Going Over

The attack had come suddenly at dawn as hundreds of Grindelwald's followers spilled over the top of their trenches, their battle cries echoing across the fields as they charged towards ICW forces.

"The bastards know where our traps are!" Moody growled, looking through his omnioculars. "Alright lads, there's nothing for it, we'll be buggered three ways to Sunday if we sit here. MOVE YOUR ARSES!"

They had been here less than forty-eight hours, and already, Harry and Charlus found themselves going over the top to meet the enemy on the battlefield.

Harry had become quite adept at running throughout his life, and his legs carried him ahead of his peers, though Charlus followed closely.

"WAIT UP!" the latter called, struggling to keep pace with his nimble friend.

He drew level when Harry came under attack from a trio of Grindelwald's men, Africans that launched a stream of fire towards him.

With a wave of his wand, Harry redirected it into the path of some of their own comrades, and once more they were treated to the smell of burning flesh, this time with the screams of men.

Before the three attackers could recover, Charlus blew a hole clean through one of their chests, and the man collapsed limply to the ground.

In the heat of the moment, the Potter lord gave little thought to what he had done as he was forced to defend himself from another attack whilst Harry neatly dispatched of the remaining two, a severing curse cleaving through them at the waist.

"WATCH OUT!"

Charlus had not seen nor heard the killing curse sent his way, and in a moment of panic, he froze as the jet of green light headed towards him, only for a chunk of white rock to intercept it.

The stone exploded, and some of the shards cut painfully into him, but Charlus knew the alternative would have been much worse.

Again, he didn't have much time to form a coherent thought on the matter as he found himself in another fight with a man that was throwing cutting curses around with reckless abandon.

The man's eyes were wide, almost vacant, and full of fear. It was as though his mind had become stuck with one thought, and his body was following suit.

Spell after spell left his wand, and even when Charlus removed his hand, he continued trying to cast bereft of his wand.

Before Charlus could put an end to him, a yellow spell collided with his face and blood began to flow freely from his now empty eye sockets.

This seemed to snap the man out of whatever stupor he had been in, and he screamed.

Falling to the floor, he clawed desperately at his face calling for his mother.

In that brief moment of reprieve Charlus was granted, the sight of the sobbing man sent a chill down his spine.

What was happening around him?

He glanced around the battlefield where the dead and dying littered the ground, many whimpering in pain, others too calling for their mothers, and some even running around aimlessly, seemingly gripped by madness.

It wasn't until something stung his cheek and he found himself face to face with a bloodied Harry that he came back to himself.

"It's either them, or you," Harry said almost coldly. "Now isn't the time to think about it."

Charlus nodded, pushing Harry aside and batting away a spell that had been sent towards his back, and the fighting continued.

With Harry at his side, the two of them fended off wave after wave of attackers, and though Charlus was scared, he wasn't given another moment of respite to dwell on it.

He couldn't be certain how long they fought, nor how many fell to them, but they kept pushing forward until Harry pulled him by the sleeve of his robes.

"If they close that gap, we'll be surrounded," he warned, nodding in the direction of their own trenches.

Charlus's eyes roamed once more around the battlefield where he and Harry had advanced further forward than the rest of the ICW forces. They found themselves fighting in a pocket they had created, and if Grindelwald's men realised it, Harry and he would find themselves in an unfortunate predicament.

"We'd best head back that way then," he suggested.

With a nod from Harry, that was what they did, careful not to trip over the dead, nor slip in the blood and guts strewn across the ground as they retreated.

"THEY'RE PULLING BACK!" the voice of Gabriel Moody declared somewhere in the distance.

Charlus felt a wave of relief wash over him as he watched Grindelwald's forces running as quickly towards their own trenches as they had attacked, bringing the full devastation of what had happened in the intervening minutes into view.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Charlus began trembling uncontrollably as the adrenaline began to subside, and he was barely aware of the arm being placed around his shoulder before he was guided back into the trench.

"You'll be alright," Harry's voice assured him.

Charlus nodded shakily, gasping as he looked up at his friend.

The blood spattered all over him stood stark against Harry's pale skin, and though he wasn't trembling the way Charlus was, his expression was grim, his eyes quite devoid of warmth.

"H-how do you e-ever get used to that?"

Harry shook his head as he deflated.

"You don't, you just get better at dealing with it," he sighed.

Learning that Harry was The Serpent had brought the realisation that the boy he had spent two years at Hogwarts with had killed many before today already.

For Harry, this wasn't anything new, but Charlus had never done such a thing.

"I killed people, Harry," he murmured. "I…"

"Chose to live rather than being killed?" Harry asked.

Charlus frowned, but Harry held up a hand to prevent him from replying.

"They would have killed you without thought, and if they make it to England, those that refuse to comply with Grindelwald will either be slaughtered or imprisoned. I've seen what his followers do to people under his orders. If you saw it too, you'd feel no guilt for what you've done."

Charlus swallowed deeply and nodded, the haunted look Harry wore leaving him with no doubt that what he'd signed up for would not be easy and that he'd have to be strong to see it through.

Thoughts of his father came to the forefront of his mind, and Charlus, for the first time since the fighting had stopped felt something other than the horror of battle, of the blood spilled, and the lives he had taken.

He felt like he had done the right thing, for the memory of the man that had sired him, and for those that remained at home who knew not what awaited them if Grindelwald was to be victorious.

"You did well, lads," Moody praised as he approached them, he too bloodied and sporting a nasty wound across his brow. "Get yourselves cleaned up and checked out by the healers."

"We will," Harry assured the man.

"Today shouldn't have happened," Moody grumbled. "From now on, the defences will be switched around every twenty-four hours. We don't want to get caught with our trousers down."

With that, he left to see to the other men, and Charlus gasped as Harry removed his shirt.

He had been cut quite deeply across the chest.

It was bleeding heavily, but the sight of the muscle and sinew turned Charlus's stomach.

"I've had worse," Harry said dismissively, placing the point of his on the wound and hissing.

It sealed, but left behind a puckered, purple line a few inches in length that would be tender for some time.

Charlus too had not escaped unscathed.

With the adrenaline having ebbed away, he could feel the aches, the stiffness, and sting of his own cuts that littered his torso.

None were as deep as Harry's, but his left elbow was blackened and swollen from where he had been hit by a spell.

When that had happened, he didn't know, but seeing it only made the throbbing worse.

"That looks broken," Harry huffed as he inspected it, a frown marring his features. "You'd best see a healer for that. I once had a fool vanish all the bones in my arm and spent the night having them regrown. Believe me, you don't want to endure that."

Charlus grimaced at the thought.

He'd broken some ribs playing Quidditch, and a few fingers to go along with it, but they had been put right immediately by Madame Morgana.

"Come on," Harry urged. "I'll even hold your hand for you."

"Piss off," Charlus grumbled, chuckling at the impish grin that formed on Harry's lips.

He'd had his first taste of war, and as he and Harry made their way through the trenches to respectful nods and greetings from the others they came upon, Charlus found he didn't care for it much.

That didn't mean he would shy away from the fighting that was to come.

If anything, what he'd experienced only made him more eager to see an end to the conflict, and the only way that was possible was to keep fighting.

And fight he would, for his father, for those back home, and for those that stood and fought next to him.

(Break)

Being in the Ministry of Magic felt different for Arcturus without an impending gathering of the Wizengamot. There were no other lords to be seen within the atrium, only workers milling around and conducting their business, and one portion of the expansive space set aside for the continuing recruitment drive that had swept the nation.

Even now, a sizable queue could be seen, stretching from where a senior auror and some of his underlings were seated behind a long table, each calling the men forward who had arrived to offer their services to the war effort.

Arcturus joined at the rear and waited his turn.

It had taken longer than he'd expected to put his affairs in order so that he could leave knowing the family was in safe hands.

Needless to say, Lord Parkinson had been quite surprised that Arcturus had requested he handled the matters of the Black businesses and political responsibilities in his stead.

Arcturus wouldn't profess to like the man, but Maxim Parkinson would serve the position as proxy well enough.

It would even raise the man's standing amongst his peers and be a slap in the face of others who would feel they should have been chosen.

The likes of the Malfoys and Notts would see it as a slight against them; exactly as Arcturus intended.

It would remind them just who it was that stood head and shoulders above them, that the Blacks had a new lord who thought less of them than a much lower lord in Parkinson.

The thought brought a grin to Arcturus's lips.

He'd like to see how Malfoy would react when he learned that Parkinson had more power at his disposal.

"NEXT!" a voice called, interrupting the relishable thoughts, and sobering him instantly.

"Name?" the auror garbed in red robes asked, not even deigning Arcturus with a look.

"Arcturus Black."

The aurors quill paused its scratching, and after a brief moment, the man met Arcturus's steely gaze, his own one of caution.

"You w-wish to sign up, L-Lord Black."

Arcturus nodded and the auror looked pleadingly towards his colleagues in the hope of being offered some assistance.

"Sir?" he called weakly to the Senior Auror.

"What is it, Carmichael?" the man in charge snapped irritably as he stomped over.

"L-Lord Black," the subordinate answered simply.

The Senior Auror's eyes darted towards Arcturus, and he eyed the Lord curiously for a moment.

"You wish to sign up?" he asked sceptically.

"No, I thought I'd come here and be gawped at," Arcturus replied dryly. "Why else would I be here?"

The Senior Auror was taken aback by the response, scoffing as he shook his head.

"Alright," he decided. "Sign him up, Carmichael, and then send him to Auror Godfrey. He's managing the pureblood recruits for now."

The auror nodded and began filling in the necessary paperwork, whilst Arcturus found himself being scrutinised by the Senior Auror.

"You know, there are those that believe you are Grindelwald's man," he pointed out.

"My father and brother were," Arcturus said bluntly, "but not me. I'll see that bastard hang for what he did to my family."

"We'll see about that," the Senior Auror muttered before heading back to his own seat further down the table.

Arcturus's nostrils flared.

He was not ignorant of the rumours, of the family reputation being in tatters. He needed to act, not only to ensure that Grindelwald faced suitable justice for his transgressions against the Blacks, but to reassure the rest of wizarding Britain that he was not his father.

Arcturus was loyal to his home, and he would not have any think differently.

"That's everything, L-Lord Black," Carmichael informed him. "If you could take your papers and speak with Auror Godfrey in his office over there, he will go through the rest of the process with you."

Arcturus nodded and accepted the small stack of parchment before he headed in the direction the auror pointed.

The office that Auror Godfrey had been given was little more than a broom closet with a desk and two chairs squeezed into the small space.

There was not even a door for privacy, but there was another man wearing red robes, this one considerably older than the others in the atrium.

Arcturus cleared his throat, and the man looked up from the parchment he was poring over.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day," he chuckled, evidently surprised by Arcturus's appearance. "Please, take a seat, Lord Black."

Godfrey wasn't so cautious as the other auror had been and didn't show any of the nervousness either.

"Thank you," Arcturus offered politely.

When he was seated, the old man looked him over and nodded appreciatively.

"You know, I fought with Cygnus Black in the first war, your uncle, I believe."

Arcturus nodded.

Cygnus Black had been killed somewhere on the continent. Arcturus didn't know the exact details as his father had never discussed it, but Cygnus had left Britain and never returned.

"He was a good man," Godfrey sighed. "There were those that didn't trust him, but I know good people when I see them. Are you a good person, Arcturus Black?" he asked, reading the name off the parchment that Arcturus had placed on the desk.

Arcturus shrugged.

He hadn't given it much thought.

In truth, he couldn't care less what Godfrey or any other thought of him. It was his job to ensure the family reputation remained intact, and though the Blacks were treated with caution at best and feared by many, they were the house that all respected.

That had changed in recent months with what Cassiopeia, Perseus, and their father had done, and it was Arcturus's responsibility to redeem the family standing, to leave the rest of the families and wizarding Britain with no doubt to whom it was the Blacks were loyal.

He wouldn't allow the actions of a few ruin the hard work and loyalty to Britain that many generations of Blacks had shown.

"I think you could be," Godfrey said thoughtfully. "Now, for your placement. There was quite the skirmish this morning on the border of France and Belgium. Until I receive a definitive number of losses, I won't know where a man like you will be needed most. Wherever you are placed, I wouldn't expect a warm welcome. William Potter was highly thought of by the other men, and it is no secret how he died."

Arcturus nodded his understanding.

"I'm sure you will be fine," Godfrey assured him. "I will send for you when the numbers come in," he added, handing Arcturus an identity card. "I am expecting them in the next few hours, so I would find a last bit of peace and enjoy it. The front is only becoming more dangerous."

"I will," Arcturus assured the man as he stood. "Thank you."

Godfrey smiled and offered a hand that Arcturus shook.

"I wish you luck, Lord Black," he said sincerely.

With a final nod, Arcturus left the small office, his thoughts wandering, as they often did now, to what he would do to Grindelwald if given the chance.

Inevitably, they shifted to the younger sister he would be leaving behind.

Dorea had not taken the news well, merely nodding and leaving the room when he informed her of his intentions.

She wasn't angry with him.

Having grown up in a pureblood home, she would have been anticipating this move, but it didn't make it any easier for her.

She was upset, and worried that she would lose him, but as Arcturus had explained, this wasn't about him and his ego, it was about making Grindelwald pay for crossing his family, and to restore the Black's reputation amongst their peers.

Arcturus would not be the cause of the fall of House Black.

No, he would be the one to rescue it from the brink of collapse.

(Break)

Although he had cleaned himself thoroughly, the smell of blood still clung to Harry's skin. It was a scent he had become used to, and he was merely grateful that such a small amount of it spilled this time had been his own.

"How's the arm?" he asked as Charlus entered the room sporting a sling.

"It aches," Charlus grumbled, "but it's better than it was."

Harry chuckled.

"It could have been worse."

"It could have," Charlus agreed quietly, taking a seat on his bunk where he remained pensive for several moments before he spoke once more. "You saved my life. That killing curse was coming straight for me, and I froze."

"You saved mine too," Harry reminded him. "I suppose it won't be the last time for either of us."

Charlus nodded darkly.

"Thanks, anyway," he said sincerely. "This isn't what I thought it would be. It's not like duelling someone."

It wasn't, and Harry could have told Charlus that long before he signed up to fight.

In a duel, there was only one other to focus on, and there was much more freedom to be creative with the magic that was wielded.

In a battle like the one they had experienced, the rules were simple; strike hard, and strike first with whatever spell was the quickest to cast and that would do the most damage.

Blasting and cutting curses were what most implemented, and those well-versed enough in curses would favour them. With people from diverse cultures, educations, and lifestyles, there was no telling what they may face, however.

They would need to be prepared for anything.

"We will be alright, won't we?" Charlus asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Harry could only shrug.

He couldn't lie to the man.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "All it takes is one spell."

"I won't let that happen to you," Charlus promised. "I'll be watching your back like it is my own."

The sentiment brought a smile to Harry's lips.

"And I'll be watching yours."

Charlus returned the gesture, and Harry removed some ink, parchment, and quill from his bag and began writing a letter to Minerva.

Word of what happened here today would get out, and he didn't wish for the woman to worry any more than she already was.

"I should probably write to my mother," Charlus decided, seeing what Harry was doing. "Bloody hell, if one of those nutters over there doesn't kill me, she just might when I make it home."

Harry chuckled as he nodded his agreement.

"Laugh it up, Evans," Charlus snorted. "She'll kill you too."

The man was grinning smugly, and Harry could only shake his head in response.

(Break)

To the fools of the ICW, it would appear that Gellert had finally lost his patience and made an attempt to breach their lines, but the Dark Lord had merely prodded at their defences, assessed the men to see how they would react to an attack, and how easily they may crumble if the weight of his full force was pressed upon them.

The outcome had been quite unexpected.

He'd lost a number of men in the experiment, a negligible number, but a loss, nonetheless.

From the reports he'd received, the men of the ICW had fought with the ferocity of wild animals, snarling, and clawing their way through his ranks who had been forced to retreat.

They had put on quite the show, spilled blood and taken lives.

"For the greater good," Gellert murmured to himself.

This was not the war he had envisioned, nor the one he desired.

In truth, he had hoped he wouldn't meet such resistance, that he could subvert enough countries that even the most patriotic and foolish of leaders could see that resistance was futile, but it was not to be.

Although Gellert had prepared for this eventuality, he did not relish the abhorrent nature of war.

He wished to preserve life, to see the magical folk of the world thrive without the need to hide themselves from their muggle counterparts, for his kind to stand head and shoulders above those that were destroying the world.

Why couldn't everyone else see that it was for the best?

They were fools. Stuck in their ways and they didn't want change, even if it would be to their benefit.

Would it truly be so bad for the muggles to know that they were not the superior beings they believed themselves to be? Would it not be best if they were kept in check, even if it did mean restrictions were put in place?

The world that Gellert saw in his dreams would be a wizarding utopia.

It was just proving difficult to open the mind and eyes of everyone.

"How are the injured?" he asked a passing healer.

For much of the day, Gellert had shut himself in his study whilst he contemplated what his next move would be. He did not wish the conflict to continue as it was, but he had little choice in the matter.

His scouts reported that the nations surrounding France were prepared for an invasion, and that all manner of traps and wards were in place to prevent such.

Creating enough portkeys to transport his followers into them wouldn't be a problem, but arriving with no shelter of which to speak, and surrounded on all sides by the ICW forces who would arrive to pre-made trenches and behind an enviable series of defences would only see his own men killed.

"We lost four more," the woman answered sadly. "Most others are showing positive signs of recovery, but there are a few who still hang in the balance."

Gellert nodding his understanding and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Do what you can for them," he instructed, offering the healer an encouraging smile.

"We will," she assured him before heading back towards the medical bay he'd insisted be installed.

Gellert had hoped that such a thing wouldn't be necessary, but injuries and casualties were now unavoidable.

Until he could formulate a plan to break the stalemate he found himself in, the fighting would continue.

(Break)

The past weeks had been little more than a downward spiral for Dorea. She had lost her father and brother, the latter of whom had killed a prominent lord, the father of a man she had come to care for.

Since attending the funeral of William Potter, she had heard nothing from Charlus.

She had thrown herself into her work, treating patient after patient that was brought in from the front, this morning in particular being the worst she had seen yet.

According to one of the healers, there had been quite the battle, something that only added to Dorea's worries.

Ever since Cassiopeia had visited last, she knew that Arcturus would no longer keep himself away from the fighting.

She had seen it in his eyes; the anger, the sadness, and determination.

It had been only a matter of time before he'd leave, and Dorea couldn't help but think that she would lose the last of her family.

She wiped away an errant tear as she continued perusing the shelf in Flourish and Blotts, looking for anything that might serve as a distraction.

It was no good.

There was nothing that could prevent her being plagued by thoughts of further loss.

Dorea took her leave of the shop, apologising to woman she had almost bumped into.

"Are you okay, Miss Black?"

Dorea's stomach tightened at the sight of Angelica Potter, the woman's eyes crinkled with a similar worry that she felt, the bags under them dark and prominent.

"Fine," she said dismissively, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

There was no avoiding the fact that Perseus had been partly responsible for the death of Lady Potter's husband, and Dorea found it difficult to meet the gaze of the older woman.

"No, you're not," Angelica sighed. "Come on, I think a cup of tea would do you some good. I could certainly use one."

What could Dorea say?

It was not as though she could decline the invitation.

She would have to simply endure the tense atmosphere and accept what Lady Potter had to say to her.

What that could be beyond scolding her for her family's involvement in the death of her husband, Dorea knew not, but she allowed herself to be steered by the shoulders into The Leaky Cauldron and into a private booth.

"A pot of tea and some biscuits, please," Lady Potter requested from the barman who looked between them cautiously.

"Of course," the man complied, a silence falling during his absence.

When he returned and placed the pot and cups on the table with a platter of biscuits, Angelica poured them both a drink.

"Sugar?" she asked.

"One, please," Dorea answered.

Once she had finished the preparations, the older woman leaned back in her chair and took a sip of the hot liquid, eying Dorea who fought the urge to squirm under her gaze.

"I would ask how things are, but I suppose that would be a silly question. You look as though you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. That's a lot to carry for one so young."

Dorea released a deep breath as she nodded.

"It's been an awful few weeks," she sighed, taking the cup of tea Lady Potter had poured for her and warming her hands with it.

"It has," Angelica agreed pointedly.

Once more, Dorea felt awkward.

"I'm sorry for what my brother did," she offered. "I'm so angry with him…"

"But you still miss him," Angelica broke in.

Dorea nodded.

"He was your brother. Despite what choices he made, nothing will change that."

"I know, but it doesn't stop me being angry with him."

"That's normal, I suppose," Angelica replied tiredly. "I feel the same about my Will. I didn't agree with what choices he made, and they got him killed."

"Are all men so stupid?" Dorea huffed.

"No," Angelica denied, "but they're pig-headed and full of damned pride. It wasn't enough that Will went to fight, my son has only gone and followed him."

The last words were choked but the Lady Potter composed herself quickly.

Dorea, however, could only look at the woman in shock.

"Charlus has gone?" she asked worriedly.

Angelica raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Are you on a first name basis with my son, Miss Black?"

The tone Angelica used wasn't accusatory, but the question left Dorea feeling taken aback.

"I…"

She didn't know what to say.

Much to her relief, she was rescued by an amused laugh of the woman seated opposite her.

"Don't worry, Miss Black, my son never was very good at keeping secrets from me. Besides, Will told me he and Charlus had spoken."

"Spoken about what?"

Angelica offered her a smile.

"I don't suppose it matters now," she sighed.

Dorea frowned thoughtfully for a moment and took a sip of her tea.

"Arcturus has gone to fight too," she blurted. "Against Grindelwald."

"Whatever for?"

"To redeem our family name," Dorea muttered.

"And for revenge?"

Dorea nodded.

"Maybe it is just the men in our families who are stupid," she snorted.

"Oh, it's not exclusive to just the Blacks and Potters," Angelica returned. "As soon as Harry found out Charlus was going to war, he followed."

"Evans?"

"The very same."

Dorea snorted.

"They're quite the pair. Did Charlus tell you what they did for me at school?"

Angelica shook her head.

"No, I can't say that he did."

"Really? They were both in detention for months."

"What on earth did they do?"

Dorea smiled fondly before regaling Lady Potter with the incident involving McLaggen and his ilk.

"They were both so sweet. They even took me back to the Slytherin common room. Arcturus was furious, but grateful for what they did. He even speaks fondly of Evans."

Angelica returned the smile.

"They're good boys really, they just cause me more worry than I thought possible. It was bad enough when Harry decided to…"

She caught herself before divulging Harry's chosen career.

"I'm just glad they're there together if they must be."

"From what I saw, I feel sorry for anyone that crosses them," Dorea offered comfortingly.

"As do I," Angelica sighed. "My Charlus may be quite docile for the most part, but he is a Potter through and through. He and Harry are very alike in many ways."

"I'm sure they will be fine."

"I hope so," Angelica murmured, "and my thoughts are with your brother. I hope they all come home safe," she added as she stood. "Do take care, Miss Black, and thank you for joining me."

With a final smile, Angelica placed a few coins on the table and took her leave of the pub.

Dorea took a few minutes to finish her tea whilst she thought about the unexpected conversation she'd shared with a woman she barely knew.

In some ways, she felt better for it.

It was a relief to speak of her worries, of how she was feeling without Arcturus taking exception to it.

Dorea understood that he was angry, that he was struggling to come to terms with what had happened to their father and Perseus, but her brother was a closed book.

When it came to speaking about how he felt, Dorea would have gotten more of a response from a stone.

She released a deep breath as her thoughts drifted to Charlus Potter.

The man hadn't even told her of his intentions, not that it was any of her business.

Over the past months, they had shared letters, and little else.

Charlus hadn't been obligated in any way to explain himself to her, but Dorea couldn't help but feel a little bitter.

Being told what he planned to do would have been appreciated. Instead, she had been left waiting, clinging to that small shred of hope that he would write once he had come to terms with what had happened to his father.

Dorea felt awful for feeling that way.

Charlus hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't slighted her.

She just hoped, foolishly it seemed, that there may have been a future for them.

(Break)

There was an awful stench in the air. That was the first thing Arcturus noticed when he was deposited within a small room hewn from dirt with only a mattress inside.

"You'll get used to it," a voice assured him, and Arcturus turned to be faced by a middle-aged man, his robes dirtied and stained with blood.

He had a nasty bruise around his left eye, but he was smiling and offering his hand.

"Jack Dobson," he introduced himself.

"Arcturus Black."

Dobson nodded as the pair shook hands.

"Godfrey sent a message saying that you'd be arriving," he explained. "We lost twelve men from our group this morning, so you couldn't have picked a better time to join us."

"What happened?" Arcturus asked.

"Grindelwald decided he was tired of sitting around. He sent a load of his lot over, and we ended up better off than them."

"Was he there?"

Dobson shook his head.

"He only ever turns up when The Serpent has been to put on a show."

"The Hit-Wizard? I thought they'd all been killed."

Dobson chuckled.

"Not him. That madman won't die so easily."

Arcturus had heard whispers of The Serpent from members of the Wizengamot. He hadn't paid much mind to what had been said, but with how Dobson's eyes had lit up as he discussed the man, he was curious.

"Do you know him?"

"Nobody knows him," Dobson snorted. "Most of us have seen him in Warsaw and in Bruges, but he doesn't exactly stick around to sign autographs and shake hands. No one has a clue who he is."

"So, he just arrives from time to time, does something against Grindelwald, and then leaves?"

Dobson nodded.

"That's about it. Mind, there are rumours that he's one of our lot in the trenches. Bollocks if you ask me. A man like him wouldn't be slumming it here when the world's his oyster. Anyway, I've rabbited on long enough. Make yourself comfortable, Black. I'll check in on you later. After today, we should get a quiet night, but you'll know if anything happens. You'll hear screaming."

Arcturus frowned as Dobson left the makeshift quarters.

Placing his bag on the floor, he began to unpack, lighting a fire to bring some warmth to his little abode.

Looking around, even the Black elves had better accommodation than this.

He found himself within what could only be described as a roughshod cavern complete with an oddly shaped door to fit the uneven hole left behind.

It was a far cry from the life of luxury he'd lived in Grimmauld Place, but a brief reminder to himself as to why he had come pushed away doubts he had about his decision to be here.

But not quite all of them.

He shook his head as he removed the letter he'd received from Melania only the day before, his eyes skimming the words she penned for him.

You're a damned fool, Arcturus Black! But I do not love you any less.

If I am to wait for you to return, it will be with the promise that I am to be your wife.

I will not fret over a man that that would expect any less of me!

Be safe you idiot, or perhaps it is me the fool who sits and waits?

Arcturus was going to marry this woman.

A part of it had known the moment he had been introduced to her by Lord Macmillan after a dull Wizengamot meeting.

There she had been, her wavy brown hair, her slightly darker complexion than his own pale skin, and a shy smile that disarmed him without effort.

She was beautiful and deserved to live in a world without war.

Of course, he had replied to her letter with one of his own, a short but simple message that would ensure there was no mistaking his intentions.

It is not a fool that waits, but the one that makes her.

Not a single second will be in vain, my lady.

You have my word.

There was little more he could say, nor anything else he could do until the burden of what had happened to his family, what had been done to them no longer hung over him.

Come hell or highwater, Arcturus would leave no doubt just who the Lord Black was loyal to.

Whether he was the one to kill Grindelwald or not, it didn't matter.

So long as the Dark Lord was slain, he would leave the continent content, and ready to begin a much more pleasant chapter in his life.

(Break)

With the school year coming to an end and the exams having finally been concluded, the castle was full of excitable students, eager to go home and enjoy their summers, or in the case of the seventh years, the rest of their lives away from the Hogwarts.

It had been a year of worry for most.

With the war on the continent and almost all being affected by it in some way, there had been some tense moments.

For now, however, the unpleasantness had been put to the back of the student's minds as they shared in the joy of the examination period being over.

All that remained now was to endure the last few days of term, and the castle would be peaceful for a few months.

Not that Minerva was looking forward to having so much unoccupied time.

Teaching and performing her duties around the castle had been the only thing distracting her from Harry and Charlus throwing themselves directly into the fighting.

Without the students, her thoughts would inevitably be filled with the horrors the pair could be enduring.

Still, she had a little time of respite left.

Perhaps she would return home to be with her parents for some of the summer?

Until then, she would take whatever frivolous distractions the students had to offer, though judging by the mood within the Great Hall when she entered for dinner, they would be quite subdued.

Minerva frowned as she took her seat at the staff table, the professor's expressions as grim as their charges.

Without saying a word, a worried Albus slid the evening edition of The Prophet towards her.

Minerva felt a sense of dread fill her as she took in the headline.

Dozens Dead as War Escalates!

She didn't need to read the article to get a picture of what had happened, the accompanying photos of bodies strewn across an open field was all she needed.

"Harry!" she whispered worriedly.

"Nicholas delivered this for you earlier," Albus interrupted her inspection of the harrowing images.

Minerva choked in relief at the familiar scrawl and wasted no time in tearing open the envelope he placed in front of her.

Dear Minerva,

We are both fine.

A few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing worse.

I know that if you were here with us now, you'd be telling us how stupid we are, that we are idiots, and probably threaten us in a way that only you can.

I look forward to that.

I miss you,

H

Minerva wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek and huffed irritably.

"That man will see me in an early grave!"

"He is okay then?" Rosalina asked worriedly.

Minerva nodded.

"For now," she confirmed, "but I make no promises when I see him next."

Dumbledore chuckled as Minerva helped herself to some roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.

"You won't be angry when you see him," Rosalina sighed. "He'll give you one irritating smile and you'll forget you wanted to throttle him."

Minerva hummed.

Rosalina was probably right, but that didn't mean she wouldn't think about it.

No, Minerva wouldn't strangle Harry, but she would wrap him in her arms and do all she could to keep him there.

(Break)

"That's another three Knuts you owe me," Gilbert declared gleefully.

Charlus could only shake his head.

He'd been excited to learn how to play poker, but he should have known better than to gamble with Gilbert.

The man was as slippery as an eel and seemed to have consistent luck with his hands.

"I'll play," Harry announced, taking a seat next to the upturned bucket they were using as a table.

"It's your money, Evans," Gilbert replied dismissively as he tapped the top of the deck with his wand so that it would shuffle itself. "For now."

Harry watched the cards closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught onto Gilbert's trick.

The cards were charmed not only to shuffle themselves, but to be transparent to him.

Gilbert knew exactly what cards had been dealt, and what hand each player had.

The swindler threw five Knuts into the pot, rubbing his hands together greedily.

"Are you in, Evans?" he asked.

Harry lifted the corner of his cards before nodding.

With a little manipulation on his part, they were much more favourable.

"I'm in, and I'll raise you another five."

Gilbert immediately added the additional stake to the pot.

"Why not make it more interesting?" he suggested reaching into his pocket and adding a Galleon.

Harry shrugged and equalled the bet.

"Calm down, chaps. We don't want anyone losing their shirt over this," Yaxley interjected. "Show your hands and be done with it."

"Fine," Gilbert agreed. "Flush," he declared, showing his cards.

Those spectating groaned disappointedly.

They had wanted to see someone beat him.

"Royal Flush," Harry said with a grin, showing his own hand and taking the accumulated coins.

"Impossible," Gilbert denied. "Let me see that."

He snatched the cards up before rifling through the deck, only to find nothing was amiss.

Switching spells were quite handy when the occasion called for them.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Charlus asked as a tremor was felt and a loud noise sounded in the distance. "Are we under attack again?"

Harry frowned as he stood and peered over the lip of the trench to see a series of flashes in the distance.

"No, it isn't Grindelwald," he announced gravely. "The muggles have started their own fighting."

Another distant explosion sounded, and another tremble in the ground followed.

"Merlin, what are they doing?" Yaxley questioned, he too looking towards the flashes.

"They're fighting," Harry replied darkly. "Just as we are."

Any merriment that had been found in a simple game of cards all but evaporated as the men of the ICW gathered to watch the events unfolding in the distance, none wise to how significant this moment was.

Millions would die over the coming years, they just didn't know it yet.