A Fleeting Alliance

For the past two weeks, Harry had spent much of his time toiling in the crater-filled field that separated the warring factions, both he and Grindelwald watched over by onlookers perched on the edge of either trench.

The work was tedious for the most part, but something that required precision, and though Harry had no experience drawing runes, Grindelwald insisted he did his part.

Strangely, the pair worked quite well together, even with the unavoidable tension between them that, on several occasions, became outright hostile.

Harry would compare the experience akin to if Voldemort invited him to dinner regularly.

Not that he would accept, of course.

Working together as he and Grindelwald were, was a temporary and tolerated measure for both men, each knowing where they stood with the other, and undeniably aware that they would soon again come to blows.

He'd of course had his doubts, but with Yaxley of all people having confirmed the veracity of the runes Harry had been presented with by the Dark Lord, he was content that this facet of the task was safe at least.

"COMMANDER EVANS!" Grindelwald called from where he was working on a cluster of intricate runes that Harry wouldn't trust himself to etch.

With a sigh, Harry approached and looked upon them as the Dark Lord gestured for him to do so.

"What do you see?" the man asked curiously. "How is this and every other cluster we have drawn similar?"

Harry eyed the runes thoughtfully.

To him, most of the clusters were similar, but with the runes placed differently. Something told him that wasn't the answer Grindelwald was looking for, but when he pondered it further, there was only one other similarity he could identify.

"They're all either drawn in threes or sevens."

Grindelwald smiled brightly as he nodded.

"Excellent, and do you know what the significance of that is?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, in the study of runes, arithmancy, and other magical branches, there are what are referred to as magic numbers."

"Magic numbers?"

Grindelwald smirked, taking no small amount of joy in Harry not knowing something.

"When it comes to formulas, the best results are yielded when incorporating the magical number system. No one truly knows how or why it works, it just does. It has been studied extensively for centuries relating to runes, but it still remains a mystery. It simply works, and that is why all of the runes we are working with are being gathered in threes and sevens," he explained. "Never underestimate the power of something so trivial. Any wizard worth their salt will always work within the parameters of magic numbers, no matter what it is they are trying to achieve."

Harry nodded.

Grindelwald had taken to teaching him things as they worked; runes, arithmancy, and they even discussed magical theories to pass the time whilst they were creating their clusters.

He didn't know why, and he was yet to ask, but the conversations and debates they had, had been interesting thus far.

"And alternating between sets of threes and sevens strengthens the protections also?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," Gellert said almost proudly. "Well observed, Commander. Now, if you're finished with your own work, we will call it a day. Until tomorrow."

After offering Harry a bow, Grindelwald was gone and Harry returned to his own trenches where, as always, he was scrutinised by a large gathering of men who were displeased about him working with Grindelwald.

"And there is the traitor now," one muttered in French and Harry paused his steps before turning to look at the man that had spoken out.

"Traitor?" he asked dangerously.

"A traitor," the voice of the French Commander broke in, supporting the words of his subordinate. "You are working with the enemy. That makes you a filthy traitor in my eyes."

Harry's nostrils flared.

The Commander at least had the temerity to voice his thoughts instead of muttering them to his friends, but that did little to quell the anger Harry felt.

The Frenchman seemed to be quite proud of himself, a smug, boastful smirk pulling at his lips, and though Harry had exercised considerable patience with the attitude some of the men had shown him these past few weeks, his patience was now at an end.

Before the man could even reach for his wand, Harry apparated, and grabbed him by the throat as he appeared silently in front of him.

Slamming him against the wall of the trench, the onlookers fell silent in shock, surprised by Harry's reaction.

"Traitor?" he whispered, loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. "If I was a traitor, you would all be dead by now," he assured the French Commander.

The man could only wheeze as he fought fruitlessly against Harry's steely grip.

"You talk about traitors when it is you compromising the safety of the rest of us by bringing women into the trenches?"

The man's eyes widened fearfully at being caught and Harry tightened his grip around the Frenchman's throat.

"You will close off your secret entrance," he instructed. "If you don't, I will bury you in it. Understood?"

The man nodded and Harry loosened his grip but held him still.

"What I am doing is for the sake of everyone here. You all saw what those muggle weapons can do. Which one of you fancies having one of them drop on top of you?"

None offered him an answer and Harry threw the French Commander to the floor in disgust.

"If there is anyone else that thinks I'm a traitor then speak your thoughts."

When none did, he released a deep breath.

"Grindelwald killed Moody, and William Potter," he added, nodding to Charlus who had evidently heard the commotion and come to investigate. "The bastard will die, but my priority right now is keeping you all alive and eliminating the threat of those weapons is necessary. Unless anyone has a better suggestion?"

Again, none spoke.

"Then I will handle it the way I choose to. If making a deal with the devil keeps you alive, then that is what I will do, but I will not be vilified for it. Now piss off out of my sight before I really lose my temper, and you, I want that entrance gone now. I will be checking," he finished.

The French Commander scurried away towards his room, and the rest of the men dispersed having been silenced by Harry.

"You know, you're quite a scary bloke," Charlus chuckled amusedly. "I thought they would piss themselves."

"I won't be called a traitor," Harry muttered, remembering how he had been treated during his fourth year when his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. "You don't think I am, do you?"

Charlus snorted as he shook his head.

"Bloody hell, no one has done more than you to fight him," Charlus whispered, gripping Harry's forearm tightly. "You already know that I don't like the idea of you working with him, but it is needed. I'd never doubt what side you're on."

Harry nodded gratefully.

"Stupid, French bastard," he grumbled.

Charlus laughed heartily.

"Well, I don't think he'll be saying anything else, and neither will the rest of them."

"No, probably not," Harry agreed with a sigh.

Charlus offered him a look of sympathy.

"Any idea how much longer the work will take?"

Harry shook his head.

"A few days, maybe a week."

He hoped it wouldn't be much longer.

The peace was nice whilst it lasted and allowed him to recover fully from his injuries, but it was unnerving, and he would much rather be done with it sooner so that the niceties between him and Grindelwald could be dispatched.

The man was his enemy, and the quicker the work was completed, the quicker the two of them could return to attempting to kill one another.

Just the way it should be.

(Break)

The summer months had passed slowly for Tom, each day at the orphanage as boring as the one that came before it, the only highlight being the acquisition of his diary and the outing to the beach the children had been taken on.

Being back at Hogwarts felt like a homecoming for him, the first place he had been allowed to be himself, well, for the most part.

He had to reign in many of his desires, the ones that even those in the wizarding world looked down on.

What Tom had learned being here was that the magical people did not like change and held tightly onto their traditions.

He didn't know what the rest of the wizarding world was like, but Britain hadn't seemed to have progressed at all in centuries leaving the people here stuck in a rut they seemed to be content with.

Tom was not like them.

He saw himself as a forward-thinker, a progressive that wished the world around him reflected that.

It didn't, and if something wasn't done about it, Tom would spend the rest of his days in a place that would never allow him to be himself.

But what could be done about it?

There needed to be changes, of that he was certain, but to bring about change to a people that were so set in their ways would not be easy.

They needed a progressive leader, one that could implement these changes.

"What do you think you are doing, mudblood?"

Tom's jaw tightened at the sound of Rosier's voice.

Vinda Rosier had just entered his seventh year and was as bigoted as they came.

If ever there was any that believed in the supremacy of purebloods, it was him.

Vinda had never paid much attention to Tom, but now being flanked by Avery, Mulciber, and a slew of other seventh years, he evidently felt the need to put him in his place.

Whether he was showing off or trying to assert some form of authority over the house since the last batch of seventh years had left, Tom didn't know, but Rosier was in for a rude awakening if he thought Tom would bow to him.

"I'm sitting by the fire and reading," he answered.

"You are in my seat!" Rosier spat.

Tom casually closed his book and looked at the red-faced boy speculatively.

"Is that so?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, now get out or I will make you!"

Vinda was not scared of him. Tom learned that by looking into his eyes and getting a feel for the emotion the boy was experiencing.

He had always been good at that, and even knew when he was being lied to.

"Then I think you should make me."

Vinda and the other Slytherins looked at him in disbelief, as though they believed he had lost his mind, or he simply hadn't said what he had.

They stared almost dumbly for several moments until Vinda lost whatever composure he had.

"I'll kill you, you bastard!" he seethed as he reached for his wand.

Tom was quicker, and before the older boy had managed to draw his, he had been sent across the room by a banishing charm and screamed as he was hit with a bonebreaker.

Avery attempted to come to his aide but was prevented from doing so as a chair slammed into him, courtesy of a summoning charm.

To further accentuate his point, Tom continued with his spell work until none were left standing, each offering a poor attempt at either defending themselves or trying to harm him.

With a shake of his head, he walked across the common room and to the whimpering Rosier, purposely pressing his heel into his broken arm, eliciting another scream from the boy.

"Never draw your wand on me again," he warned. "You may think that you are better than me, but you are nothing and I could crush you as easily as I could a bug."

Vinda swallowed deeply as he nodded, his skin pale.

With a final nod, Tom walked towards the exit of the common room and paused as he looked upon his housemates who were staring at him worriedly.

"None of you are above me. I will always be your better," he hissed in parseltongue.

The looks of worry shifted to shock, and then to fear, and once more, Tom felt himself filled with the same excitement he'd experienced in the cave with Benson and Bishop.

He exited the common room, content with the knowledge that he wouldn't be bothered again, positively thrumming with the thrill the altercation had brought.

The desire to kill them all had to be quelled, but he managed to exercise enough restrain to spare them.

Were they not within the castle, he wouldn't have, but perhaps the day would come where they would attempt to accost him again?

Tom snorted at the thought.

No, the cowards would do no such thing.

The rest of his housemates may not know it, but those that mattered did.

Slytherin House belonged to Tom Riddle, and as a descendant of the man that had founded it, it was his by right.

(Break)

Minerva could only shake her head as she folded away the latest letter she had received from Harry. Although he was taking being made Commander in his stride, she knew him well enough to know that it was a position he would prefer not to be in, not when he felt there was so much more he could do for the war effort without the restrictions it imposed on him.

Still, she was proud of him, for everything he had done, and though she would never stop worrying about him, she had accepted that Harry would never likely have a peaceful life.

Try as he might to avoid trouble, it would always find him somehow.

"How is he?" Albus asked from behind his desk, peering at Minerva over the top of today's edition of The Daily Prophet.

"The man would tell me he is fine even if he was on death's door," Minerva sighed.

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded his agreement.

"Yes, he does have a certain stubbornness about him, a moral fibre that is quite rare."

Minerva couldn't help but agree with her mentor, though she suspected he would be less pleased by the other piece of news Harry had broken to her.

"I don't suppose that it is helping him that he is working with Grindelwald whilst they install protections against the muggle weaponry."

Albus dropped his newspaper, his mouth agape.

"They're working together?" he asked curiously.

Minerva nodded.

Dumbledore was doing a poor job in hiding the surprise he felt, almost as poorly as the hint of jealousy in his expression.

"Apparently so," she confirmed. "Harry is not happy about it, but as he has written here, the man made quite the convincing argument for them to collaborate. It seems that Grindelwald believes it will take the both of them to create powerful enough protections to keep both sides of the conflict safe from a repeat performance."

Albus frowned and nodded after a few moments of pondering.

"It most certainly would," he mused aloud, his frown deepening. "How long have they been working together."

"A couple of weeks now," Minerva explained. "It is quite the task, something that has never been done before."

This time, Albus couldn't hide the stab of jealousy he felt, and though she felt quite petty for doing so, Minerva took no small amount of joy in it.

She cared for Albus, respected him more so, but she had lost much of that when he watched Harry march off to war to put an end to Grindelwald when he needn't.

It should be Albus confronting Grindelwald, but her mentor continued to do everything he could to ignore the plight of those that opposed his old friend.

"Well, that is quite the development," the man mused aloud, "and I'm sure they will be successful in their endeavour. Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I think I will take a turn around the grounds to ensure young Mr Hagrid is keeping himself out of trouble."

With that, Albus left the room and Minerva reread the letter she had received, petting Theseus absentmindedly as she did so.

With Harry and Charlus fighting on the frontline, she and the rest of their friends were deeply worried.

Tiberius had even attempted to join them, but his father had put a stop to the idea, reminding the man he had a wife to think about, and no heir in place.

He hadn't taken it well, and as happily married as he was and trying to enjoy life, Tiberius couldn't.

Not a week would go by that Minerva didn't receive a letter from him, Augusta or Poppy asking if she'd had any news from Harry or Charlus, but as Minerva reminded them, she was as out of the loop as the rest and learned of most developments through the media.

Harry did write to her often, but for the most part, he didn't speak of the war, what he'd seen or done. Not anymore, at least.

He spoke about home now, memories they'd shared that seemed to be so long ago.

Perhaps it was the way he escaped, or merely coped with life in the trenches.

To Minerva, his reasoning mattered not.

She was just pleased that he was out there, thinking of her as much as she thought of him, both still hoping there were more memories yet to be made.

(Break)

As the first country to have fallen to Grindelwald, and the one that had the least presence of his men, Fox had opted for her group to conduct their first mission in Bulgaria.

She didn't like that the Commanders and Abreo had insisted her men be used for such undertakings, the risk of doing so much higher than she liked.

If truth be told, she didn't like this at all and even after they had observed the comings and goings in Sofia for several days, she felt uneasy.

Were Ghost alive, he would never lead his team into here to carry out the dangerous task she had been given, especially with men who were not qualified to do so, no matter how ready they believed they were.

Fox had worked hard with them, trained them to the best of their ability, but in comparison to the team of Hit-Wizards she used to be a part of, her men were nothing.

The two Spaniards were little more than braggarts who did a great job at talking up their capabilities, but when it came to showing them, they were a disappointment, slightly better than the average witch or wizard when both would have any who listened believe they were the second coming of Merlin.

The Frenchman in her party was excellent with charms, and the Irishman a competent duellist, but they were simply not on par with even the least able of Hit-Wizards she had met.

If Ghost was with her now and leading their group as he once had, this mission would be aborted for the risk and danger it posed to them, but Fox had no such option.

She would have to complete it, and with a group of men that should never have been let out of the trenches.

That was what she had trained them for, not this, not to fill the void left behind by the outright slaughter of the Hit-Wizards.

With how uneasy she felt about what they were going to do, she would even work with The Serpent rather than the eight men she had.

She shook her head of that thought.

No, she wouldn't work with The Serpent.

She didn't need him and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking for his help.

"So, you all know what the plan is?" she whispered to her assembled men.

"We take back the Ministry and then lock the building down," Ruiz answered lazily. "We know."

Fox shot him a look of disapproval.

The man was not taking this seriously at all, and it was fools like Ruiz who would get others killed.

She shook her head.

"Remember, we don't know what resistance we will face in there," she warned. "There could only be a few aurors, a few of Grindelwald's men, or dozens of both. We stick to our formations, no matter what."

"Dozens of both?" Ruiz asked worriedly.

Fox nodded irritably.

It finally seemed the man had a grasp of what it was they could potentially be confronted with, and he seemed to like it even less than her.

He was no longer so relaxed, so blasé about what was to come.

Ruiz was the type of fool to visualise the glory he would be showered in, and not the work it would take to warrant such treatment. He was a fantasist, but he would soon get a dose of reality.

They all would if they were to fail here tonight.

Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable any longer, Fox checked her watch and gestured for her men to follow her, the group staying within the shadows the capitol offered until they reached the entrance of the Bulgarian ministry, of which, nothing had been heard from in more than a year.

"Wait," she instructed as she inspected the security measures in place.

There seemed to be no changes, and the building was still open to the public.

Fox had visited Bulgaria many times during her career and were it not for the knowledge she possessed of the takeover, there would be nothing obviously amiss.

Still, even though everything seemed to be in order, it would be foolish to take any unnecessary risks.

"Chavdar, you go in first," she instructed.

The man was a native, and it made sense for him to go ahead of the rest of the group and see what, if any threats, were immediately waiting for them within the building.

He had worked at the Ministry prior to Grindelwald's coup, so knew the layout of the building and the security measures.

The man nodded nervously, but followed her instruction without question, vanishing through the wall and leaving the rest of them behind to endure an apprehensive wait.

"How long does it take to look?" Ruiz asked nervously when Chavdar had been gone for almost ten minutes. "Maybe we should abandon."

Before Fox could respond, the Bulgarian returned nodding grimly.

"It seems to be as it always has," he informed them." Two auror guards by the office of the Minister and only three more in their department."

"Five aurors," Fox murmured.

If the worst was to happen, she could handle them herself.

"So, we are going ahead?" Ruiz questioned.

Fox nodded.

"We are, and quickly before anything changes. How long until more aurors arrive?"

"Not for a few hours," Chavdar said comfortingly. "We have time to get in and lock the building down, if you know how to do it."

Fox nodded.

She had heard of how the Ministry in Belgium had been destroyed using the floo powder. That had worked well and though Grindelwald technically controlled the country, he'd had to deploy a substantial number of men to do so.

Without the ministry, there was no control, and the Dark Lord would lose his grip on Bulgaria soon enough.

"Let's go. Disillusionment charms."

When the spells had been cast, Chavdar led the way into the building, the atrium of the ministry empty.

Being disillusioned was not the best approach when Fox needed to communicate with her team, but more than anything, they were here to support her if she needed it.

She had briefed them of where they were heading, and the moment they reached the Department of Transportation and the reserves of floo powder, there would be no preamble.

Her job was to prime it and get them out of there in one piece.

It wasn't until they reached the department that she felt uneasy, as though something was lurking in the shadows.

She shook her head of the paranoia.

This was her first mission with a new team. There was no Ghost to lead her, and no other she had spent many years working with. The jitters she felt came from unfamiliarity.

"Watch the door," she whispered to the men that had accompanied her. "Chavdar, you're with me."

Reaching the door to where the floo powder was kept, she snorted when she realised that there wasn't even a lock on it.

Were all ministries so complacent?

Fox didn't have time to consider such trivial things, and with that in mind, she entered the room.

The floo powder was stored in enormous clay pots, and though it appeared she and her team had infiltrated the building undetected; she meticulously and carefully emptied the contents on the floor.

With how much powder was here, the resulting explosion would be nothing short of spectacular, but Fox planned to put several miles between her team and the end result of her work.

It would be a miracle if anything of the ministry building remained.

"Okay, it's ready…"

Fox paused as she re-entered the corridor where she had left the rest of her men, the sight of them all disarmed and being held at wand-point by Bulgarian aurors filling her with dread.

"I would drop the wand if I was you."

She turned at the sound of the voice, only to find herself staring down the shaft of a wand, into the grinning face of Chavdar.

Fox's nostrils flared in irritation.

The man had fought against Grindelwald, had earned a commendation from the ICW for his actions during the creature attack, and yet, here he stood a traitor.

"Do as he says," another voice urged as her grip tightened around her wand. "Your life will be spared if you do not give me a reason to take it."

Almost gliding towards her was perhaps the palest man she had ever seen, his skin as ghostly white as his hair, his expression one of disappointment.

Knowing she had no choice unless she wished to be cut down where she stood, Fox relented and released her wand so that it clattered to the floor.

It was promptly retrieved by one of the Bulgarian aurors and Grindelwald nodded at Fox appreciatively.

"It seems that I have finally caught the last of the famous Hit-wizards," he mused aloud as he scrutinised her closely. "I must say, I find myself unimpressed."

Fox said nothing as the man stared at her. She would not give him the satisfaction of begging, though a certain thought did bring a smirk to her lips.

"I fail to see the amusement in your situation," Grindelwald muttered, his face only a few inches from her own.

"You haven't gotten all of us," Fox chuckled darkly. "The Serpent is still out there."

It was a small victory to see the look of irritation cross the Dark Lord's features, but she would take what she could in the moment.

"The Serpent has abandoned you," Grindelwald snarled, "and even if he does decide to return, he will die."

"Just like us?" Fox questioned.

Grindelwald shook his head.

"No, my dear. You will all be held prisoner," he informed her. "I could use a few strong wizards and witches to power my protections. Secure them," he instructed his men.

Fox did not know what the man was referring to, and though her life had seemingly been spared for the time being, she had little doubt that her existence would now be one of misery.

Perhaps she should have tried to fight her way out of the quandary she found herself in?

No, she would have been killed, and for what?

As much as she despised it, if she wished to live, she had no choice but to comply with the man, and hope beyond hope that someone would come for them.

(Break)

She had watched the French Commander closely over the past few weeks, but there was nothing to suggest that he was a spy. The man was very displeased about his conjugal visits being discovered, and had put them to an end, but Eleanor was certain he was not the man she sought.

It was frustrating to say the least for the woman who had been convinced he was the traitor, but he did nothing to arouse suspicion. He didn't leave the trenches to meet with anyone, and only wrote to his wife, who evidently didn't know about his infidelity.

He was a scumbag, but a loyal one.

With her acceptance of that, Eleanor had once more ventured further into the trenches away from Evans' room and was yet to identify any other possible traitors.

She was even beginning to think that there wasn't one, that the information that had been leaked had been done so via another method, but Harry was convinced it had come from one or more of the men here, and that was good enough for Eleanor.

Despite the frustration she felt and lack of results, she would persevere with what would be her own contribution in the downfall of the man that had invaded her home and slaughtered indiscriminately those that refused to bow.

She would see Grindelwald brought to his knees, and she had no doubt that Evans would be the one to do it.

Patience was what needed to be exercised here, and as difficult as it was to not admit defeat, she would see the task through, no matter what it took.

(Break)

Grindelwald was noticeably happier today, and anything that put the man in such high spirits was likely something that would make Harry feel equally the opposite.

Perhaps his demeanour could have been attributed to the knowledge that this was the last day they would be working together and that they would soon once again commence their efforts in trying to kill the other.

Harry didn't think so.

There was a glint of smugness in the Dark Lord's expression, an undeniable urge to boast of something he knew that Harry didn't, again something that filled the younger man with a sense of unease.

Still, he wouldn't let Grindelwald's seeming joy distract him from his work.

He was keen to see the end of the partnership, and as oddly civil as the experience had been, there had been no comfort to be had during the collaboration.

No, the sooner they were done, the better.

Harry much preferred to live his life knowing where the lines were drawn, and he and Grindelwald belonged on opposite sides of it.

He had meant what he'd said when the two of them had briefly discussed the ambitions of his foe's movement, but they would never find common ground on the approach taken, nor the outcome the man desired.

There were simply too many factors to overcome to see magical and muggle folk living as one.

For the time being at least.

Magicals were too different, the attitude of many towards muggles too dangerous to consider such a thing.

Bigotry was as rife in the wizarding world as it was with the muggles, and Harry could see no way forward without considerable changes being made by both sides.

In truth, he couldn't ever see a world where those needed changes would happen.

Too many wizards clung to their views of superiority, and historically, muggles would kill anything that they didn't understand and that could be a threat to them.

In his lifetime, these changes would not occur, and Harry doubted they ever would, even if Grindelwald had even a glimmer of hope at success.

There was none, and though it had once been Dumbledore to put an end to the movement, something Harry had been content to wait for, it would be him this time.

With everything that had happened between himself and the Dark Lord, he would not accept anything less, nor was he longer willing to wait for Dumbledore to intervene.

It would come down to Harry and Grindelwald, of that he was certain.

It was a breath of relief that he finished carving his final rune cluster before giving it a final inspection to ensure that no mistakes had been made.

Harry had no desire to repeat the arduous process, nor spend any more time in the company of his enemy.

"I believe we are finished," Grindelwald acknowledged as the two of them met in the middle of no-man's-land for what would be the final time under a flag of peace.

Harry nodded, ignoring the glimmer of amusement Grindelwald was displaying.

"Then let us not stand on ceremony," the Dark Lord urged.

There was none of the civility in his tone that had been present these past weeks. Both knew what the activation of the protections would bring.

Once it was done, they would return to their respective trenches, the brief alliance between them at an end, the magic in place preventing them from coming to blows dissipating.

Without a word, Harry placed the tip of his wand on the activation rune Grindelwald had created, and the man followed suit on the one Harry had drawn.

"On the count of three, Commander Evans," the older man murmured. "One…two…three."

The rune began to glow purple as Harry fed his magic into it, and one after the other, the rest followed across the field until they burned brightly and an enormous dome started to form, connecting them all to the point of contact, stretching far into the sky.

The power radiating from them was something to behold, Harry's odd mix of hot and cold magic, and Grindelwald's almost neutral but no less powerful offering becoming one as the protections were put in place.

For several minutes, both men remained as they were, feeding the hungry construct until they were suddenly shoved backwards, the purple dome thrumming with their magic, and the two of them breathless and perspiring from the combined effort it took to activate the runes.

"People will remember this," Grindelwald declared breathily. "The time when two magical titans came together to create one of the greatest, and powerful magical constructs in living memory."

They would, and it would be seen by the entire world courtesy of the camera flashes going off in the distance.

It was a monumental achievement, one that would unlikely be replicated.

It had taken weeks of challenging work, the final moments of the collaboration exhausting for both, but they had done it.

Their men would be safe from further harm from the muggle weapons.

"This is where we part ways, Commander," Grindelwald said almost disappointedly. "Despite our differences, I must say that it has been refreshing to undertake something new with you. You have been an admirable assistant."

Harry snorted but nodded his agreement.

He and Grindelwald would now return to fighting one another and would not stop until one of them was dead.

"It has been an experience," he offered diplomatically.

Grindelwald offered him a smile before turning away, and pausing, seemingly debating something.

"I have a parting gift for you," he announced as he reached into his pocket and removed a wand. "This belongs to a companion of yours, I believe. I captured her and her team attempting to loosen my hold over Bulgaria. I recommend that nothing else of the sort happens again. They will remain my prisoners, but if anymore are captured under the same circumstances, I will have them executed."

He handed Harry the wand, his expression stern.

The two glared at one another for a moment before Harry smiled, though there was nothing friendly about it.

"It would be a shame if I failed to listen," he mused aloud. "Perhaps next time, someone more competent should be sent, someone who would not be captured so easily."

Grindelwald's nostrils flared.

"Then I look forward to meeting this person were they to try. I can assure you that it would not end well."

Harry chuckled darkly.

"For you and yours, if they were to decide to visit," Harry replied. "I don't suppose The Serpent was with them?"

Grindelwald's jaw visibly clenched at the mention of the elusive man.

"No, he's still out there somewhere," Harry said amusedly. "If I can't catch him amongst my own ranks, what chance do you have?"

With his parting words given, Harry turned away and headed back towards his own trenches.

Grindelwald was furious at being mocked, furious that Harry seemed unmoved by Fox's capture.

Truly, Harry didn't care for the woman or what happened to her. It was purely the principle of the capture that irked him.

Not that he would let it go without consequence.

Harry was not Fox, not so cocksure of himself that he would make the same errors as she evidently had.

No, reprisals would soon follow courtesy of him.

After all, it had been a while since The Serpent had been unleashed, but that part of him was coiled now and poised to strike at his enemies once more, and there was nothing Grindelwald could do to stop him.