Harry the Farmer

Bucharest had fallen with little resistance from Grindelwald's followers, the planned erection of wards and subsequent attack having caught them off guard and unable to mount a credible defence before they were quickly overwhelmed by the ICW forces led by Petr.

They had made good time with the arrangements and had arrived only a few hours before the expected reinforcements who were now engaging them at the southern border of the country, the wards in place having forced them away from the Romanian capital.

Grindelwald had not arrived, and Harry hadn't seen nor heard anything of the man since they had last met in the Ukraine and his foe had fled.

The thought made his nostrils flare in anticipation.

They would meet again, and the sooner the better for Harry as far as he was concerned.

Still, it was disconcerting not knowing where he was or what he was up to.

Whatever it was, Harry knew it would not bode well for him and his men.

"They weren't expecting us to be there," Petr chuckled having appeared beside him. "They don't know whether to attack or to run. If they knew the city was ours already, they wouldn't bother."

Harry nodded his agreement.

They'd be better put to use attempting to hold Bulgaria than being slaughtered at the border.

"What's next?" the Russian questioned.

"Well, I'm awaiting a report from someone in Bulgaria and for the others to come back from leave. I already informed them that we are here," Harry explained. "When they return, you will be taking some leave for yourself."

"Me?" Petr asked with a frown.

"You need some time out too," Harry pointed out. "You're no good to me if you're not rested, and since we arrived in the Ukraine, you've been just as busy as me."

"That is my job," Petr snorted.

Harry offered the man a smile and squeezed his shoulder fondly.

"It is," he agreed, "but you still need rest. Don't make me order you to take it."

Petr nodded gratefully.

"Da, a rest would be appreciated, but what about my men?"

"Do you have someone you trust enough to lead them?"

Petr frowned thoughtfully.

"I have one man who could do it," he mused aloud. "I will inform him of his temporary promotion. He will be thrilled."

Judging by Petr's tone, Harry doubted the man in which he spoke of would be pleased, but if he was anything like most of the Russians he had met, he would take it in his stride.

"Tell him to report to me when he is available," Harry instructed. "I'll run through his responsibilities with him."

Petr nodded before apparating away to undoubtedly re-join his men at the border whilst Harry continued overseeing the clean up here.

Bucharest had not suffered as much as other capitals, but it would take days of work to ensure the natives were cared for and the needed repairs to be completed.

Harry was assisting with the former, handing out clothing, food, and making sure everyone had somewhere to stay. Priority repairs to houses were made for those that didn't, but for the time being, they were provided with a tent.

"Sarpe?" a voice gasped.

Harry looked down to be greeted by the fearful gaze of a small girl, her eyes wide as she clung to the legs of a woman who gently chastised the girl in her native tongue.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, not understanding what was said.

The woman sighed and offered him a look of apology.

"I am sorry," she said in broken English. "This one's head has been filled with lies about you."

"Lies?" Harry questioned, a frown marring his features.

The woman nodded as she pointed to a wall only a short distance away, a poster with a picture of Harry having been hung there.

Having seen it, he couldn't miss the dozens of others that seemed to adorn every building in the street and Harry took one to inspect it closer.

"What does it say?" he asked the woman.

She released a deep breath.

"It says to be aware of The Serpent," she sighed. "It is on the posters and even on the radio. They say that you will steal our children and unleash an army of basilisks on us."

"Who says that?"

"Grindelwald's men."

Harry laughed, though the woman nor any other of the Romanians did so, some eying him the same way the little girl did.

"That's ridiculous," he declared irritably.

The woman smiled as she nodded.

"I know that, but they have been filling our heads with it for weeks now. Many people here do not know what to believe."

Harry's jaw tightened, the feeling he was experiencing reminiscent of how it had been during fourth year when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire.

"Where would I get an army of basilisks?" he snorted.

"From the farm."

"Farm?"

"The basilisk farm outside of the city. You do not know of it?"

Harry shook his head.

He remembered the man he had supplied the basilisk venom to in Knockturn Alley having mentioned the farms, but he'd not looked for one.

"No, I didn't know it was there, and I certainly don't have an army of them. That would be a moronic thing to do."

"It would," the woman agreed with a tinkling laugh, "but that is what we have been told."

"That I have an army of basilisks and will steal your children?"

The woman nodded, smirking, though Harry didn't see the humour in the situation.

"Why don't you believe it?" he asked, shooting a glance at the little girl who was still staring at him.

Any trace of amusement she may have felt vanished as the woman swallowed deeply.

"I would never believe those that murdered my husband because he chose to fight for his country."

At the mention of her father, the little girl began to cry, and the woman picked her up off the ground. She could have been no older than four and had already experienced so much.

"He died fighting for you all," Harry murmured.

"He was an auror. A very brave man," the woman replied proudly.

"That he was," Harry agreed, conjuring a small, stuffed unicorn for the girl, and offering it to her.

She looked to her mother for confirmation before accepting it and pulling tight to her chest.

"He will need a name," Harry pointed out.

The woman translated to the little girl who gave him a watery smile before whispering to her mother.

"She would like to know your name."

"Harry," he replied.

The girl smiled and nodded.

"Then that is the name of the unicorn," the woman declared fondly. "My name is Sorina, and this is Iulia."

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Harry said sincerely, pleased to notice the others that had been watching him warily had relaxed somewhat. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

Sorina shook her head.

"They destroyed our home after killing my husband," she explained. "There is nothing but rubble left."

"We should fix that," Harry decided. "Is it nearby?"

"Close to the Ministry," Sorina informed him, gesturing for Harry to follow. "My husband worked many hours and living close was needed for when he was on call."

Harry nodded his understanding though even he could see the house was a lost cause when Sorina pointed out what remained of her home. Even magic would not fix this nor hold it together even if it could be.

"I already know that nothing can be done," she sighed sadly, "but maybe it is for the best. I have too many memories here, the good ones soiled by the bad."

"Where will you stay?" Harry asked.

Sorina shrugged.

"When the Ministry is reinstated, maybe they will give me a house."

"That won't be for some time," Harry explained as he withdrew a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from within his robes and began scratching away.

When he was done, he handed it to Sorina, her eyes widening in shock.

"I can not accept this!" she gasped, attempting to give it back.

"You can," Harry replied gently, closing her hand around the bank draft he'd given her. "I created a charity just for things like this and people who need it the most. Your husband died doing what is right, and I imagine that he would rest easier knowing that you were both being cared for."

Sorina's eyes brimmed with tears, and she wiped them away as she wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

"I do not know what to say," she whispered.

"You do not have to say anything," Harry assured her.

Sorina shook her head.

"I could buy three houses with this money," she explained.

"Well, that will get you a new home and food for quite some time. I will make sure to add you to our list of beneficiaries and you will receive more when you need it."

"No, this will be more than enough," Sorina protested.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged, "but we don't know how long this will last. Come on, I will make sure you have a tent until you can find a home of your own."

By now Iulia had fallen asleep in her mother's arms, and they made their way back towards where the men of the ICW were distributing what was needed.

Harry was suddenly struck by a thought, one that filled him with dread.

"Is there a dragon reserve here?" he asked.

Sorina nodded, a grin tugging at her lips.

"The workers released them," she snorted. "They cannot get out of the sanctuary, but Grindelwald's men do not know how to use the protections, so they could not take them for him."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

The last thing he wanted to do was deal with dozens of loose dragons across the continent.

"And this basilisk farm, is it secure?"

"I do not know," Sorina replied apologetically. "You would need to speak with Vasile, they are very secretive about their work. I can introduce you to him."

Harry nodded appreciatively.

"That will be useful," he murmured. "Even blind basilisks are dangerous," he added, rubbing the scars near his elbow, a smile cresting his lips as he spotted some familiar faces amongst the other men.

"I see you're as popular as ever," Charlus chuckled, holding up one of the posters Harry had seen earlier.

"It's not funny," Harry grumbled.

"No, it's not," Charlus agreed. "This could be quite bad if people believe it."

"Which they do," Harry pointed out.

Charlus shook his head.

"I suppose it's a smear campaign to make you look bad," he mused aloud.

Harry nodded, but for the time being, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Can you find Sorina and her daughter a tent?" he asked.

Charlus peered over his shoulder at the woman.

"Another admirer? Minerva will be thrilled," he japed.

"Nothing like that," Harry muttered. "Her home has been destroyed and her husband killed. They've got nothing."

"Bloody hell," Charlus grumbled. "Gilbert, help the woman and the child," he instructed. "Make sure they have everything we can give and then some."

Gilbert nodded before making his way towards Sorina who gave Harry a final smile.

"I will find Vasile and ask him to pay you a visit," she promised. "Thank you, Harry, for everything."

"Who is Vasile?" Charlus questioned.

Harry could only shake his head.

"A man that will assist me with one of many things I need to look into," Harry said dismissively. "How is she?"

"About ready to pop, I think," Charlus chuckled. "You need to make sure you can be home for the birth. You'll never forgive yourself if you miss it."

"I know," Harry replied tiredly. "I will be. How was your time away? Your mother?"

"She's coping as well as can be expected," Charlus said warmly. "She is missing home, but she is safe."

"And what about the rest of your time?"

Harry frowned as Charlus rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze shifting briefly towards Arcturus before he looked away once more.

"It was nice to be home," he answered sheepishly as he busied himself by handing out food parcels to the still gathered crowd.

It was unlike Charlus to do anything mischievous or even controversial, but Harry had the feeling he had been up to something, and if the glance he gave an unexpecting Arcturus was anything to go by, Harry had no doubt that it involved the Lord Black in some way.

(Break)

So much had happened since she had last been here; the day that Harry Evans had apprehended her. Eleanor had expected that her home would have been discovered, yet here it stood, untouched and just as she had left it.

The same, however, could not be said for her country and the people living here.

She had arrived in Sofia a little over a week prior to find the usually bustling magical district almost empty, the streets seemingly occupied only by Grindelwald's men who were much more vigilant than those in Germany.

Here, they were anticipating the counter-invasion of the ICW, something that Eleanor hoped would come soon.

What had become of her homeland was nothing short of heart-breaking.

The few men, women, and children she did see looked broken, their morale having been diminished by the months under Grindelwald's regime, the countenances speaking of the hardship they'd endured.

As far as any of them knew, the world had abandoned them to their fate, and they went about their days in a state of reluctant acceptance.

What else could they do?

The situation in Bulgaria was bad, and Eleanor wasn't even sure that an ICW liberation would be enough for the magical population to ever truly recover, but they would try, nonetheless.

Harry had promised he would do all he could to save them, and if nothing else, he had proven to be a man of his word, someone who had never given Eleanor a reason to doubt him.

If only her fellow countrymen knew that, but for little they would have been told, they were perhaps dreading Harry's arrival.

The posters she had found stuck to almost every wall here depicted Harry as a monster, everything that Grindelwald had proven himself to be, but with how long the country had been isolated, could she expect the Bulgarians to believe anything else.

What information they were privy to was only what Grindelwald allowed, and according to the posters, the radio transmissions, and the public service announcements played for all in the streets to hear, Harry was their enemy, and Grindelwald the protector they should look to.

Begrudgingly, Eleanor admitted that the tactic, though brazen and false, was quite the stroke of genius.

If Harry and the ICW, the latter not having been mentioned in any capacity, were seen as the threat, they would get no assistance from the locals when they arrived to liberate them.

That was where Eleanor knew she would come in.

Having grown in these streets and being familiar with most of the locals, she knew whom it was she should approach to begin sowing the seeds of truth and doubt.

Thus far, she had merely observed the comings and goings of the magical district, the patrols, and changeovers of Grindelwald's men, and watching for the appearance of anyone familiar she could identify as a potential ally.

She had spoken to none yet but had spotted a few people she knew who would be open to listening to her, and Grindelwald's followers seemed to keep a regular schedule.

In all, she calculated there were around fifteen hundred of various nationalities loyal to the Dark wizard, something she would be informing Harry of shortly.

For now, she wished for but a few moments to look around her house once more, and perhaps have a sleep in her own bed.

The prison had been terrible, and most nights since she had been freed had been little better. The hotel in Berlin had been a welcome reprieve, but there was nothing quite like sleeping in your own bed, especially as it had been so long since she had done so.

(Break)

Dear Nicholas,

I hope this finds you hale and hearty.

The man you mentioned in your letter undoubtedly exists, but I'm afraid he is little more than a whisper on so few lips.

Truly, he is a master of subterfuge which only speaks to how dangerous he is.

I apologise that I have nothing more for you and wish you well in your endeavour to identify him.

Yours truly,

Iqbal Qureshi

Nicholas sighed as he threw the letter into the fire and began stroking Camille thoughtfully.

For months he had corresponded with any and all who may be able to assist him in identifying the elusive Weber, but all his contacts had drawn a blank beyond confirming the man was not merely a myth.

It was frustrating to say the least.

How could someone so prolifically involved in such an egregious movement be so anonymous?

It made no sense to Nicholas nor Albus who had equally spent his own contacts in the pursuit of the man.

The alchemist was not one to concede defeat so easily, but Iqbal had been his final hope, and if the former Minister of Foreign affairs for the ICW couldn't help him in the matter, he doubted that anyone else could.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Perenelle implored. "You have done all you can."

"I have, but failure is not something I can swallow," he replied grimly.

"You are a stubborn man, Nicholas," Perenelle huffed. "You must remember that for the last few centuries we have isolated ourselves and the world is a very different place."

Nicholas nodded.

"I no longer recognise it," he admitted wryly. "I never believed it would become so full. We are like an infestation of parasites, and what the world is now is something I find I care little for."

Perenelle released a deep breath.

"In our reclusiveness, we have missed much," she agreed. "Gone are the days of discovery and simpler times, but it is still the people that suffer. Whether they draw swords or fire guns at one another, the result is the same, only on a much bigger scale now. Disease and famine still exist and always will. Perhaps our vision of what the world would be was rose-tinted and what it is was inevitable."

Nicholas snorted.

"Some days I truly grow tired of it," he admitted. "I have no regrets, but I am quite ashamed that the memory of man is so short, that they continue to make the same errors, and here we are, embroiled in a war that spells only disaster."

Perenelle wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Do not let it dishearten you," she urged. "The world has survived many things we thought would end it."

"You're right," Nicholas replied with a smile. "I think I'll take Camille for a walk before she decides to chew my slippers again."

Perenelle fought back a grin.

Nicholas had grown to love the rambunctious dog, but she had an obsession with his slippers.

In the months since he found her, he'd needed to replace four pairs she had destroyed.

Still, as much as it annoyed her husband, he could not stay mad at Camille. She would give him one sad look and he would crumble.

Nicholas was a soft-hearted man, and Camille knew how to manipulate him.

"Take a rain jacket," Perenelle called as he left the room, "and some boots."

"Yes dear," Nicholas called as he readied himself. "Come on, girl, let's go to the woods."

Camille merely wagged her tail happily, bounding out of the front garden as he opened the door.

(Break)

It became quickly apparent to Arcturus that something was bothering Charlus. Ever since he had returned two days ago, the man had been quiet, though it was evident he had something to say. On more than one occasion Arcturus had caught him about to speak his thoughts, only for the Lord Potter to frown and busy himself with a menial task.

It irked Arcturus, but he said nothing.

He wasn't going to press the matter, not when he was enjoying seeing the man fumble over himself so uncharacteristically, even if his usually forthcoming friend was not so talkative.

Arcturus had an idea what his thoughts pertained to but a part of him was not relishing the subject being broached.

He respected Charlus much more than most others he'd come to know, however, the discussion would undoubtedly change things between them.

"Lord Black?" Charlus probed from the doorway.

Arcturus frowned.

The discussion would evidently be more serious than he had anticipated if Charlus was addressing him with such formality.

"What can I do for you, Lord Potter?" he returned evenly, following suit, slipping into his lordly demeanour with practised ease.

Charlus braced himself by taking a deep breath.

"I was hoping I could discuss something of the utmost importance with you."

Arcturus fought the urge to smirk at his friend's discomfort and gestured for the man to take a seat.

Charlus did so, nodding gratefully for the invitation.

"I suppose it must be quite important if you are insisting on this charade."

"You know how it is," Charlus sighed. "When it is a matter of family interests, our traditions must be adhered to. How else would you know how serious I am if I do not treat it so?"

Arcturus conceded the point with a nod, leaning back in his chair to listen to his counterpart.

"I would like to discuss the possibility of negotiating a marriage contract between myself and Dorea."

Arcturus's nostrils flared at the thought, but he swallowed down the protectiveness he felt, not that Charlus would know that.

Still, he was taken slightly aback by the request.

He had perhaps thought that he would enquire about maybe courting Dorea, but, as Arcturus had learned well enough during their years at Hogwarts, Charlus was not one to do things by halves.

"My sister?" Arcturus asked dangerously.

Much to Charlus's credit, he didn't flinch as he nodded.

Once more, the Lord Black resisted the urge to smirk, choosing to narrow his eyes.

Just because he liked Charlus, it didn't mean he was going to make this easy for him.

In truth, he could think of no better man for Dorea, one who would treat her with the utmost care and respect she deserved.

He remembered what seemed to be so long ago now when the very topic was touched upon with his sister, and Arcturus had been somewhat brutal with his rebuttal that such a match was simply not likely.

Dorea had been devastated, and now, Arcturus was pleased that his words were proven false, that the woman he held most dear had the chance at the happiness he knew she had wished for.

"My sister?" he repeated, nonetheless. "You wish to marry my sister?"

"More than anything," Charlus answered sincerely.

His words were impassioned, even defiant in a sense that made Arcturus realise that this wasn't merely an attraction between the two, but somehow, their feelings had deepened over the years.

Was it an infatuation, or much more?

"You're in love with her," he whispered in disbelief.

"I am," Charlus admitted unashamedly, and Arcturus chuckled humourlessly.

This certainly changed things.

He had considered that it was perhaps the taboo nature of the relationship they would share, that both knew it was something that they couldn't have that drew them together, but it had gone beyond that.

How or when, Arcturus knew not, but it had, and it was no longer a point of amusement for him, not when it concerned two people that meant so much to him and their happiness.

"You do understand the implications of this, don't you?" he asked. "There will be many who will be displeased."

"I don't care," Charlus replied firmly. "For once, I'm going to think of myself."

Arcturus could respect that, though his curiosity was not yet satisfied.

"Is this what she wants?"

He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Charlus, for the man to look him in the eye and confirm it.

"It is."

"How?" he asked. "I'm no fool, I know you have been writing to one another. You were rather poor at hiding that."

Charlus shrugged, the burden of the feelings he'd carried still weighing him down.

"I suppose it started whilst we were at Hogwarts. From the day that Harry and I intervened on her behalf with McLaggen and his lot, we have been on good terms."

Arcturus nodded his understanding.

"Something I am still grateful for," he murmured. "She really came into her own after that."

"She did," Charlus agreed with a smile, "but we were nothing but cordial until after we had both graduated. Of course, there was the Longbottom wedding and then when we bumped into each other in Diagon Alley. That was before the unpleasantness between my father and your brother."

"I was aware that you spent time with her in Diagon Alley," Arcturus sighed. "I warned her of the potential fallout."

"As did my father with me," Charlus explained, "but he gave me his blessing if I wished to pursue anything further with Dorea."

That did surprise Arcturus, and he could not maintain his stoic expression upon hearing it.

"Did he?"

Charlus nodded, smiling as he seemingly reminisced on a conversation he'd shared with the late Lord Potter.

"He explained the complexity of making it work and the political and social implications, but I didn't care. I still don't care."

"But neither yourself nor your father approached me?"

Charlus shook his head.

"My father was killed shortly after," he said sadly, "and with him having killed your brother, I thought it to be impossible. After the funeral, it wasn't until your injury that I saw her again. I thought too much had happened between our families or that enough time had passed that she would have moved on. As soon as I saw her, I knew I had been lying to myself."

"And you have been writing ever since," Arcturus finished.

Charlus nodded.

"We have," he admitted, "and I saw her when I was on leave. I took her to dinner where we attracted more than our fair share of attention, but neither of us cared. I love her, and she feels the same for me. As difficult as it might be, I'm willing to do what it takes for us to both be happy. So much time has already been wasted getting to where we are now."

Arcturus simply stared at the man, surprised by some of what had been revealed to him, but full of admiration for Charlus.

He was a typical Gryffindor in many ways; wore his heart on his sleeve and was as brazen as they came, but for once, Arcturus was pleased for this tact.

With Charlus Potter, he always knew where he stood, and though Arcturus would never believe anyone would be worthy of his sister, the man seated before him was as close as someone would come.

"So, you are seeking my approval?" he asked.

"I doubt anyone would get that," Charlus snorted. "I'm asking for your acceptance."

Arcturus eyed the man speculatively, looking for any signs of deception.

As expected, there were none, but he stood and paced back and forth several times before speaking once more.

"Stand up, Potter."

Charlus did so, and Arcturus nodded thoughtfully.

"I want your word that you will honour her, that you will always look out for her best interests before any other," he demanded. "I want to know that you would give your life for her just as readily as I would, and I want you to assure me that Dorea will never know a day without the love she deserves!"

"You have my word," Charlus replied immediately.

"Just like that?"

Charlus nodded solemnly.

"Just like that," he parroted.

For the first time since the conversation began, Arcturus smiled, pleased that Dorea would get the happiness she so craved, and just as pleased for his friend who had endured so much heartache these past years.

Arcturus had never been an outwardly affectionate man, not to those not of his blood or his wife, but he pulled Charlus into a tight embrace, in no doubt that Dorea now had two men in her life who would do whatever it took to make her happy.

"Then let the negotiations begin," he declared, gesturing for Charlus to sit once more.

(Break)

"What is the oldest snake you have?" Harry asked.

The Romanian serpent farmer, Vasile, glared at him, not even trying to hide his mistrust or reluctance to cooperate. Harry, however, was taking no chances.

Basilisks were amongst the most dangerous creatures in the world, and it would be foolish to do so.

"Our oldest is around eighty years old," Vasile replied. "She is around twenty feet."

Much smaller than the one in the Chamber of Secrets, but no less dangerous if it was to bite him, something Harry had no intention of experiencing again.

"And how many snakes altogether?"

"We keep no more than fifteen at a time," Vasile sighed. "Most stop producing venom after a while, so we replace them."

Harry hummed unhappily but didn't comment further until they reached what most would deem to be a rather innocuous rock, but the magic radiating from it was unmissable.

The spells keeping the snakes within what he discovered to be an underground cavern were extensive, the magic dangerous for those that did not know how to counter it.

The cavern itself was humid and Harry frowned.

"Why is it so warm?" he questioned.

"Snakes need heat. You should know this," Vasile answered patronisingly.

Harry shook his head.

"Basilisks are creatures of the cold and darkness. They thrive in it."

Vasile scoffed and gestured for Harry to advance.

"Since you are such an expert, why don't you go ahead and see how they welcome you."

An angry hissing greeted him as he entered the adjoining chamber, the thin layer of mist generated from the heat obscuring his vision.

"Stay calm, young ones," a voice spoke. "Give them no reason to harm you and you will be safe."

"I will not harm you," Harry called.

"They bring us another of our kind," the voice declared.

Excited hissing followed, incoherent for the most part but Harry could sense what they were feeling.

Making his way through the mist, he came to a series of tanks that housed the basilisks, most within being quite small for their breed but one much larger than the others.

As expected, their eyes had been removed but the biggest was tasting the air, its tongue flicking.

"You are an old one," it hissed gently. "Much older than me."

"I'm not one of you," Harry replied. "I am a man, like those that take your venom."

The basilisk reared up slowly and Harry got to see the creature in all its glory as it did so.

Compared to the one he had slew in the chamber, it was tiny, though to any that had not witnessed such a magnificent beast as he had, this would be a behemoth.

"You can understand me?"

"I can," Harry replied. "There are some of us that are gifted with your language and magic."

"You smell like us."

"I was bitten by one of your kind," Harry explained. "She was much older and much bigger than you. I was healed but her venom stays with me."

"She was strong," the basilisk acknowledged.

Harry nodded.

"A beautiful creature, much like yourself."

The basilisk hissed almost demurely.

"We are monsters," it declared. "We give our venom and then they kill us."

"Why haven't they killed you?"

"Because I feed the little ones."

Despite his rather unpleasant past with the creatures, he felt for the basilisk. She was kept alive to only feed the hatchlings and give her venom. This was no life for such a beast.

"Isn't it too hot for you down here?"

"I have grown used to it, and the hatchlings know no better, but we do not like it."

"Then I will make it cooler for you," Harry declared as he drew his wand.

With a few waves of his wand, the temperature dropped considerably, and the mist vanished.

The serpents hissed contentedly.

"Better?" he asked.

The large basilisk simply hissed happily, enjoying the preferred environment.

"It needs to stay like this for them," he explained to Vasile who was staring at him wide-eyed. "They do not like the heat."

The man nodded dumbly.

"Who owns this place?"

"Dimitri was the owner, but he died," Vasile sighed. "I do not know what we will do."

"Then I will buy it," Harry declared. "I will fund it on the condition that the basilisks are treated properly and with the respect they deserve. They will be fed, and cared for, and I will be checking in regularly to ensure that is happening."

In an ideal world, Harry would like to set them free, but they would not survive and would be hunted just because of what they were. The best he could do was ensure they lived a good life and that they were happy.

"What is the venom used for?"

"We sell it to research companies," Vasile explained. "There are many potential benefits for the venom to be used in healing."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"How many workers are there?"

"We had nine, but six are dead."

"Then find more," Harry instructed. "I will compensate you all generously so long as you adhere to my terms. I want a comprehensive log kept of the care of the animals, and how much venom from each is produced. There will be a ledger of all contracts and finances, and in turn, I will ensure the job is safe for you and the others that work here. Understood?"

Vasile swallowed deeply and nodded, gasping as Harry seized him by the throat.

"I will say this only once," he growled. "If I find that these creatures are not treated to my standards, I will fucking feed you to them. Basilisk venom is an extremely painful way to die. Have you seen what it does?"

"Yes," Vasile choked.

"Then you will not wish to suffer it."

Vasile shook his head and Harry released him.

"They will be given better accommodation, preferably somewhere they can roam more freely. I will leave it up to you to find a suitable place and I will place the protections there myself. Do we have an agreement?"

"We do."

"Good," Harry replied before he turned his attention back to the largest of the basilisks. "You will be better cared for," he promised. "You will soon have a new home and lots of food. All that I ask is that you provide venom when required without attacking the humans. They will not harm you."

The basilisk hissed happily in response.

"Well, don't you have work to get one with?" Harry snapped at Vasile who all but fled from the cavern.

Harry knew that he had perhaps been harsh with the man, but he wanted there to be no mistaking how serious he was. The basilisk, though a dangerous foe was beautiful in its own way and something Harry felt a strong connection to.

The very essence of the creature dwelled within him, after all.

Other than for their venom, the serpents here were of little use to him. It would be too dangerous to attempt to use them for the war, even without their sight.

He had no doubt they had a keen sense of smell, but he could not expect them to differentiate between friend and foe, nor would he.

These were not weapons of war but magnificent beings that deserved to live, and though he was perhaps being a little too sentimental, he didn't care.

Despite how he had been gifted his parselmouth abilities and the trauma he'd suffered having been bitten by a basilisk, he was fond of them both, and had long ago accepted that they were a part of what made him who he was.

(Break)

Dear Gellert,

It pains me to be the bearer of unwelcome news once more, but I must inform you that Romania has fallen to the ICW forces.

Although your followers fought valiantly, they were unable to snatch victory.

I await any instruction you wish to give.

W

Gellert cursed under his breath, his months spent recruiting more men having been fruitful in many ways, but disastrous in others.

He could ill-afford to keep losing land to the men of the ICW, and he knew in that moment that something had to change.

"Pack your things, Cassie," he instructed. "It is time for us to return."