A Show of Strength

It seemed as though Gellert spent much of his time poring over maps, formulating strategies, and exploring all that could be done to break the reserve of his enemies. It was a frustrating practice, and one that had yet yielded any noteworthy results.

He had expected opposition in the pursuit of what he sought for the world, adversity even, but to find himself in a position where such little progress was being made was frustrating to say the least.

With a sigh, Gellert stepped away from his desk, the desire for a break having been pressing for several minutes.

Even the keenest of minds needed a reprieve.

"Who is it?" he asked as a gentle knock sounded at his door.

Weber entered, the German sleuth taking in the array of maps and documents on Gellert's desk, all of which were uncharacteristically disorganised.

"You find me in a rare moment of uncertainty," Gellert explained.

Weber nodded his understanding.

"Then perhaps some clarity and an opportunity wouldn't go amiss?"

"What do you have in mind, Herr Weber?" Gellert asked.

The wiry man took a seat and pressed the tips of his forefingers together as he crossed his legs.

"I have it on good authority that the enemy trenches will be without their leaders and some of the more notable fighters they have in the coming days."

"On good authority?" Gellert asked suspiciously.

Weber smiled, the quiet confidence he exuded reminding Gellert that this man who had sought him out so many years ago now, was perhaps one of the most dangerous that people walked the planet.

Gellert had never seen the man draw a wand, but with his contacts and his ability to gain information, he could be the end of almost anyone.

Knowledge was power, after all.

"You did not think that I wouldn't ensure I had eyes and ears amongst the enemy ranks, did you?"

Gellert snorted.

He never knew what to expect from Weber, his unpredictability something else that made him less trustworthy.

Were he not so useful, it would certainly be safer to dispose of the man than have him free in the world.

"I hadn't even considered it," Gellert admitted.

Weber offered him a nod.

"Well, I have," he confirmed, removing a gold case from within his robes and retrieving a cigarette.

He lit it purposefully and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke before continuing.

"On the 1st of July, the ICW are holding a ceremony to honour those that have demonstrated exceptional bravery on the battlefield. Of course, the commanding officers will be in attendance with the recipients."

"I see," Gellert acknowledged, gesturing for Weber to elaborate further.

"It will be the perfect opportunity for you to introduce yourself to the enemy, if you still desire to do so."

Gellert nodded.

"That is my intent."

Weber smiled as he pulled a map of the enemy trenches and known positions along them from within his robes and unrolled it on the desk.

It was much more detailed than any other that Gellert had in his position, and he looked at it curiously.

Each position was marked along with how many manned that part of the defences.

There was even notes explaining how many stood guard overnight and where the lookout posts were.

"This would be the best place to stage the assault," Weber explained, pointing to the most northern section of the trench. "Here, our forces would only need to defend from the south whilst the attack took place, and if necessary, they can retreat into the hills. They won't be followed there."

Weber had put a lot of thought into this, and Gellert nodded appreciatively.

It was a viable option, and one that finally presented a lower risk to Gellert's men.

"This plan is purely for you to make a statement, Mr Grindelwald," Weber warned. "It would be too risky to attempt engaging any other position on the map."

"Are there any that I should pay special attention to here?"

Weber shook his head.

"The one man, a Spaniard that goes by the name Ruiz, is among those being recognised at the ICW headquarters."

Gellert hummed as his eyes roamed over the map once more.

"Am I right to assume Evans is one of those being honoured?"

"You would be correct," Weber confirmed.

"Any more information on him?"

"Unfortunately, not," Weber sighed. "It is baffling, Mr Grindelwald. I have never come across a man that I could not learn everything about. It is as though Evans appeared from nowhere. There is no record of his birth in either the muggle or magical world. He is an anomaly."

"So, he just appeared at Hogwarts in 1935?"

"Impossible," Weber murmured. "No man simply appears anywhere. He has a story like us all. We just merely need to learn of it. Do you think it is possible he is The Serpent?"

Gellert deflated at the question.

It was something that he had pondered himself, but he remained uncertain.

"There is nothing to suggest he is," he huffed. "Cassiopeia has looked into the possibility, but it does not seem at all likely. The Gaunts, the only Parselmouths in Europe and of such a pale complexion did not sire him."

"Are you certain?"

Gellert nodded.

"A son was born to the last female, Merope. He is a schoolboy and she died birthing him."

"And she couldn't have had another before him?"

"No," Gellert denied. "The Gaunts have been an isolated family for some time and her brother and father barely let her out of their sight. It wasn't until they went to Azkaban that she fled the home, absconded with a muggle. The boy at Hogwarts is his son."

"What about the father or son, could they have fathered a child?"

Gellert snorted.

"The Gaunts are amongst the most repulsive people known to man," he explained. "The son is barely coherent at the best of times and old Marvolo was avoided like the plague."

"Rape then?"

Gellert shook his head.

"They're as bigoted as any could ever be. A pureblood birth would not go unnoticed and neither of them would sully themselves by fornicating with a muggle, forced or not."

"But there must be a connection to the line," Weber grumbled. "Have you checked the family tree?"

"Extensively," Gellert sighed, reaching into his desk, and removing a stack of parchment. "This goes no further," he warned before handing it to his companion.

"The Slytherin family," he said appreciatively, frowning at the sparsity of the entries. "Is this all?"

"The next page," Gellert urged.

"The Peverells."

The entries on this page were more numerous as two lines branched off and eventually joined with two other families.

"Potter and Gaunt. Could he be a Potter?"

Gellert shook his head.

"There is no connection between the two families," he pointed out. "The Serpent is not a Potter."

Weber released a deep breath as he continued perusing the family tree.

"What about this brother?" he asked pointing to the blank section belonging to Antioch Peverell.

Gellert's blood ran cold, the thoughts he had ignored since being in the cave with The Serpent coming to the forefront of his mind.

The original owner of the Elder Wand.

Could it be that his descendant had a claim to it?

The way the wand had acted in his presence when used against The Serpent was something Gellert had never experienced before, but he shook his head.

"Antioch was killed childless," he explained, or so he believed.

"Then I am at a loss, Mr Grindelwald," Weber offered apologetically. "I can't see how Evans could be The Serpent, nor anyone else for that matter."

"No, we are certainly missing something," Gellert mused aloud. "I will have the truth of the matter in due course, but for now, let us discuss our options for your plan of attack. I would like to invite Hans to join us if you have no objections."

"None at all," Weber confirmed and Gellert left the room to send for the man, unable to shake the thoughts he was having about The Serpent and the Harry Evans.

Two men as mysterious as the other, seemingly unconnected, yet both living, breathing, and fighting against him.

They would be dealt with, of course, but Gellert did not like unknowns.

They brought a sense of uncertainty with them, threats that needed more attention than Gellert would like to have given either.

If anything, he had always believed that Albus would be the only force to be reckoned with, but that was seemingly not so.

Gellert had no doubt that he would emerge victorious from any fight, but his duel with The Serpent had brought with it the uncertainty he felt, and the emergence of Evans reminded him that the world indeed had its share of gifted wizards that could not be brought to his side.

Evans would have to die along with The Serpent.

Of that, Gellert had no doubt.

(Break)

Dear Harry,

I've lost count how many times I have written this letter now.

When I read the article in The Prophet about you and the dragon, I was furious with you, well I thought I was.

I was terrified, Harry.

I know that for you these things are just a part of who you are, just another one of those things that you have done to add to a long list.

Being told about your life and seeing it for myself are two vastly different experiences.

You could have died.

For you, it may be normal, but I am not used to that.

I wish you had more regard for your life, that you didn't burden yourself with so many problems that may one day kill you, but I know this is who you are.

Please do be careful.

I do not know what I would do if anything was to happen to you.

I miss you,

Minerva

Harry sighed as he folded up the letter and placed it in the box, the words of the woman filling him with a sense of both warmth and guilt.

Minerva wasn't trying to make him feel the latter, that wasn't why she had written, but it was there, nonetheless.

She cared for him and was one on a list of very few who had done so unconditionally in his life. She wanted nothing more than for him to be safe, her words as genuine as her initial anger would have been.

He chuckled as he imagined her cursing him something rotten.

It was just her way, her Celtic hot-headedness being quite legendary amongst their friends, not to mention the woman he remembered her being during his formative years at Hogwarts.

Minerva had meant what she had written, that she worried for and cared about him.

There were even a few blotches on the parchment that Harry suspected were tearstains.

The same couldn't be said for the other two missives he'd received in the past days.

The one from Nicholas had been rather jovial in comparison, the man seemingly having taken the news of his aerial duel with the dragon in his stride, though Perenelle was not so amused.

According to Nicholas, she was eagerly awaiting Harry's return so that she may give him a piece of her mind.

The thought brought a grin to his lips.

Perenelle was a sweet woman, and not one to anger quickly unless the person that provoked her ire was her husband.

Harry suspected that by the time he arrived home for a visit, most of her fury would have ebbed away.

She'd have a few stern words for him, but little else.

Rosalina, however, would allow her irritation to fester until she cornered him.

The words she had chosen in her letter were far from polite and would certainly garner the disapproval of any other pureblood lady that read them.

Being called a 'reckless, thoughtless, idiotic prat' in a single sentence was new but certainly something he'd expect from the woman.

She had certainly called him worse in the years that he had known her.

Still, he was far away from her, from Perenelle, and Minerva, though he would gladly endure the ire of the first two for some time with the third, if only to set her mind at ease.

"Moody's back," Charlus announced as he entered the room. "He says we should get ready, and he will come for us shortly."

"I am ready," Harry replied, placing his box of letters back in his trunk before shrinking and pocketing it.

"You're going dressed like that?"

Harry nodded.

"I am, why?"

"Shouldn't we wear dress robes or something?"

Harry snorted.

"We are living and fighting on the front lines," he pointed out. "What bloody good are dress robes to us?"

Charlus shot him a look of curiosity.

"You don't seem so keen on this award business."

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not," he replied with a shrug. "I'd rather just be left alone."

Charlus chuckled.

"No chance of that, not after what you did. It will be one of the things spoken about when the war is over with. Your name will probably be in textbooks all over the world."

"Great," Harry said sarcastically.

Charlus patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

"This special unit…"

"Will be a waste of time and will likely be dangerous with little reward," Harry cut in. "Unless this unit is formed to hunt down Grindelwald's most influential followers or him personally, there's nothing to be gained from it. The ICW time would be better spent training the men in the trenches to fight creatures or work on tactics instead of this 'every-man-for-himself' crap we have right now. All these groups need to work cohesively together, or we will be picked apart one at a time."

"You're not wrong, lad," the voice of Gabriel Moody chimed in thoughtfully from the door. "Our success has mostly come from luck or having the right people in the right place at the right time. It's not good enough and it needs to change."

"Will it though?" Harry asked frustratedly.

Moody shrugged.

"I cannot speak for the ICW as a whole, but the men in our group are mine to command and I have no desire to see you all killed because we aren't prepared for all eventualities. You've given me a lot to think about, lad. None of us can be certain of what is coming but we can do our best to make sure we're ready for it."

Harry nodded appreciatively.

At least Moody understood that the way the war was being fought couldn't continue.

"Which brings me to why I'm here…"

"The award ceremony?" Harry snorted.

"We'll get to that soon enough," Moody said dismissively. "I've been thinking about how we got caught with our trousers down when the beasts attacked. I wasn't here to lead the men, and there may be other times that could happen. Given that the two of you are the reason most of us are still alive, I want to make it a more official position."

"Official position?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Aye, I've discussed it with the other commanders, and they agree that we need more leaders in our groups. That's why, if you're determined to not be a part of this special unit business, I want you to be my second in command, and you, Potter, to be his. You already have the trust and respect of the men, and me for that matter. I can't think of any that I would trust more than the two of you to lead in my absence."

"We will do it," Charlus said firmly before Harry could respond. "He's right, Harry, there's no one here other than you that should do it. You've already proven you can, and they will listen."

They would, and Harry knew there was no way of getting out of joining the special unit and turning down the offer made by Moody.

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly, "but don't make a habit of buggering off too often."

Moody nodded and offered him a grin.

"Good, that means I will have to find a way to distinguish you from the rest of the riff-raff around here," he added with a frown. "A marking on your uniform should do it."

"Uniform?" Harry groaned.

"Aye, every man in the trench will soon be supplied with one so there isn't any confusion of whose side you're on when things get messy. Some idiot Belgians almost killed each other a few nights back when the one on guard thought the one going for a piss was the enemy. Anyway, are the two of you ready to be showered in glory?"

Harry grimaced at the thought and Moody laughed at his discomfort.

"Don't worry, lad, it will all be over soon enough," he assured him.

"Who else is being rewarded?" Charlus asked curiously.

"Eight of you altogether," Moody explained. "If the Spaniard had his way, his entire group would be receiving one. From what I heard, they spent most of their time shitting their pants and took the credit for what others did. I'll be keeping an eye on them. Bloody hell, I sound like my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?"

Moody snorted as he nodded.

"The old sod has gone a bit barmy," he explained. "He fought against the French back in the day and has spent his life think they're the enemy. He tried to sign up to fight at the beginning of the war, but the old codger doesn't even know who we are fighting now. I still get threatening letters at least once a week from him."

He seemed to be quite amused by the antics of his grandfather, as did Charlus who chuckled.

"If he's living, breathing, and carries the name Moody, then he's game for a fight. That's what my dad always said."

Gabriel grinned in response, not disagreeing with the younger man.

"It's what we do best, lad. Now, enough of the pillow talk, let's get to the headquarters and this award business can be put behind us. The longer we stand here scratching our bollocks, the longer it will take. Here," he said, offering the two of them a chain he removed from around his neck.

"Cheer up, Harry, it might never happen," Charlus goaded.

"It already is," Harry grumbled before the familiar feeling of being hooked through the navel whisked the trio away from the trenches.

(Break)

Hans checked his watch in eager anticipation of the fight to come.

This was what he lived for; the violence, the chaos, the moments where he knew that his life could be ended in an instant.

Many deemed him to be insane, called him a butcher and a monster.

Perhaps Hans was all of those things, but what was life without risk?

He would sooner perish in the heat of battle than grow old, weak, and weary.

If truth be told, he would be most disappointed if he found himself in such a state.

No, that wouldn't do.

Hans had lived hard and fast, and being a frail old man was not in his future.

He much preferred the life he had chosen for himself where he enjoyed it to its fullest and where he would die, likely cut down by his enemies, but with no regrets, and with a smile cresting his lips.

"Not long now," he said to the men that followed him. "We will have our fill of blood today."

He checked his watch once more.

Those being honoured by the ICW would have left by now, but just to be certain, they would wait an additional few minutes.

Hans was quite keen to risk his life, but he would not do so recklessly.

If he was to die in battle, it would be because he was bested, not because he was outwitted, or outnumbered because of his own foolishness.

"Off we go then," he declared, climbing over the top of the trench in the same manner a large cat would stalk its prey.

Keeping as low as they could, Hans and his men crawled towards the trenches across the field, their foes none the wiser to what hell they would shortly be enduring.

(Break)

The ICW chambers had been decorated for the occasion with the flags of every member nation draped across the wall and the crest of the body itself hung prominently in the middle.

A red carpet had even been laid out to welcome the guests which consisted only of the commanding officers, the recipients of the awards, and a group of selected journalists.

"Wonderful," Harry muttered to himself when he had spotted the latter gathering of men and women.

To him, this was a garish affair of little more than an opportunity for pomp and circumstance, and given the choice, he would have no part in it.

The last thing he wanted was more exposure in the tabloids.

"They've gone for it, haven't they?" Charlus asked as they took their seats in the allocated stand. "Who are the blokes in white? They seem happy."

"ICW guards," Harry murmured.

Charlus nodded his understanding as Abreo stood to address the room.

"My name is Pierre Abreo, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks," he introduced himself. "You have been asked to join us today so that you may be recognised for your efforts in the ongoing war against Gellert Grindelwald and his followers."

The representatives of the ICW clapped for them, and though it seemed genuine to Harry, it meant nothing.

They would still fight, men would continue to die, and the ICW would likely remain as ineffectual as ever.

It was moments like this that he missed Federov.

The man knew what needed to be done to win a war and had more success than any whilst he was leading the Hit-Wizards.

Now, the group no longer existed, and Grindelwald was better off for it.

"It takes courage to do what you men have, daring, and skill," Abreo continued. "Without all three in abundance, we will be unable to defeat our enemies. You have demonstrated these traits since you made the difficult decision to fight for your countries, and we feel that your bravery, valour, and distinctive service should not go without recognition or reward. When I call your name, you will step up to the podium and receive your prestigious medals. Wherever you go in life, your reputation of being courageous and skilled in the face of your enemies will follow you. Christopher Ruiz, if you will?"

A rather smug Spaniard swaggered towards the podium, lapping up the attention bestowed upon him from the media outlets in attendance.

"Monsieur Ruiz protected his injured comrades from further attack at the risk of his own life when they were set upon by a group of mountain trolls and werewolves," Abreo explained.

Ruiz accepted the gold medal that hung from a short, red ribbon, and strutted back to his seat, but not before posing once more for the photographers.

"This is going to take forever, isn't it?" Harry huffed under his breath, eliciting an amused grin from Charlus.

"Probably," the Potter lord agreed with a nod. "Especially if the rest of them walk as slowly as him."

"What a bloody ponce."

Ruiz turned and shot the two of them a glare, his eyes widening when he realised who had made the comment.

"Is there something on my face?" Harry asked irritably.

Ruiz shook his head and turned away, the back of his neck becoming quite red in the process.

"Ever the charmer, Harry" Charlus snorted, turning his attention back towards the Supreme Mugwump who had yet to call up the next recipient.

It was going to be a long day indeed.

(Break)

"At least we get some peace and quiet without Ruiz running his mouth," Franklin Bones sighed when the Spaniard had been taken to receive his undeserved reward.

"You would not say that to his face," one of Ruiz's cohorts snarled angrily, having been listening in to the conversation.

"Oh, I'll say whatever I feel like to his face," Franklin returned irritably. "The snivelling coward won't do a thing. He'll hide behind better men than him, just like he did when the werewolves and trolls attacked. You forget, Vargas, I was there. Whilst your lot and Ruiz were shitting their pants, it was Black that fought them off."

Franklin spat on the floor in front of the Spaniard in disgust, his hand flexing towards the wand.

"Leave it, Bones," Arcturus urged. "His lot aren't worth the steam off your piss, let alone getting yourself in trouble. Let Ruiz swan around with his fake medal. Cowards always get exposed eventually. Unless you do want to make something of it?" he added to Vargas.

The Spaniard gritted his teeth but stormed away angrily, not favouring himself in a fight with either Franklin or Arcturus.

"He's probably gone to change his skivvies," Franklin mocked. "Bloody hell, Black, why did you have to let Ruiz take the credit for what you did?"

Arcturus shrugged.

"It keeps my name out of it," he pointed out, "and it will be fun to see the moron exposed for what he is."

Bones rolled his eyes.

"I should have offed him the minute he started bragging," he muttered. "Greasy bastard."

Arcturus chuckled amusedly.

"Let it go, Bones. It's not worth going grey over. He'll get his when the time is right."

Bones hummed unhappily, his disdain for dishonourable acts something that had been drilled into him from his father.

The Bones were about as respected as families came back in Britain, and Franklin was proving to be as noble as Arcturus would expect from anyone carrying his name.

"I will for now, but if he keeps strutting around here like he's single-handedly winning the war, I'll rip his guts out through his arse."

Arcturus laughed heartily at the threat, though he suspected Franklin would be true to his word if he felt such actions to be necessary.

"What the hell was that?" Bones asked as screams were heard in the distance.

Arcturus frowned as he flicked his wand into his hand and peered over the edge of the trench.

"Bollocks," he gasped as he saw the chaos unfolding towards the north of their position. "How were they not seen?"

"What's happening?" Bones asked worriedly.

"We're under attack," Arcturus answered, climbing over the top and sprinting towards where a wall of Grindelwald's men had formed. "MOVE YOUR BLOODY ARSES!" he roared as he passed his comrades below who were seemingly frozen in shock at the unexpected intrusion. "COME ON, FORM UP OR I'LL BURY THE LOT OF YOU! SOUND THE ALARM!"

He continued on his way, aware that Bones and then others were following in his wake.

When he was in striking distance of the enemies, he unleashed a barrage of spells, a gesture that was returned promptly, and the fighting once more erupted on the front lines.

Being first on the scene, Arcturus found himself the centre of attention and it was all could do to dodge and weave between the plethora of spells sent his way, not that he could avoid them all.

Fortunately, the one that clipped his shoulder was nothing more than a standard cutting curse, and though it bit deeply into the flesh, the wound was superficial.

"Bastard," he growled, retaliating with searing curse.

His victim screamed in agony as he collapsed to the ground holding his face, an act that only drew further attention to Arcturus.

Much to his relief, Franklin Bones arrived and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, offering something of a reprieve.

The two of them did their utmost to fight through the wall of men, but to no avail.

Grindelwald's fighters had prepared for this, and there was still little cohesion within the ICW ranks.

"Isn't that Grindelwald?" Bones asked, deflecting a sickly, yellow curse away from him before pointing beyond the force they were faced with.

Arcturus frowned as he peered through a gap in the ranks.

"Bloody hell," he cursed as he watched a pale figure cleave three men in two with a single spell. "He's slaughtering them."

Over the din of the fighting, the screams could no longer be heard, but what Arcturus was seeing glimpses of spoke volumes of the suffering his comrades on the other side were being subjected to.

"We have to get through Black!" Bones said urgently.

Arcturus nodded as he looked for any possible opening, but the lines of men were knitted tightly together.

"We need to make a gap," he mused aloud, levelling his wand in front of him. "Blasting curses."

Bones followed suit and the duo launched a simultaneous attack.

The two spells merged in mid-air, and the resulting explosion was quite the sight to behold.

Four of Grindelwald's men were taken out of the battle, but the gap left in their wake was immediately filled by one of the largest men Arcturus had ever seen.

He was unsightly, ugly even, but his blue eyes were alight with intelligence.

Arcturus's wand snapped into action, curse after unpleasant curse careening from the tip.

The monstrosity of a man moved in a way that belied his muscular frame, his footwork light and graceful as he stepped away from the spells and returned with an attack of his own.

It took a hastily conjured shield to block the offering, and though Arcturus wasn't certain what spell he had intercepted, his arm felt as though it had been ripped from his shoulder.

"Watch out, Black," Bones warned. "This one knows what he's doing."

Arcturus nodded as Franklin launched a ball of fire at their large opponent.

Once more, the man defended himself with apparent ease, much to the frustration of Arcturus.

Again, he pressed the action, his magic bursting from the tip of his wand in an array of colours, each spell as deadly as the one that preceded it.

"Hold on, let me try something," Bones requested when the man proved his elusiveness once more.

With a wave of his wand, a sound like a canon going off rent the air, and the force of the spell blew Arcturus back a few feet.

He watched as a barely visible force ploughed towards the large man who conjured a large golden dome around himself.

The resulting sound of the clashing magic was enough to leave any nearby with theirs ears ringing, yet, the shield held firm, much to the surprise of both Arcturus and Franklin.

That was quite the piece of magic, and the large man absorbed it with apparent ease.

With a guttural roar, the shield exploded outwards, sending Arcturus and several others sprawling.

By the time he managed to push himself to his feet, Bones was once more engaged in a duel with the problematic man.

Try as he might, Bones could not penetrate the defences of his opponent who seemed to be toying with the other man, something that became clear when he finally retaliated.

The spells that were returned were vicious, designed to mutilate and murder, something that Bones would never have faced before.

Arcturus had no doubt that he had been well trained by his father, but he'd not experienced what he faced now, and as he did his best to defend himself from the onslaught, his expression shifted from one of determination, to fear, and finally outright horror when he realised that he was out of his depth.

Stumbling as he attempted to assist his comrade, Arcturus could only look on as the enormous man sent a final spell that tore through Bones' shield, and his flesh.

A streak of blood spewed from his chest before he collapsed soundlessly to the floor where his breathing came in short bursts accompanied by a morbid gurgling sound.

Arcturus hurried to his side and knew immediately there was nothing that could be done for him.

The gash stretched in a jagged line from Franklin's hip, across the sternum and through the opposite collar bone. His skin had already lost all of its colour, and the visible organs had been torn asunder.

Franklin Bones was not long for this world, and Arcturus was at a loss at what to do.

"B-Black," the dying man choked. "M-my wand…family."

With the last effort he could muster, Franklin feebly extended his arm for Arcturus to take his wand before he fell still.

For a moment, Arcturus remained transfixed on the man's features before he even remembered he was in the middle of a fight, such was the horror he felt at what he witnessed.

Quickly, however, that horror gave way to rage.

Pocketing the wand of his fallen friend, he turned his attention back towards the large man who was laughing, his eyes full of glee at what he had done.

"BASTARD!"

Arcturus's wand became a blur as he threw every nasty curse he could think of in that moment, and the laughter stopped as his foe's eyes widened in recognition.

The Black family magic was legendary in its own right, and if this man knew Cassiopeia, he was well aware of what he faced.

Not that Arcturus gave him the opportunity to ponder it.

His attack was relentless, his wand work fluid and precise as he did all he could to kill the man in front of him.

It was the first time Arcturus had been in such a fight, but in the heat of the moment, he cared little for the consequences, for how he might feel when it was all over.

For now, he wanted one thing, and that was the life of the large man in front of him.

"Cassie did say that you were a ruthless bastard," the man goaded, his accent a thick German. "She was right about her little brother. I wonder how she will feel when I give her your head?"

"I wonder how your master will feel when I ram your balls down his throat?" Arcturus returned.

The German laughed heartily.

"Then what are you waiting for, little Black?"

Arcturus's nostrils flared and his grip tightened around his wand.

He would see this man dead if it was the last thing he did.

(Break)

"Lord Charlus Potter," Abreo called.

Charlus stepped forward and approached the platform, doing his utmost to ignore the flashes from the cameras.

"Lord Potter is being presented his award for assuming a leadership role in the absence of his commander, for teaching and motivating his peers, and for his valour in battle against exceedingly dangerous dark creatures."

The Supreme Mugwump offered his hand after handing Charlus the medal.

Having shaken it, Charlus returned to his seat next to a tense Harry who would be the last called forward.

"Harry Evans," Abreo announced.

Charlus smirked as Harry hurried forward, barely giving the Supreme Mugwump time to run his commentary.

"Mr Evans is being rewarded for taking the lead in the defence of his section of the trenches. He fought off werewolves before taking to the sky on a broom to repel a significant dementor attack. From there, he fought and killed a Ukrainian Ironbelly singlehandedly, a remarkable feat that undoubtedly saved the lives of many of his comrades."

The Frenchman looked at Harry curiously as the journalist's quills scratched away frantically and the flashes of the cameras became blinding.

With only a nod, Harry accepted and pocketed the medal before rushing back to his seat, glaring at the photographers.

"With the award ceremony concluded, I would kindly ask that our friends from the media leave through the appointed door," Abreo requested, pointing to an open door where two guards were standing.

Having seemingly gotten what they came for, the journalists left without quarrel and the doors were shut and locked once they had done so.

"A very well done to you all," Abreo reiterated, gazing at each of the recipients. "You earned your awards but presenting them to you is not the only reason we asked you here."

Charlus felt Harry tense next to him as the door opened once more and a woman entered.

She was quite plain looking, bespectacled with mousy brown hair and no features that would make her stand out. She was, as far as anyone would be aware, an average witch.

"Having you gathered together means that we are able to discuss with you all an opportunity that is open to each of you," Abreo continued. "We are looking to form a specialist group and we would like you to be a part of it."

The other award recipients began whispering excitedly amongst themselves, but Harry was stoic as he stared at the woman through speculative eyes.

"And what would this specialist group do?" he asked.

"Well, you would be given tasks that will be pivotal in putting an end to the war," Abreo replied with a thoughtful frown. "In return for this service, you will receive extensive training from what remains of the Hit-Wizard team from the Department of Justice of the ICW."

"That's a rather vague explanation," Harry pointed out. "Is it not better to focus on training the men in the trenches rather than a select few?"

"The men in the trenches will be trained further," Abreo assured him, "but we need a group of talented wizards that will be able to fight the more difficult foes that must be overcome."

Harry shook his head.

"And what happens if this group is wiped out and the men that remain are not able to cope? It still makes little sense to me."

"Nor me," Charlus agreed.

"Idiots," Ruiz muttered in Spanish to one of his cohorts who smirked, an expression that shifted as Harry's eye snapped towards them.

"Idiots claim the work of others as their own, even when dozens of witnesses saw what the idiot did when the fighting started," Harry snorted. "I heard that you spent the entire battle hiding in the trenches."

"That is a lie!" Ruiz hissed.

"Of course it is," Harry replied soothingly, mocking the man who flushed bright red.

"That is enough," Abreo huffed before Ruiz could offer a retort. "We are trying to change the course of the war…"

"Something that a small specialist group will not achieve," Harry cut in. "What we need is well trained men on the front line and taking the fight to Grindelwald, not a group of complete tossers like Ruiz here who already thinks he's the bloody bee's knees."

"I agree with Evans on this," Moody broke in. "By all means, find suitable candidates for a group if you wish, but I would rather we had strong men to teach and lead the others, where they are needed most."

Abreo nodded his understanding.

"Perhaps you are right," he mused aloud, "but the offer still stands. If there are those of you that wish to accept the opportunity, then we shall proceed."

Fox looked very unhappily towards Harry, and Charlus couldn't help but grin slightly at how much she was bothered by his opinion.

"For now, we will…"

Abreo was cut off by a sudden pounding on the door, and the two guards opened it with their wands drawn.

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" a sweating, and out of breath man shouted. "G-Grindelwald is there."

It was as though everyone in the room froze, but not Harry.

Charlus watched as he drew his wand and whispered to it almost pleadingly before he vanished in a plume of golden flames.

"HARRY!" Charlus called.

"Come on, lad," Moody urged pulling him along by his robes. "We can portkey from outside."

Charlus nodded as he followed the sprinting Moody, the final words he heard from within the chambers coming courtesy of the Supreme Mugwump.

"How did he get out through the wards?" the Frenchman asked.

(Break)

It was to a scene of chaos that Harry found himself in when he arrived back at the trenches. Everywhere he looked, men could be seen helping others that were on the ground, some unmoving, others crying out in pain, and some very much alive, seemingly uninjured, but could not be roused.

The smell of blood and excrement filled the air, the heady aroma of a battle, yet the fighting seemed to have come to an end.

He was too late, the frivolous award ceremony having ensured that the commanders and those being honoured for their part in the last battle were absent.

"Fuck!" he cursed angrily. "What happened?" he asked a trio of men who were helping another to his feet.

"They came out of nowhere," one replied. "They attacked the northern part of the trenches. By the time we managed to get up there, they were running into the hills," he explained, pointing to where Grindelwald's men had fled.

"Was he here?"

The man nodded grimly.

"It's not pretty up there. He killed most of two groups by himself."

Harry nodded and headed in the direction the man had indicated.

When he arrived at what was evidently the main focus of the attack, the ground was littered with corpses, severed limbs, and pools of blood.

This had been nothing more than a slaughter, a way for Grindelwald to show how deadly he was to those that opposed him.

It had worked.

The men that were here who survived were as pale as any ghost Harry had met, their eyes lifeless as they simply trembled, haunted by what had happened.

With the fighting over, he did what he could for the injured, undertaking the morbid task of covering the dead and moving the errant limbs into a pile away from where the others were receiving treatment.

It would do them no good to look upon the remnants of their fallen comrades.

Harry didn't know how long he had been at it, but Charlus joined him sometime later, his expression mirroring that what Harry felt.

Silently, they worked, each lost in their own thoughts as they did so until there was nothing more than smatterings of blood across the grass.

"What a mess," Charlus muttered as the two of them surveyed the area.

"Aye, it is," Gabriel broke in as he joined them. "This was no coincidence."

"What do you mean?" Charlus asked.

"That he decided to attack when he did," Moody growled. "He knew this part of the trench was the most vulnerable and that the commanders would be away. No, someone talked."

"A spy?" Harry asked.

Moody nodded.

"Aye, I'd bet my life on it. The only people who knew about today is those on our side, and for him to pick this one spot…"

Harry nodded his agreement.

It was too coincidental for his liking too.

"Find them," Moody commanded. "You have my full permission to do what you must but be discreet about it. We don't want to alert them that we are onto them. Find them, and bring them to me, that is your first job as my second in command."

"We will," Charlus vowed.

Moody nodded appreciatively.

"Do you need them alive?" Harry asked.

"Aye, we need to know what they do, and quickly."

With that, Moody left them and Harry and Charlus remained silent for a while longer as they digested just what had happened, the smell of the blood spilled lingering in the air.