A Move So Brazen

"It doesn't make any difference to me who I have to fight," Charlus snorted after Harry had informed him of his prospective opponent. "It could be Gaulitier or even Grindelwald, it doesn't matter."

The man was focused, his expression quite grim as he spoke.

Harry knew he still held onto much of the anger that had built at the death of his father, a feeling he could understand.

He hadn't known his parents the same way Charlus had his and merely the thought of what happened to them infuriated Harry.

"I know," Harry comforted, "and I have no doubt that you could beat him, but Gaulitier isn't coming to fight you for Selwyn, and he certainly isn't doing it for one hundred galleons. The bastard is planning something, and we should be prepared for that, and try to find a way that it could be used to our advantage."

"We cannot breach the agreement of a sanctioned duel," Arcturus broke in. "If we do, we lose."

"We won't," Harry assured the man. "I'm still mulling over a few ideas, I just wanted to make you aware of what had happened."

"So, I just fight him?"

"You won't let me take your place, will you?"

Charlus shook his head firmly.

"This is something I have to do," he sighed. "If I do not fight, I will have the reputation of a coward and my family name will suffer. I will be fine," he added reassuringly.

Harry nodded his understanding.

He'd had no doubt that his offer to stand-in would be rebuffed, but he had to try anyway.

"Then I will prepare for the potential fallout," he explained, "and any other tricks Gaulitier might try and pull."

Both Charlus and Arcturus nodded.

"So, that is settled," the latter declared, clapping his hands together. "Now, do you have any photos to show us?"

Harry chuckled at the eagerness of the man.

"You'd better get the others," he huffed amusedly.

Reaching the door to Charlus's room, Arcturus opened it and poked his head out.

"Come on then, you lot," he called.

Evidently, they had decided to wait nearby for the three men to conclude their discussion, a sizable group of a couple of dozen or so entering the room quickly with countless more who could not squeeze in waiting outside, each looking towards Harry with an expression of expectation.

With a shake of his head, Harry removed the photos he had brought and began handing them out.

Seeing the hardened gazes of battle-hardened men soften was something to behold as they began passing the pictures around, whispering amongst themselves and smiling.

"I'll never understand it," Reg murmured.

"What?" Charlus questioned.

A grin tugged at Reg's lips.

"How an ugly sod like Evans could help make that."

"Piss off, Yaxley," Harry huffed as the other men laughed heartily.

"Aww, look at her," Gilbert gushed. "You've got gingers in your family, Evans?"

"My mother was a redhead."

Gilbert nodded, his eyes not leaving the photo of Rosa.

"Oi, Evans, is this your missus?" one of the others asked, holding up a picture of Minerva holding the baby.

"We're not married yet, but we will be soon."

The men cheered, and Harry had to duck away from several of them as they ruffled his hair, some punching him smartly on the shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Evans, you've done alright for yourself," Gilbert commented.

"Aye, she's a looker, lad."

Charlus shook his head.

"She's a beauty, but don't let the picture fool you," he snorted. "Minerva isn't too shy about kicking arses if she needs to. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry could only nod his agreement, scowling as Charlus winked at him.

"Alright, I'll have the pictures back now," he commanded. "I know now to keep you rabble away from them."

"No chance of that," Reg replied. "That little one has hundreds of people looking out for her. Anyone else feeling sorry for any future boyfriends?"

The other men nodded, muttering threats towards a boy that had likely not even uttered his first words.

"What have I done?" Harry groaned, though he appreciated the sentiment. "Go on, get back to doing whatever you should be."

The men grumbled as they left the room and Harry pocketed the photos having had them handed back to him.

"You're really getting married?" Charlus asked.

"Well, Minerva has agreed to," he replied.

Charlus smiled as he clapped Harry on the back.

"I'm pleased for you both," he returned. "If all goes to plan, all three of us will be married soon enough," he added, gesturing between himself, Harry, and Arcturus.

"You've got to deal with Gaulitier first," Harry reminded him.

Charlus's expression darkened, something feral flashing in his eyes.

"I will," he proclaimed solemnly.

"Good, because it's not just a future wife you have to live for. You have a goddaughter at home waiting to meet you."

Charlus's mouth fell agape.

"Me?" he whispered.

"Who else would I ask, you prat?"

Once more, Charlus's expression softened.

"I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing," Harry urged. "Just be ready for what is coming, and make sure you have made all the preparations you can think of. I will be doing the same."

"I will," Charlus assured him. "I'll bring Reg and Gilbert in on it too."

"And Petr," Harry suggested. "He will probably have his own ideas to run by you."

Charlus nodded his agreement.

"Do you think Grindelwald doesn't know?"

"Not yet he doesn't, but Selwyn has a big mouth and Grindelwald has eyes and ears everywhere. He will find out eventually."

"I think you're right," Arcturus sighed. "Will he be inclined to intervene."

"You can never be certain with him, but I'm guessing Selwyn went to him first and was refused. That's why he went to Gaulitier who hasn't hesitated to act alone. Grindelwald won't be happy, but Gaulitier is not someone he can do without."

"So, when he is losing?" Charlus pressed.

Harry released a deep breath.

"He may be inclined to intervene, but I will be waiting for him to do so," he assured the man. "I will find a way to turn this to our advantage."

"I know you will," Charlus chuckled, "but I will be fine. Arcturus will be with me acting as my second."

Harry nodded.

"Until then, stay vigilant," he urged. "I wouldn't put it past Selwyn to try and sabotage you. I'll be having him watched closely, but you can never be too careful. You might not see me before, but I'll be there in time for the duel."

With that, Harry activated his portkey to return home.

He had only been away from Rosa and Minerva for a few hours, and he missed them dearly.

He did not know how he would cope when he was to return to the front, the mere thought of being away from them for so long, not one he wished to dwell on.

(Break)

It never ceased to amaze Minerva just how attentive her father was towards Rosa. She wondered if he had been the same way with her when she had been a babe, cooing and making rather ridiculous faces in a bid to elicit a smile.

Rosa was rather taken with him too, staring at him interestedly and reaching up to touch his face, much to the delight of her grandfather.

"Aye, she is a blessing," Robert chuckled as Rosa grabbed at his nose. "She's got quite the grip."

Minerva smiled at the man and her mother who waited patiently for Robert to hand the baby over.

"Is Harry not in?" Isobel asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"He had to meet with some of his men," she explained, "he should be back soon."

Isobel huffed.

"Has this damned war not gone on long enough?"

It had as far as Minerva was concerned. She wanted Harry home with her and Rosa, not risking his life as he had always been wont to do.

Still, he would likely find something else just as dangerous to immerse himself in when the war was over.

They had scarcely discussed what Harry would do, and Minerva often wondered if he would return to his work as a hit-wizard, or if he would be offered another position within the ICW.

She frowned at the thought.

Minerva would always support whatever venture he decided to pursue but she hoped he would have had his fill of danger with Rosa having been born.

"It won't end for some time yet," Rosalina sighed, her gaze on Robert, her expression one of curiosity. "Wars don't end even when the fighting does."

Harry had said much the same, though Minerva held on to a thread of hope that he would be done with it all when the fighting concluded.

"Are you going to have the lassie baptised?" her father asked.

It was not something Minerva had considered, but she knew it would mean a lot to her father.

"I can't see why Harry would object."

"Baptised?" Rosalina asked with a frown.

"Oh, it is a religious ceremony, a blessing for the baby by God," Robert explained.

He was quite nervous around the other witch, though Rosalina had given him no reason to be.

For a pureblood from a traditional family, she had been rather cordial.

"Does it work?" she asked.

Robert smiled at the question.

"Very much so," he replied. "Those who are baptised are welcomed into Heaven when their time is done."

Rosalina frowned thoughtfully but didn't comment further.

"We could do it either before or after your wedding," Robert suggested.

"Wedding?" Rosalina asked.

Minerva beamed her cheeks flushed as she nodded.

"Harry asked me to marry him."

"It's about bloody time," Rosalina grumbled, frowning as she looked towards Minerva's hands. "Without a ring? I taught him better than that."

Minerva snorted amusedly.

"You taught him how to duel," she pointed out. "Unless you taught him all about courtship?"

"I didn't," Rosalina confirmed, "but someone should have. Stupid boy."

Minerva rolled her eyes at the woman.

Rosalina was itching for an opportunity to get Harry back for making her cry when Rosa had been born.

Not that it stopped her from visiting every other day and insisting on holding the baby.

Minerva had no doubt that Rosa would be subjected to the same teachings Harry had when she was older. Rosalina would not allow her namesake to be unable to defend herself suitably.

Not that Minerva was concerned with such a thing.

With Harry as her father, Rosa would likely be prepared for anything before she even made it to Hogwarts.

She shook her head at the thought.

The poor girl would never have a moment of peace.

"We haven't really discussed when we will have the wedding," she explained. "We won't have time to arrange it before Harry leaves again, so it may not be for a while yet."

Almost as though he had been summoned at the mention of his name, Harry entered the room, his expression grim, though it brightened as he laid eyes on his daughter.

He relieved Isobel of her burden, greeting the others with nothing more than a nod as he spoke to his daughter.

"I hope you have been behaving," he murmured. "We both know how sensitive Auntie Rosie is when you're around."

Rosalina narrowed her eyes at Harry, unimpressed by his continued mockery.

"Laugh it up whilst you can, Evans," she said sweetly. "I hope she will be just like you when she's older and then you'll have to endure a massive pain in the arse like I did."

"Not in front of the baby," Harry gasped dramatically.

An amused grin tugged at Rosalina's lips as she held out her arms.

"She's had enough of your influence. Hand her over."

Harry snorted and did so, always enjoying the sight of Rosalina holding Rosa.

"How did your meeting go?" Minerva asked him.

Harry released a deep breath.

"As well as I expected it too," he replied tiredly. "Charlus won't back down, but I'm hoping something can be salvaged from this mess. If all goes to plan, then maybe it could prove to be a turning point in the war."

Minerva offered him a sympathetic smile.

It seemed that very few understood how stressful Harry's position was.

"It will be fine," he said comfortingly, returning the gesture.

She couldn't be certain if he was saying it to appease her or for his own benefit.

From what Harry had told her about Hans Gaulitier, he was an exceedingly dangerous man, and Minerva found herself worrying for Charlus. Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was worrying too.

Despite any plan he concocted, it would be risky, and though Harry was prone to such things himself, he did not do well when it was those he cared for in peril.

(Break)

Tom had not expected much enjoyment from the seemingly menial task of sorting through and cataloguing the inventory in the stock room of Borgin and Burke's, but it was proving to be a rather satisfactory undertaking.

Doing so, he was able to study relics and artefacts that were not commonly found elsewhere in what he had experienced of the wizarding world, with the legality of many being questionable at best.

Cursed items were quite normal here, items with rather grim and even profound effects.

He was careful with these, ensuring he didn't fall foul of the magic.

For the most part, however, the work was not wrought with danger.

Much of the items were benign in nature, some of it merely valuable and others unique.

What interested him most were the assortment of books he came across, varying in topics that he often spared a few minutes to delve into.

Misters Borgin and Burke left him to it, neither rushing him, though Tom suspected the former did so because he did not wish to be in Tom's presence.

Not that Tom craved his company.

He much preferred to be left alone.

Pulling out a large box of what appeared to be empty, smaller boxes that had been discarded towards him, he began opening them to ensure none contained their contents and had been placed here by mistake.

He read the label that still adorned each one, nodding thoughtfully at the description of some of the items that they had once housed.

The Pickled Brain of an African Shaman… A Cursed Cane that Further Crippled the User… The Tears of a Widowed Virgin.

Tom could not even fathom what the latter would be used for, but he immediately forgot it as he read the next label.

Salazar Slytherin's Locket.

He balked at the description.

Had Borgin and Burke truly owned such a thing? If so, where was it now?

Tom felt his anger flare and took a few calming breaths.

Having belonged to his ancestor, the locket was his by rights, and he wanted it, more than anything, he wanted it.

But how could he possess it?

Taking a moment to compose himself, he pondered the predicament, nodding to himself as an idea formed.

Firstly, he needed to learn the story of the locket and how Borgin and Burke had acquired it, and then to whom it had been sold to.

With how greedy the two men were, Tom had no doubt the locket would have had an exorbitant price tag which meant that very few would be able to afford it.

The thought did little to assuage his impatience to have it in his grasp, but it calmed him a little more.

He would speak with Burke.

The man was quite the braggart and would unlikely be able to resist regaling Tom with the tale of how he had once owned such a rare and prestigious item.

With his day nearing its end, Tom catalogued the boxes and moved them to the pile of things he thought likely Mr Burke would throw away before he ascended the stairs of the storeroom and entered the front of the shop.

Grateful that Borgin was absent, likely out procuring more items, he closed the door behind him, garnering the attention of the second owner.

"Ah, Tom, I trust you had a productive day?" Burke enquired.

"I did," Tom replied with a smile. "You have some interesting items down there. What was the purpose of the tears of a widowed virgin?"

He had decided to start by questioning the man about something rather inane before broaching the topic of genuine curiosity.

Burke chuckled at the question.

"Nothing but a tidy profit," he replied. "You'd be quite surprised how much some people are willing to pay for something so frivolous that has no use."

Tom nodded his understanding.

"Did you really own a locket that belonged to Slytherin?"

Burke frowned and deflated.

"We did, and I regret the sale of it more than any other," he sighed. "It is quite the story, and undoubtedly my most profitable purchase to date."

"How did it come into your possession?" Tom asked.

Burke snorted as he shook his head.

"It was brought in late one night some fifteen years ago, give or take," he began. "A woman, ugly as sin she was and heavily pregnant had it. I'm still unsure if she even knew what it was. I'd bet my life that she stole it from the true owner, but I was not going to turn such an item away. When I saw it first, I thought it to be nothing but a rather good forgery, but upon closer inspection, there was no doubt in my mind that it was the real thing. The waif was desperate enough to take a pittance for it and away she went. I've never laid eyes on her since."

Tom swallowed deeply, dozens of questions floating around his mind, but only one he needed the answer to.

"Who convinced you to part with it?"

Burke laughed humourlessly.

"I did not wish to, but Borgin was quite adamant we accept the offer," he grumbled. "I made the mistake of showing the treasure to old Hepzibah Smith, more money than sense that one, and she made an offer that we should have refused. Alas, Borgin did not feel the same and she came to possess her second item that belonged to one of the founders."

"Second item?" Tom queried.

"Ah, the Smiths are descendants of the Hufflepuff line, and the rather famous cup created by Helga herself is in Hepzibah's possession. According to the legends, the cup has some rather spectacular healing properties, but Hepzibah did not demonstrate anything of the sort when she showed us it."

Hearing that there was a woman with two of the founder's belongings was quite the envy-inducing revelation, and Tom wanted them for himself.

Immediately, he began pondering just how he could take them, though his thoughts were interrupted by Burke as he spoke once more.

"I don't suppose that is a very interesting story for one so young," he mused aloud, "but that is about as exciting as it gets in this business, Tom. It is dull at times, but certainly profitable."

Tom plastered a false smile across his face as he shook his head.

"On the contrary, Mr Burke, I found it to be a very interesting story," he replied. "Is Ms Smith a regular customer?"

Burke nodded.

"She is indeed," he confirmed. "Most of what she wants to sell is little more than tat, but we humour her on the off chance she may wish to part with something more to our liking. I would certainly like the opportunity to purchase the locket back, and the cup if she chooses to sell them," he added thoughtfully.

"They would certainly be impressive items," Tom praised.

"That they would," Burke murmured. "Perhaps if I have cause to meet with her whilst you are with us for the summer, I will take you along. I'm sure you would find her to be…quite the larger-than-life character," he finished with an amused grin.

Tom nodded.

"I would like that very much," he replied with a shallow bow.

Burke offered him a fond smile.

"Good, now be off with you, Tom, it is getting late," he pointed out. "Same time tomorrow."

"I will see you then, Mr Burke," Tom replied before taking his leave of the shop, his eyes alight with greed at the thought of acquiring both the cup and locket.

He wanted the former more so for the familial connection, and he found himself wondering just who the woman was that had sold it. Had it been his mother?

He shook his head of that thought, not wanting to ponder the weak woman that had perished whilst birthing him.

The cup was not so sentimental, but it would be quite the item to possess, if only for its association with Hogwarts, the only place that Tom ever truly felt he belonged to.

His ancestor had helped build it, after all, so it was the closest thing he had to an ancestral home, or any home for that matter.

(Break)

"Are you ready?" Harry questioned.

Charlus huffed amusedly as he grabbed him by the shoulders, ceasing his pacing.

"We've been through this," he said firmly. "We will be fine," he added, gesturing between him and Arcturus who would be acting as his second. "You worry about what you will be doing."

Harry nodded, though he could not shake the feeling that something would go amiss.

There were too many variables beyond his control, but he knew he had to have faith in Charlus, Arcturus, and the rest of the men.

"Then I will see you on the other side," he murmured before taking his leave of the room.

Charlus could only shake his head.

"Bloody worse than my mother," he chuckled.

"You should still be careful," Arcturus urged. "We don't know what Gaulitier might have planned."

Charlus sobered at the reminder.

This wasn't a duel he would be finding himself in, but a fight to the death.

He would give no quarter and he expected none in return.

Gaulitier wasn't fighting for sport. He was doing so because he liked it.

The man relished harming others, and according to Harry, had spent much of his life doing so.

This was no game, and though Charlus had jested, he didn't see it as such.

No, this was an opportunity to remove one of Grindelwald's most ardent supporters, and he would not let it pass without success.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, his hand already itching to reach for his wand.

They followed in Harry's footsteps, and the men that had lined the streets called out their words of encouragement.

Charlus barely heard them, though he nodded to several as he passed until he and Arcturus came to the edge of the city and apparated away, arriving near the border only a moment later.

"It's quiet here," Arcturus murmured. "I don't like the quiet."

With a nod of agreement, Charlus took the first steps towards where he would be meeting Gaultier, the man also approaching in the distance with his own companion, neither party stopping until only a dozen feet separated them.

"You do not look surprised to see me," Gaulitier commented curiously.

The man really was quite enormous, his arms bulging with thick muscle as he towered over most by six or seven inches at least.

"I didn't expect Selwyn to fight his own battles," Charlus snorted. "Where is the snivelling coward anyway?"

"Snivelling," Gaulitier replied. "The man is pathetic, nothing more than a way for me to get what I seek."

"What is it you seek?" Arcturus questioned.

"Chaos," Gaulitier replied.

Without any further preamble, he drew his wand and fired a spell that Charlus hastily shield, digging his feet into the ground as he was sent sliding back, the laughter of the German ringing in his ears.

"Come on, Potter, you'll have to be better than that!"

Charlus gritted his teeth, his rebuttal coming in the form of a trio of conjured arrows that were sent towards Gaulitier who ducked below them, only to be thrown to his back as the ground beneath his feet was torn upwards.

"That's more like it," he called excitedly, pushing himself back up to a standing position, "but it won't be enough."

Charlus batted aside the curse that followed, acutely aware that Arcturus found himself embroiled in his own fight with the man acting as Gaulitier's second.

With a flick of his wand, a red bolt of lightning careened from the tip towards his foe, though Gaulitier intercepted it with a shield, his illuminated expression no longer showing any amusement.

Charlus snarled, snapping his wand upwards and tearing through German's shield.

Gaulitier, however, was undeterred, and the two of them circled each other, looking for an opening.

It was Charlus that struck first once more, landing a glancing blow with a severing curse he'd learned from the Black grimoire.

Gaulitier spat in fury as the spell cut deeply into his shoulder, unleashing a wave of powerful magic with a roar, and sending Charlus sprawling.

He couldn't be certain what he had been hit with, but his ribs felt as though they had been caved in, and he gasped for breath as struggled to his feet.

"You didn't like that, did you Potter?" Gaulitier chuckled through his own grimace of pain.

Charlus did not reply, taking in as much air as he could before launching another attack, his spell slamming into Gaulitier as it passed through his hastily conjured shield as though it wasn't there.

The resulting explosion tore lumps of flesh from the man, eliciting a scream of agony, or anger.

Charlus could not be sure which, but much to his surprise, the spell that would kill most men did no such thing.

If anything, it gave Gaulitier a sudden burst of energy, his wand moving in blur as he sent curses and hexes in Charlus's direction with reckless abandon.

His work was as accurate as it was blunt. It put Charlus on the backfoot, and he found himself moving and shielding for his life, the onslaught relentless, and giving him no opportunity to reply.

Gaulitier was not a simple brute as his appearance would suggest.

His selection of spells was unpredictable, and he moved with a speed that belied his muscular frame.

Charlus had never found himself faced with such adversity in a fight, but he took it in his stride as best he could, hoping Gaulitier would tire, make a mistake, or present an opening he could exploit.

He did not, and Charlus realised quickly that he would likely have to take a hit in order to land a blow of his own.

It was not a thought he relished but it would be his best chance to end the flurry.

Continuing to dodge and shield, he watched what spells were being sent his way, identifying them to find one that would not be fatal.

When he eventually spotted a bone-splintering curse amongst the more dangerous offerings, he neither shielded nor moved from its path, bracing himself for the impact as he returned fire with his own.

The force of Gaulitier's spell felt as though it had torn his left arm off, and though he once more found himself on the ground grimacing from the wave of agony that lanced through him, he took no small amount of satisfaction from Gaulitier's pained groans.

Better yet, the man had ceased his attack, allowing Charlus to breathe somewhat freely as he struggled to his feet, his arm hanging limply at his side, the pain he was experiencing a dull throbbing.

It would be healed, though the same couldn't be said for Gaulitier.

His right arm had been torn off entirely, and he was choking on his own blood from where Charlus's spell had cut deeply into his throat.

The wound was not a clean cut.

Gaulitier had evidently turned to avoid it, and the spell had cleaved through his arm and partially severed his neck.

He was not long for this world, but Charlus was taking no risks.

With a cutting curse, he finished the job, and Hans Gaulitier fell limp, the final expression on his face being one of grudging respect.

Charlus shook his head.

Anyone could say what they would of the 'Beast of Berlin', but he was a tough man, and one that had gotten the best of Charlus during the duel.

Charlus had been fortunate, and he would not deny that.

Luck had undoubtedly been on his side today.

"Potter?" Arcturus called as he approached.

He seemingly had an easier time of it, a cut across his cheek the only mark he bore from his own fight.

"I'm alright," Charlus wheezed, his lungs burning.

"Bloody hell," Arcturus grumbled. "Come on, we need to get you back."

Before Charlus could respond, he was cut off by the sound of yelling by hundreds of men charging towards him and Arcturus from the opposing side of the field.

Charlus groaned as he readied his wand.

He had little fight left in him, but he braced himself, nonetheless.

The ground trembled as he and Arcturus continued their retreat, unable to apparate due to Charlus's injuries.

"Shit," he cursed as the two of them were suddenly swallowed up by a mass of men, though it was not from the approaching force, but their own men who had evidently charged from the rear to meet the enemy.

"Come on," Arcturus urged, half dragging him back towards their lines.

As much as they both wished to fight alongside their comrades, Charlus could barely raise his wand, his body beaten and fatigued from the duel with Gaulitier.

Instead, they looked on as the battle ensued, a violent struggle that Harry had insisted was unavoidable.

As ever, their commander had been right, and all Charlus could do as he felt two or three more pairs of hand grab and pull him behind their defences was collapse to the ground and wait for medical assistance.

(Break)

Eleanor could not deny that the baby in the photos was beautiful, as was the woman that cradled her. She fought down the slight pang of jealousy she felt as she returned the stack to Harry and offered him a genuine smile.

"I never imagined you being a father," she snorted, "changing nappies and all that."

"I didn't either until she was here," Harry chuckled. "Are you okay?" he asked as a wave of what appeared to be sadness washed over the woman.

"I'm fine," Eleanor replied. "Anyway, as nice as it is seeing photos of your daughter, you wanted to see me for a reason."

Harry nodded.

"Gaulitier," he huffed.

Eleanor grimaced at the mention of the man's name.

He was a pig at best, but more akin to a lunatic.

Over the weeks she had been observing him, she had witnessed him forcing himself on women, becoming drunk and abusive to the locals, and even beating a man half to death who dared speak out against him.

The sooner he was dealt with, the better.

"What about him?"

"Well, he has, for whatever reasons of his own, volunteered to represent Selwyn in the duel against Charlus," Harry needlessly reminded her. "I think there may be a small possibility that we could salvage something from it."

"His death would be a start," Eleanor muttered.

"It would," Harry agreed, "but think beyond that," he implored.

Eleanor did so, frowning as she pondered just what good could come from the impending duel. With it being on the border between Romania and Bulgaria, it was unavoidable that a mass battle would breakout, something Gaulitier seemingly wished to provoke.

"What do you think Grindelwald will do when he inevitably finds out?" Harry pressed.

"Well, he would likely arrive," Eleanor mused aloud.

"And who do you think will be the one to inform him?"

Eleanor's eyes widened.

"Weber," she whispered in realisation.

Harry nodded.

"It's not guaranteed, but it is a possibility that I would like to be prepared for," he declared. "We have had no luck with Petr's cousin in Switzerland, and we don't have the luxury of waiting for the man to appear there indefinitely, especially when we don't know what he looks like."

The idea had been one of merit, but even Petr had voiced the doubts he'd had of the success of it, speaking the very same reservations Harry had.

"You'd like me to be there when Grindelwald arrives," Eleanor guessed.

"I would, but only to observe," Harry assured her. "If Weber, or someone you suspect to be him is there, I'd like to know."

Eleanor released a deep breath.

"I wouldn't try to force you to do it," Harry added.

Eleanor offered him a tired smile.

"I'll do it."

And so once more she had put herself in quite the precarious position, all in the hope of putting an end to Grindelwald and pushing the man out of her country.

Finding a position to watch the coming and going of those that did was much easier than Eleanor had anticipated. There was one spot only that apparation and portkeys were allowed to be used, anyone else doing so within a dozen or so miles inside the city triggered an alarm that was quickly responded to.

It was not a flawless system, but with Bulgaria being occupied by enemy forces, it was sufficient, though it could prove to be to Grindelwald's detriment.

For days she had remained on the rooftop of a bakery here, watching and waiting until Gaulitier had arrived some several moments ago.

His followers were already here and had been so for a few days now.

What they were up to was anyone's guess, and though it was unsettling, Eleanor had her own task to complete.

She was startled by the sudden eruption of spell fire in the distance, towards where Bulgaria and Romania met, just outside of Ruse where she found herself.

Only a few moments later, her attention was drawn to a trio of figures arriving below, one of them unmistakable with his pale skin and almost matching shade of hair, his expression one of unrestrained anger.

"Cassiopeia, with me!" Grindelwald snapped, gesturing for the man to remain where he was. "We will handle this."

The man left behind would not be out of place simply walking the streets nor if someone happened upon him in a shop browsing for books, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable being in a warzone.

He was no taller than the average man, had a wiry build, and his glance was furtive, shifting in all directions.

Eleanor could not be certain, but she believed this was Weber, and as such, she sent her signal to Harry just as the alarms began blaring across the city and the fighting in the distance intensified.

(Break)

Harry did his best to not focus on the thought of Charlus fighting Gaulitier as he went about his own business. He had spent hours concocting his plan and discussing it with the others that needed to be brought into the fold.

The plan was a good one, and though it would unlikely win them the war, there was potential for significant progress on that front.

"Calm yourself, Evans," Petr soothed. "They will be fine. We all will."

Harry released a deep breath as he nodded gratefully.

"You know what you're doing?" he asked.

Petr smirked in response.

"My men are in position and ready to strike," he assured Harry. "They will not know what has hit them."

"Well, Gaulitier wanted chaos…"

Petr's smirk widened.

"Do you think Grindelwald will show?"

Harry nodded.

"I can't see why he wouldn't," he murmured. "With a little luck, it will be over with before he realises what is happening, and it is too late for him to react. At the very least, we should be able to…"

He paused as the coin he used to communicate with Summerbee began vibrating in his pocket, his eyes widening as he read the message.

"That's my signal. Send for me if you need me," he implored, vanishing before Petr could offer a response.

He arrived on a rooftop to the sound of the caterwauling charm ringing out around him, only to be pulled to the ground by Eleanor who jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

Peering over the ledge, Harry saw that the streets were swarmed with Grindelwald's men, some barking orders and the others rushing to follow them.

Amongst the chaos stood a lone man who merely watched, his countenance that of someone who was lost.

"He arrived with Grindelwald," Eleanor explained.

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

"He went towards the fighting, but I don't think he made it on time to prevent the battle."

Harry looked towards where he could see the various flashes of spell fire and hear the distant shouting, a smile creeping on to his lips.

So far so good.

"Well, I have around two minutes," Harry mused aloud as he checked his watch.

"Two minutes?" Eleanor queried with a frown.

"Before all hell breaks loose," Harry snorted. "I would leave if I were you."

Evidently, the woman didn't need telling twice, readying her portkey.

"Be careful, Harry," she sighed before activating it.

Once more, Harry peered over the edge of the roof and vanished in a puff of smoke.

He appeared behind the man he had been watching and stunned him before he became aware of his presence.

Seizing him by the robes, Harry apparated away, appearing on the roof he had just left, relieving his prisoner of his wand, and binding him tightly.

It would not do for the man to escape, after all.

Ensuring he had no hidden portkeys, Harry jabbed him with his wand, bringing him back to a conscious state.

"Herr Weber, I assume," he murmured.

The widening of the man's eyes told Harry all he needed to know.

After months of trying, he had finally snagged his prey.

"I have been looking for you for quite some time," he continued. "I suppose you already know who I am?"

Weber swallowed deeply and nodded.

"Good, that will save me having to explain it. Now, let me see what you can tell me," he continued, levelling his wand at his prisoner. "I apologise, I've had so little practice at this. Legilimens!"

In a matter of moments, he tore through Weber's mind, not bothering to be careful with it as he ripped apart every memory he could grasp for all the information he could garner.

Some came easily, and others were rendered quite useless by his brutish attack, but when he was done, he was satisfied that he had acquired enough from the man.

Withdrawing from his mind, Harry winced at the pounding headache he had caused himself, but he had certainly fared better than Weber who was glassy-eyed, his mouth open, and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Having seen just how pivotal he had been to Grindelwald's movement, and the many other unpleasant things Weber had been responsible for throughout his life, Harry felt not a shred of guilt or sorrow for what he'd done.

"You deserved much worse," he growled as he drew the knife Nicholas had gifted him so long ago now and removed the man's head with a single stroke. "Don't worry, I'll return your head to your master, and the rest of you will be put to good use. I hope you're hungry," Harry finished with a hiss.

The serpent that still dwelled within his shadow emerged with a hiss and struck at the remains of what had been Grindelwald's most useful asset, devouring the body in only a few moments.

By the time the snake had finished its meal, the streets below were teeming with Petr's men, and all Harry could do was wait to hear the result of the rest of the efforts made tonight by the men of the ICW.

If all went to plan, Grindelwald would have lost much, and would leave Bulgaria with his tail between his legs, and the head of a man who would be of no further use to him.

(Break)

Gellert had arrived too late to prevent the outbreak of fighting, reaching near the border as his men charged recklessly towards the ICW positions. What had compelled them to do so was explained by a passing man he had seized by the robes.

"Hans is dead!"

His stomach sunk at the declaration, though Gellert found himself more concerned with the ensuing battle.

A frenzy on the part of his forces would be a more apt description of what he was seeing.

There were no tightly formed ranks that Perseus had drilled into them, no organisation to be seen.

"Fools," he huffed as he stepped forward.

His men were heavily outnumbered by the ICW soldiers, and he balked when even more approached from the western position, swathes of men dressed in the red robes that the Russians favoured, circling around to flank his followers at the rear.

He shook his head at the sight, pausing as alarms began blaring from behind him.

"What now?" he snarled.

His eyes widened as he turned to see Ruse lit up with spell fire, the sounds of screaming and explosions following soon after.

Gellert was all but surrounded by the ensuing fighting and he knew not where to begin to gain a semblance of control of the situation, but deep down, he knew all was lost here.

This was no accident.

What was unfolding around him had been masterfully organised.

His men had been lured out of the city and into a fight, sandwiched between two forces, trapping them so they could not retreat whilst a further party took the city from his control.

Had the fighting spilled out across the entirety of Bulgaria?

Gellert had thought the country to be firmly held with the two thousand men he had deployed here, but the ICW had arrived with greater numbers, their men more determined to take Bulgaria than his own were to defend it.

It left him facing quite the quandary.

Did he press forward and attempt to push the ICW forces back, or did he concede defeat and attempt to minimise the slaughter of his followers?

With a shake of his head, he reluctantly pointed his wand towards the sky.

Retreat was the only option if he wished to preserve the overall numbers advantage he held.

Bulgaria was not such an important strategic location, after all.

With a sigh, he sounded the retreat before heading back into Ruse.

"Where is Weber?" he questioned when he and Cassiopeia reached the departure point.

"Fled most likely," the woman replied.

Gellert frowned but nodded his agreement.

With the fighting edging ever closer to the position, Weber was unlikely to remain behind.

With a final look around, he cursed under his breath before taking Cassiopeia by the arm and activating his portkey.

He would wait to be given a report of what had happened, though his mind wandered to one thing.

What part was Commander Evans playing in this rather grand scheme?

(Break)

The fighting had long ceased by the time the sun rose, the blood and corpses bathed in the orange light. Not many of Grindelwald's men had managed to escape, but the men of the ICW had endured their fair share of injuries.

Charlus had been transferred to St Mungo's where, according to Arcturus, Dorea had been on shift and given him a piece of her mind before getting to work on healing him.

He'd suffered several broken ribs, an arm that would take days of care and potions to put right, and several cuts that would leave him scarred for the rest of his days.

Still, he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Yaxley too had been sent home with a badly broken leg.

Although Harry had not been there, he had been told by several witnesses that the man would have been butchered by Gaulitier's followers had it not been for Gilbert risking his own life to get him out of there.

His injuries had been superficial for the most part. He had been cut quite deeply across the chest and hit with a concussion curse, but he had refused to leave, opting to be treated by the healers here.

Harry was unhappy with the injuries of his friends and the other men he commanded, but the night had been theirs.

Ruse had been taken, and Sofia abandoned by Grindelwald who had been unable to salvage any hold across the country.

Bulgaria was now in the hands of the ICW.

"Commander," one of the healers addressed him, handing Harry a wad of parchment.

"What is the final tally?" he asked.

"Seventy-three dead, eighty-five unaccounted for, and two hundred and twelve further injured."

Harry nodded.

He had expected much worse, though the news barely softened the blow.

"Thank you," he replied, "Get some rest."

"I will," the healer assured him, "but the Russian asked me to send for you. He is waiting by the canteen."

Harry released a deep breath as he stood and made his way over to where Petr was waiting for him.

The Russian leader had carried out his tasks perfectly, his attack from the west and from within Ruse having undoubtedly seen to the desired outcome.

As he reached him, Petr pulled Harry into a tight embrace.

"How are you, my friend?" he asked.

"Not injured, for once," Harry chuckled.

Petr grinned amusedly.

"Was it as successful as we hoped?"

"It was," Harry confirmed. "Gaulitier and Weber are both dead, and I learned quite a lot of useful information from him."

Petr nodded appreciatively.

"So, what is our next move?"

"We regroup," Harry answered, "and then we keep pushing forward until he has nowhere else to run."

"That sounds like a good plan," Petr agreed, clapping him smartly on the shoulder.

(Break)

It was two days later that Gellert received the report he had been waiting for, and the news was as bad as he had been dreading. Were it not for the eight hundred or so men that had listened to his call to retreat, the impromptu fight in Bulgaria would have been an unmitigated disaster rather than the outright catastrophe he had believed it to be.

Those who had returned had all witnessed Hans being killed by Charlus Potter, something that irked Gellert, though not as much as the 'gift' he had received the following evening.

Gellert was not one to lose his temper quickly, but unboxing Weber's head had elicited quite the outburst from him.

The man had not left as he and Cassiopeia thought, but he had been murdered by Harry Evans.

How the man had even come to learn of the existence of Weber was one thing, but to manage to track him down was another feat entirely.

Gellert was torn between an odd mixture of respect and unbridled fury when he pondered it.

His answer to what part Evans had played had been unexpected as it was unwelcomed.

In many ways, Gellert was now blind to the happenings across the globe.

He had come to rely on Weber to a fault, not even considering that the man would meet such an end.

As ever, Evans had proven himself a worthy if not dangerous adversary, and for the first time since war had been openly declared, Gellert acknowledged the possibility that he may just lose.

He would do all he could to prevent it, but the more land the ICW claimed back, the more men they added to their numbers.

Gellert would have to be smarter now, rely more on tactics than an advantage that was steadily slipping away from him.

He could not afford another defeat such as the one in Bulgaria, after all.

No, he would need to reconsider his defences, his approach, and take a firmer hold of his men.

"For the greater good," he murmured.