica wasn't his mother, but it was the closest he'd ever have to the real thing.

He had grown to care for the Potters, as much as he had the Flamels and even Professor Dippet.

Minerva too fell into that bracket, but it was different with her.

What he felt for Minerva was different, but no less valued. It was something he'd have to navigate one day, though he didn't know where to begin.

The conversation he'd shared with Nicholas had been the closest he'd come to confronting what it was between him and his former transfiguration professor.

Were it anyone else, perhaps he wouldn't hide from what was right in front of him, perhaps he wouldn't feel so conflicted?

Or perhaps it was that he was scared to face it?

Harry didn't know, but things couldn't remain as they were forever.

It wouldn't be fair on either of them.

Checking the time once more, he realised he could no longer be idle watching an egg that would do nothing.

He had a second meeting with Minerva's parents, and he'd promised he'd attend the early church service with her that would be conducted by her father.

Giving himself a final once over in the mirror, he disapparated and arrived on the same hills he had during his first visit.

It was not as cold as it had been in December, but there was an unmistakable chill in the air, something Harry suspected was always present.

As he had previously, he made his way into the village only a short walk away, this time not having to endure the deep snow, much to his relief, and he arrived at the McGonagall home.

"Harry!" Isobel greeted him warmly, her posture much more relaxed than when they had met previously.

The woman was smiling brightly, and Harry returned the gesture though he stiffened slightly when she wrapped her arms around him.

"Come now lass, let the lad go," Robert chuckled as he exited the house and shook Harry's hand. "She'll be out in a minute," he added with a shake of his head. "We haven't been able to get her away from the mirror all morning."

Harry grinned amusedly as a flushed Minerva emerged, evidently having heard the words of her father.

"A new dress?" Harry asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You know very well it is a new dress," she huffed. "You bought it for me."

Harry snorted amusedly.

"It looks very nice," he complimented. "No need to go all Scottish on me."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Isobel asked, her already strong accent more pronounced than usual.

It was Minerva's turn to be amused, her smirk eliciting a raised eyebrow from Harry.

"Just that she has quite the temper," he mused aloud. "I can see where she gets that from."

Robert guffawed as Isobel looked towards her daughter in disbelief.

"Is he always like this?"

Minerva nodded.

"I would say that you get used to it, but you don't," she sighed. "You just have to learn to ignore him. He soon shuts up."

Isobel hummed.

"Come on," Robert urged before she could offer a rebuttal. "We don't want to keep the flock waiting."

They left the garden of the vicarage and began walking towards the church in the distance.

"Are you a godly man, Harry?" Robert asked curiously.

"I wouldn't say that I am," Harry answered honestly. "I donate to the local church in my village and volunteer during the holidays, but I wasn't raised in a religious home. As far as my uncle was concerned, he was god in that house."

Robert grunted disapprovingly.

"It is men like him that will pray for someone to save him when he is on his deathbed. He is fortunate that God is forgiving and will absolve him of his sins," he explained passionately. "I do not ask to try to convert you to my way of thinking. We have been given the freedom to believe what we wish. I only ask that you respect the beliefs of my flock the same way they will respect yours."

"I will," Harry assured the man.

Robert nodded gratefully and Minerva shot Harry an apologetic look.

"Thank you," Robert offered sincerely. "Those that come to the church are good people. I'm sure you will see that for yourself."

They arrived at the old building only a moment later, and when inside, Harry joined Minerva and Isobel on one of the pews at the front whilst Robert prepared himself for his sermon.

Soon after, the villagers began to arrive, and by the time Robert was ready to begin, there was no more seating available and those that were last to arrive stood at the back lining the walls.

"Good morning, all," Robert greeted them warmly.

The service was like the one held in Godric's Hollow on Christmas Day only without the mention of the holiday itself.

The churchgoers prayed, sang hymns, and Robert offered a blessing on behalf of God.

Harry knew that he would never become a religious man, but he could not deny there was a peace here, as though whatever was happening outside the church could be forgotten for the hour or so a service was being held.

He could appreciate peace, something he had little of.

"How did you find it?" Minerva asked when the parishioners had been dismissed.

Instead of leaving the church, most remained behind wishing to speak with Robert.

"Well, I won't be donning the collar and robes myself anytime soon, but it was nice. It's like an escape from everything else."

Minerva nodded as she smiled.

"I suppose that is why it is important to me," she mused aloud. "I don't know if I believe in God as such but having somewhere to escape to is good."

Harry could certainly agree with the sentiment.

"Are you looking forward to the schoolyear?" he asked.

"I am, and I will keep watching him," she promised, the reference to Tom filling Harry with disgust. "I have been meaning to ask you. Did you ever meet a half-giant named Rubeus?"

Harry frowned for a moment until he realised that she was speaking about the very man that had rescued him from the Dursleys.

"Hagrid is the nicest person you will ever meet," he said fondly. "I'd appreciate it if you looked out for him. He has a tendency to get himself into trouble where creatures are concerned. I imagine he will try to venture into the forest regularly."

Minerva released a laboured breath.

"That is all I need," she mumbled.

Harry chuckled.

"Hagrid is harmless, but you must keep Tom away from him. Things won't be the same as they once were, but I don't want him anywhere near Hagrid. It will only end in trouble for him."

"I will do my best," Minerva promised. "I'm just relieved that I won't have to deal with a rampaging half-giant."

Harry snorted as Robert and Isobel approached, the last of the guests finally having left the church.

"What did you think?" the man asked.

"I think you have the love of the villagers," Harry offered sincerely. "It was a privilege to be here."

Robert smiled warmly.

"Thank you, lad," he replied. "Now, work is done for the day. I'm quite looking forward to breakfast."

"You're taking us to Angus's, aren't you?" Minerva asked accusingly.

"Aye," Robert answered. "I think Harry here needs to sample our fine cuisine."

Minerva rolled her eyes at her father, but it was clear she was looking forward to the meal.

"Have you ever had tattie scones?" Robert asked.

"They haven't got sheep guts in them, have they?" Harry quipped.

Robert shook his head.

"Just potato," he assured the younger man, "but you can have some haggis if you're feeling brave."

"I might just do that," Harry returned as Robert led them from the church.

Angus's turned out to be a café only a few minutes' walk away from the church.

It was no different from any other café Harry had visited over the past couple of years. The only thing that separated it was the Scottish flag that hung proudly behind the counter.

"Father," an older gentleman greeted Robert as they entered. "The usual?"

"Aye, the lot for me, Angus, and the lad here will have the same," Robert answered, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"And for the lasses?"

"I'll have some Lorne, some links, and black pudding with tattie scones," Isobel replied.

"Me too," Minerva added.

Angus nodded.

"Aye, I'll bring it over to you."

Robert found them an empty table and they took their seats.

"You're in for a treat, Harry," Robert said with a wink. "You'll even get a proper brew. Not the weak stuff you English call tea."

"What's wrong with English tea?" Harry asked.

He didn't drink it often, preferring coffee when he needed a boost, but he was curious to hear Robert's take on it.

"It's like water, lad. Our stuff will wake you up."

"Is there anything you like that is English?" Harry asked.

Robert nodded thoughtfully.

"Aye, just not the tea," he replied.

Harry laughed but frowned as a mound of food was placed in front of him.

Most was what would be found on a traditional English breakfast, but there was a squared piece of meat he was not familiar with, something that resembled meatballs, and what he assumed could only be the tattie scones.

"Haggis?" he asked pointing at the glistening orbs.

"Aye," Robert confirmed. "Angus does the best around here."

Tentatively, Harry cut one of the balls in half, and then half again before taking a bite, all the time being watched by the McGonagalls.

The meat was peppery and didn't taste anything like he expected. It was not something he would choose over other options, but the haggis wasn't unpleasant.

"Not bad," he commented, cutting a piece off the square resting next to it.

"Lorne sausage," Isobel explained when he looked at her questioningly.

"So, it's just a sausage?"

"Aye, just without the casing," the woman explained.

Harry enjoyed this more than the haggis.

The flavour was much more subtle, seasoned, but not as overpowering as his last mouthful.

"We'll make a Scot of you yet, lad," Robert chuckled, tucking into his own food.

"Here, be quiet," Angus called. "Something's happening on the radio."

The man turned it up so the sound of a rather bland, yet severe voice filled the room.

"…the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."

Any joviality that had been within the café evaporated at the declaration of the Prime Minister. Those in the room were stunned and silent, the news as sobering as it was foreboding.

"Oh dear," Robert murmured worriedly.

Minerva had taken Harry's hand under the table and was squeezing it tightly, her eyes fearful as she looked at him.

"Harry…" she choked.

Harry closed his eyes, the moment he had both been waiting for and dreading having finally arrived.

Nodding his acceptance, he removed his wallet from his back pocket, his licence vibrating unendingly.

"I have to go."

"Surely you're not going to war," Isobel whispered.

Harry offered the woman a sad smile.

"I have been at war for almost two years. It's just now that the rest of the world has finally caught up."

Minerva refused to let go of his hand, her usually unshakable demeanour having slipped as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"What's going to happen?" she asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but you will be safe at the castle and your parents will be fine here. They're out of the way enough that they shouldn't be bothered."

"What about you?"

Harry didn't have an answer for her, not one that would make her feel any better about what was coming.

"I expect I will be sent to scout or bring in valuable targets," he mused aloud. "All I know is now that the muggles will be fighting, Grindelwald won't be hiding in the shadows. Things will escalate quickly, and we will need to be prepared to act."

Minerva nodded.

"Can I walk with you?"

"Of course," Harry replied helping her to her feet.

Robert and Isobel also stood.

"I won't pretend to understand what you're doing, lad," Robert muttered, "but you be careful, aye?"

"I'll do my best," Harry promised.

"I'll pray for you," Robert promised, offering his hand.

Harry shook it and nodded gratefully before he was swept into Isobel's arms.

She said nothing, and when he managed to extract himself from her grip, he left the café with Minerva in tow where they made their way to the hills that Harry had arrived on only a few hours prior.

They were silent until silence was no longer an option and Minerva broke it with a choked sob.

"I'm scared, Harry," she admitted.

"You'll be safe at Hogwarts," Harry reiterated. "Your parents will be safe."

"I'm scared for you!" Minerva sighed. "I'm terrified that you're going to leave here, and you won't come back."

"I'll be back," Harry said reassuringly. "It won't be Grindelwald that kills me. One must die at the hands of the other."

Minerva shook her head.

"I can't believe in that," she whispered. "I won't believe that your life will be determined by the ramblings of a mad woman!"

"Maybe they won't be," Harry offered comfortingly, "but we both knew this was coming."

Minerva nodded unhappily.

"Promise me," she demanded. "Promise that you'll come back."

"I promise," Harry said easily enough.

He meant the words he spoke, but both life and magic had a way of meddling in his affairs. He intended to keep the promise made. Whether he would be allowed to, however, remained to be seen.

Regardless, his vow seemed to help, and Minerva unexpectedly pressed her lips against his, almost as though it was a final plea for him to stay.

He returned it, any doubts he had felt forgotten when he tasted her on his own.

"I'll be back before you know it," he chuckled when they broke apart, amused by the redness in her cheeks.

"You'd better be," Minerva warned. "If you made me waste my first kiss…"

She let the sentence hang and instead wiped the tears from her eyes.

There was nothing left to say for either of them, and with a final nod, Harry vanished to answer the call, his gaze meeting Minerva's until the portkey swept him away.

(Break)

Gellert looked up at the building before him, his very own creation towering before his eyes. To him, it was a thing of beauty, but to those that would find themselves residing within, it would become a house of nightmares.

Nurmengard would hold his most prevalent foes.

Leaders of nations would find this their home for the duration of the conflict, and those he deemed to dangerous to roam the world he was creating would meet their end here.

It was perfect.

Gellert had spared no effort in his work. The wards would feed off the magic of the prisoners, leaving even the most gifted and powerful unable to even cast a simple lumos charm even if they did manage to obtain a wand.

The more powerful the witch and wizard, the stronger the wards would be.

Even Albus with all his brilliance could not hope to escape were he to be brought here.

The thought brought a smile to his lips.

Perhaps then his old friend would reconsider his position.

"Gellert?" a voice broke into his thoughts. "Britain has declared war on Germany."

"And so it begins," Gellert muttered to himself before turning to face Weber. "Then let us hope the Austrian is prepared to face the wrath of Britain's allies. Australia and New Zealand are bound to follow, as will India and the French. In the coming days, others will choose their sides."

"What will we do?"

"We allow them to," Gellert answered simply. "We have our own war to fight, after all. I want men ready to be sent north into the Scandinavian countries, and more sent west."

"France?"

Gellert nodded.

"If we take France, it will assure victory in the west for the Germans," he explained. "The British will be compelled to draw their lines there and help their ally."

"What about Britain? Should we prepare to take it?"

Gellert shook his head.

"Not yet," he decided. "Britain will not fall easily. It is best we leave them in a position of hopelessness. If we must conquer it through force, I'd would rather do so when it is weakened."

"You are concerned about Dumbledore," Weber stated.

"Among others," Gellert replied, "one of whom will be dealt with in the process of France falling. Are you familiar with Britain, Weber?"

"Vaguely," the German answered.

"I wish for you to go there and find out all you can about a man named Harry Evans."

"Harry Evans? Who is he?"

"He is a man that has piqued my curiosity," Gellert answered cryptically. "Anything you can find would be most useful."

Weber nodded.

"Very well," he agreed. "Anything else?"

"Yes, do not get caught," Gellert commanded. "Evans has already proven to be a dangerous man. No risks, Weber."

"Risks are not something I take, Gellert."

Those were his parting words before he vanished with a gentle pop and Gellert turned his attention back to his fortress.

It would be full soon enough.

The more nations that fell to him, the more Nurmengard would be necessary.

He just hoped that he had enough cells to house his enemies.