Creature Discomforts

With the muggles having drawn their own battle lines and settling in for the duration, the land in which the wizarding forces was currently contesting had become decidedly less safe, and Gellert found himself facing quite the predicament.

He had seen what the muggle weaponry was capable of, and though several miles lie between them and his men, that was not nearly enough distance to ensure their safety from errant shells courtesy of both the Germans and Allied troops.

"We cannot shift our position unless we retreat," Weber sighed. "To do so would leave us immediately vulnerable to the ICW forces that would arrive. They have lookouts that will immediately alert them, wards that will take several minutes to disassemble, and traps that would be devastating to our numbers. Only yesterday one of my men was killed whilst he scouted the southern French border."

Gellert nodded his understanding as he eyed his map.

Marked out in red were what he considered to be danger zones, everywhere west of his men's current position in this case.

"So, you suggest we remain where we are?" he asked.

"I do," Weber replied, though not happily. "We risk potentially being bombed or otherwise inadvertently losing men to the muggles, but to make an attempt on a better position would see many more being slaughtered. I cannot even fathom how many would die from such a move."

Gellert hummed.

The numbers advantage was all he had, and he did not wish to risk losing that.

The size of an army could be a deciding factor in the months to come and losing so many would do little for the men's morale which was, according to Weber, on the decline.

Warding against muggle weaponry was an unpractised, and uncertain art.

Handheld firearms would present few problems to protect his men from, but the artillery was another matter entirely.

With how destructive, dangerous, and unpredictable these were meant there was little hope of nullifying the risk they posed.

Warding, as with all branches of magic, had its limits, and these hadn't even begun to be explored when it came to modern muggle warfare.

Gellert certainly didn't have the time nor resources to do so.

His focus was very much on breaking the stalemate between his forces and those of the ICW.

If such a thing was even possible, it could take a team of experts years to figure out how to ward against the newer muggle technologies.

"Then we must remain where we are until the deadlock can be broken," he muttered more to himself than the others. "The men of the ICW are at just as much risk. But how to wear them down enough that they're forced to give up their positions? We cannot continue to expect our men to hurl themselves at their defences without results."

"Then don't send the men," Cassiopeia broke in thoughtfully. "The filthy little man Perseus found who is obsessed with creatures…"

"Osbert," Weber said approvingly. "Why waste men when we can devastate our enemies with creatures. Osbert, as undesirable as he is, has quite the way with them."

"That is risky," Gellert mused aloud. "Creatures do not obey orders the same way men do. They have no loyalty."

"They don't," Weber agreed, "but perhaps a little chaos is what we need. If they can be lured in the right direction, they could prove to be exactly what we need."

Gellert was not entirely convinced, but at the very least, the life of a creature was much less valuable than that of a man.

"Where is Osbert?" he asked.

He needed to glean an idea of what exactly the man could provide and what could be expected from implementing his expertise.

"He has been away for some time," Weber explained.

"Then find him," Gellert instructed.

Although he hadn't decided firmly on his next course of action, exploring the avenue presented to him was an opportunity not to be dismissed lightly.

If he was given the right assurances, perhaps the hunched and grotty man could prove his worth beyond orchestrating werewolf attacks.

That remained to be seen, but Gellert, for the first time in days felt that a suitable strategy could very well be on the horizon.

(Break)

Dear Harry,

You are still a stupid man who I'm sure is determined to be the death of me, but that doesn't mean my thoughts aren't with you.

I would tell you not to do anything dangerous but that would be the same as telling the sun not to set in the evening.

I will be arriving home today to visit with my parents for the summer, but I hope you will still write to me, even if it is just to let me know that you're safe.

My thoughts are always with you,

Minerva

Such a simple thing as a letter filled him with warmth and made the prospect of facing the day ahead just that little easier.

Harry had been here only a week, but it felt much longer.

The sound of the muggles sending salvo after salvo of artillery fire on top of one another was disconcerting to say the least, and even the best silencing spells could not hide the tremors that ran through the ground.

The fighting north of the wizarding positions was fierce, and it seemed that all hours were filled with ensuing and often escalating violence.

"They're at it again," Charlus grumbled as he entered their room.

Harry nodded.

He had felt another tremor from an explosion only moments before.

"They'll settle down," he assured the other man. "They can't keep that up forever."

"I bloody hope so," Charlus sighed. "I haven't had a wink of sleep in two days."

Sleep was something that all here got little of.

Between guard duty, assisting with removing and laying new traps on a daily basis, and the tension from knowing another attack could come at any moment was more than enough to keep the men from their beds.

What Harry found was that people dealt with life here differently.

Some drank, some gambled, and other smoked endless amounts of cigarettes to stave off the tedium and anxiety being on the front brought on.

Harry, he spent what time he could looking for weaknesses in the enemy positions that could be exposed and leaving reminders to Grindelwald that The Serpent was still here.

Occasionally, the sound of hissing would fill the air for all to hear, or the bastardised version of the Hallows symbol would light up the night sky.

When he could, Harry would claim another victim, but Grindelwald's men had learned from their time in Belgium and here that being alone put them in danger.

It wasn't often that any could be found roaming the trenches alone, fearful of falling victim to the man that had taken many from them already.

"What is that?" Charlus questioned with a frown.

Someone was shouting, and for once, it wasn't Gabriel Moody barking orders or losing his temper with someone.

With his expression matching Charlus's, the duo took their leave of the room and stepped into the heat of late June.

"OI, FRTIZ, HAVE YOU GOT ANY WOMEN OVER THERE?" Gilbert called as they approached a lookout post where several men had gathered.

"He's bloody drunk," Charlus chuckled.

Gilbert was sitting on the edge of trench with an almost empty bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand as he conversed with the enemy soldiers in the opposing trench.

"NEIN, BUT WE HAVE LOTS OF DRINK. COME OVER HERE AND WE WILL SHARE IT WITH YOU."

Gilbert frowned thoughtfully before shaking his head.

"IF YOU HAVEN'T GOT ANY WOMEN, I'M NOT INTERESTED."

"WE HAVE SPANISH MEN HERE THAT LOOK LIKE WOMEN. THEY'RE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE SWINE OF THE ICW."

"I BET THEY'RE AN IMPROVEMENT ON WHAT YOU'VE GOT AT HOME, FRITZ. I'LL LET YOU HAVE THEM. THINK OF IT AS A GIFT FROM OLD GILBERT HERE."

"I'LL REMEMBER YOUR NAME!" the German called back angrily.

"WHY DON'T I COME OVER THERE AND I'LL CARVE IT INTO YOUR FOREHEAD? YOU'LL CERTAINLY REMEMBER IT THEN."

The men in the ICW trenches laughed.

"WE WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO JOIN US, HERR GILBERT, BUT OUR INVITATION IS A ONE-WAY TRIP. SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR FRIENDS. YOU WILL NOT SEE THEM AGAIN IF YOU COME HERE."

"Did he just threaten me?" Gilbert slurred.

"He did," one of the other men confirmed with an amused nod.

"I'll kick his balls into his throat!" Gilbert declared, pushing himself to his feet and staggering in his drunken stupor.

It took four men to pull the raving man back into the trench, and Gilbert unleashed a stream of profanities towards them, the German that had threatened him, and anyone else his gaze rested upon.

"What the hell is going on here?" Moody demanded to know as he reached them.

"Bastard! I'll kill him," Gilbert vowed, still struggling under the weight of the four men that had him pinned to the ground.

"He's pissed," one of them explained.

"Aye, and now I am too," Moody growled. "Get him somewhere to sober up. If I catch you so much as sniffing a bottle again, Gilbert, I'll kick your arse from here all the way to Azkaban. The rest of you, look sharp and clean up. This place is a shithole."

The men grumbled unhappily but set to work without protest.

They knew better than to argue with Moody.

"Not you two," Gabriel huffed as he pointed at Harry and Charlus. "I've got a different job for you."

"If it gets me out of cleaning, I'll take it," Charlus snorted.

"When you know what you'll be doing, you'd throw a party at the thought of being able to clean the bogs."

"What do you need us to do?" Harry asked.

Moody sighed as he withdrew a map from within his robes.

"The muggles are playing silly buggers with whatever they're doing over there. We need information. I want the two of you to take a trip up there and mark down their positions on this map. I want to know where their weapons are and if it looks as though they're going to spread in our direction. Some of those shells have gotten dangerously close to our positions."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"Anything else?"

"Aye," Moody replied gravely. "Do not breach the Statute of Secrecy unless your life depends on it. We can't obliviate thousands of men on an active battlefield."

"With everything going on, would they even notice?" Charlus questioned.

"That's not the point," Moody growled. "I'm asking the two of you because I trust you to do exactly as I ask. No magic unless it is a life-or-death situation. We don't know what influence Grindelwald a has over there so a spell could alert him to your presence."

"He's right," Harry sighed. "If he's interfered and put-up wards, he won't care about breaking the statute. We'd be outnumbered in seconds."

"So, you just want us to look?"

"And mark out the key positions," Moody clarified. "If it comes to it and you need assistance, shoot up some red sparks and I will get to you as quickly as I can. Unless needed, I don't want too many pairs of feet traipsing across what's going on there. I want the two of you back here by ten this evening. That gives you a little over eleven hours exactly."

With that, Moody handed Harry the map and was gone.

Charlus looked nervously towards Harry.

"Will this be dangerous?"

Harry nodded gravely.

"If they start firing at each other, a stray bullet or who knows what could come at us."

Charlus shook his head before groaning.

"Is it too late to volunteer to clean out the bog?"

Harry snorted and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, let's get it over with."

Harry too felt a sense of nervousness set in.

He had learned of the war in primary school, and though he remembered little of the details of dates, and even specific events, he would never forget the estimated death toll.

If those numbers were anything to go by, he and Charlus would not be approaching a mere exchange of insults between warring factions.

He hadn't lied when he told Charlus that what they would be doing was dangerous.

The duo stayed within their trenches as long as they could, their companions hailing from all across Europe eying them curiously, and some even waving and calling out greetings.

Charlus chuckled when they reached the end of the trenches, a high looming over them.

"We're a strange lot over here, aren't we? French, Spanish, Portuguese…"

"Even stranger on Grindelwald's side," Harry pointed out. "He has men from Africa and the middle-east."

Charlus shook his head.

"It's as though the whole world is at war," he sighed.

"It is," Harry said simply. "The world is at war."

Charlus frowned and followed Harry silently as he scaled the hill.

The world was at war.

It seemed that every nation on earth were at each other's throats for some reason or other.

He hadn't thought of it on such a grand scale, but with men from every corner of the globe involved in the conflict, what else could it be considered other than a world war.

"Bloody hell," Harry gasped, pulling Charlus from his thoughts.

He had reached the summit of the hill and was looking across the landscape, his head shaking almost in disbelief.

"What is it?" Charlus asked, his eyes widening as he drew level with Harry. "Well, bollocks!"

If he were asked to describe what it was he was seeing, he wouldn't even know where to begin.

Hell, perhaps?

That seemed to be as apt a description as anything else he could come up with in the stupor he found himself in.

As much as he wished to look away, he couldn't.

It may well have been morbid curiosity that held his gaze, but Charlus didn't think so.

No, he just couldn't believe what he was seeing was real.

He had thought the war he found himself fighting was grim at the best of times, but this was something else entirely.

In front of the trenches, and placed sporadically across no-man's-land was barbed wire, some with men caught up in it.

Charlus couldn't be certain if anyone were alive, but they hung limply, and some were being feasted on by birds.

Along with the barbed wire was several deep holes and even more bodies strewn across, the men left where they had died.

"Merlin, it stinks," Charlus declared holding his nose.

"That is the smell of corpses baking in the sun," Harry explained.

Before Charlus could reply, a whooshing sound was heard, and Charlus threw himself to the floor as a deafening boom rang out shortly after.

Another crater was left behind as dirt and debris showered on the men in the Allied trenches, the jeering from them towards the Germans for missing heard even before the echo of the explosion had faded.

"I suppose that answers the question of where all those holes came from," he muttered as he stood. "Bloody hell, are they lunatics?"

Charlus was pointing to where it seemed the men of the Allied Forces were goading the Germans and Harry removed his omnioculars from within his robes to get a better look at what was happening below.

Having seen Moody use them to look over towards Grindelwald's men's position, he had dug out the pair he had purchased for the Quidditch world cup before his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Peering through them, he could only shake his head at what he saw.

The men in the Allied trenches were jeering their German counterparts.

One man was even stood on the edge of the trench exposing his rear end to them.

"Not lunatics, but not the brightest either," Harry muttered, moving on from the antics of the men.

He paused and released a deep breath as the barbed wire came into view.

With how closely he could zoom in with the omnioculars, he could clearly see the expressions of horror and agony that marred the features of the men.

They had not died well.

"What is it?" Charlus asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied, removing the omnioculars from his eyes and taking out the map.

He drew some circles highlighting the positions of each side and marked where the trenches ended closest to them.

Scanning as far as he could see through the omnioculars a final time, he looked to see if he could spot any of the larger guns like the one that had created the latest crater a short distance from the allied trenches.

There were none in sight, and Harry found himself wondering just where they were.

To find them, it was likely he and Charlus would need to venture further into danger, but it was too risky.

With what he had seen from that one gun, he could not guarantee their safety.

"Come on, let's head back," he decided. "We can let Moody know what we've seen and advise him to monitor the situation."

"Aren't we going over?"

Harry shook his head.

"Unless you want to end up like them, I don't think so," he huffed, gesturing towards the corpses. "You never know, the latrine might be waiting for you to vanish what's been left in there today."

Charlus grimaced at the thought, but he didn't protest.

Maybe cleaning a toilet wouldn't be so bad.

(Break)

"It has been some months since we last spoke," Gellert acknowledged, fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose at the appearance and smell of the unkempt man before him. "I believe the last time we did so was after what happened in Paris."

Osbert nodded, an almost feral scowl pulling at his features.

"I have been tending to my beasts," he replied, his voice painfully raspy.

It was almost as though the man was becoming a creature himself from how much time he spent with them.

"Ah, your beasts," Gellert said thoughtfully. "They a precisely what I wish to discuss with you."

"Is it time?" Osbert asked excitedly.

"Time?"

"For them to be unleashed on our enemies?"

Gellert frowned slightly as he nodded, taken aback by the excitement the strange man was displaying.

Osbert rubbed his filthy hands together.

"I have been waiting for this," he said dreamily. "Ever since The Serpent killed my pack, I have been preparing. It is about time the ICW understand that the creatures they look down on are more than mere animals. I will show them, Gellert. I will show them the power of the beasts of our world."

Gellert decided that the man was unhinged, lacking, or perhaps a genius in his own right. He couldn't be certain which, but Osbert was keen, and if along the way of pursuing whatever insane goals he had set for himself he could strike several blows against the ICW, then Gellert would gladly implement Osbert and his beasts.

The first outing would be a test, one that Gellert would be assessing closely.

If indeed Osbert did have such control of his creatures as Perseus had proclaimed, then perhaps combined attacks from man and beast could be a part of future battleplans.

That, however, remained to be determined.

There were many other factors to consider before that idea would come to fruition.

He needed to see if and how the creatures obeyed orders, and if they would pose a threat to Gellert's forces.

More pressing than both of these matters was one other thing, something that Gellert had not yet touched upon.

"May I ask, Osbert, just what kind of beasts you have at your disposal?"

The grin Gellert received in reply was unsettling, and he decided there and then that even if the odd man proved to be everything Perseus had promised, there was indeed more than a spark of insanity within him.

(Break)

Minerva had returned home in the hopes of somewhat escaping what was happening on the continent, but she had arrived to find that not even the Scottish Highlands had been out of reach of the war.

Even her own small village on the outskirts of Caithness no longer resembled what it had the last time she had visited.

The streets were empty, and posters filled almost every inch of available space demanding men of fighting age submit themselves to fight for their country.

Evidently, they had.

The people that Minerva did come across were either women, children, or the elderly.

There was not a young man to be seen.

Worried, her pace quickened until she was in her own home where she found both her parents, tired but there, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"What has happened?" she asked.

Robert shook his head grimly.

"Conscription," he sighed. "All men between the ages of eighteen and forty-one must submit themselves to the armed forces for service. Only those medically exempt or of certain professions will remain at home."

"And you?" Minerva asked worriedly.

"I can object on moral and religious grounds, but I have volunteered for civic duty here."

Minerva nodded her understanding, once more relieved but still concerned.

"Have thing escalated so much?"

"They have," Robert confirmed. "There is fighting almost everywhere you can think of. I've stopped getting the newspapers. There's only so much death and misery I can stomach."

Minerva shot her father a look of sympathy.

Robert McGonagall was a kind man that believed all men were equal.

The thought of them killing one another over ideals and land was abhorrent to him.

"What about your side of things?" her father questioned. "In your last letter, you mentioned the war had escalated."

Minerva deflated at the thought of just how bad things had become.

"I suppose it is not so different to the muggle war," she sighed. "There is fighting, death, and misery over ideals and ambitions. Harry has gone to the continent."

"But I thought he was a Hit-Wizard," her mother gasped.

Minerva shook her head.

"The head of the department was murdered, as was his replacement. Almost all the Hit-Wizards were killed shortly after, so there are no more. Harry went with Charlus Potter to fight at the front after his father was killed."

"Jesus," Robert muttered unhappily. "Is the lad alright?"

Minerva shrugged.

"Harry says he is, but he wouldn't tell me any different. There was a battle and he sent me a letter after, but it doesn't make it any easier."

It didn't, and it was the first time Minerva had voiced those thoughts.

She was scared that neither Harry nor Charlus would come back, that they too would perish on the battlefield in the pursuit of doing what they believed was right.

The thought alone terrified her, and though she knew she cared deeply for Harry, the thought of losing either of them was heart-wrenching to say the least.

"I'm sure they will be fine," her mother comforted, wrapping an arm around Minerva's shoulders.

Minerva offered the woman a grateful but teary smile.

"I hope so," she murmured.

(Break)

Even with a war on, the muggle world was as dull and dreary as ever, and life at the orphanage remained just as intolerable. If any alternative was available, Tom would take it, but with Dippet refusing to allow him stay at Hogwarts over the summer, there was no such thing.

Tom had no one he could turn to, and even those charged with looking over him did not care.

They despised Tom, and though they had not said as much, he could see the loathing in their eyes when they were forced to speak with him.

Mrs Cole was the worst of them, but she had come to fear him, something Tom would use to his advantage when the time was right.

Still, being amongst the muggles once more and not being able to use his wand irked him so, and with nothing else to occupy his mind, Tom spent much of his time reading what books and newspapers he had managed to accumulate over the school year.

It wasn't as though his housemates would miss them.

What became treasure for Tom was something they could replace without thought to the cost.

Tom would be like them one day: rich, powerful, and influential.

He was certain of that.

Even if he never became a Lord that served on the Wizengamot, he would be someone the world respected, that they looked upon in awe.

Not that he intended to become a smiling buffoon like Dumbledore.

No, Tom was far too ambitious to become anything like the transfiguration professor.

He would be greater than Dumbledore, and even Grindelwald.

At least the latter didn't lack ambition, but it could not compare to Tom's own.

Although he wasn't certain what he wanted, nor what he would do, Tom knew that when he did, he would dedicate himself to it entirely and not let anything stand in his way.

Not Mrs Cole, not Dumbledore, and not even Grindelwald.

Tom may be uncertain about many things at his young age, but he was certain that whatever he chose to pursue, he would be successful.

He was a Slytherin, after all, and their ambition was unmatched.

(Break)

For the most part, guard duty was a tedious affair with hours spent staring into the darkness of no-man's-land looking for any sign of an incoming attack. Thus far, the evenings had been quiet, but there was something different about tonight.

As ever, nothing was moving, not that Harry could see, though there was a sense of danger about the front.

It was too quiet, no more than usual on the surface, but below it, something was brewing.

Everything seemed somehow dampened, as though something was lurking in the shadows.

Harry shook his head, but he couldn't ignore the same feeling he'd experienced many times before now that a threat was nearby, something that could cause him harm.

"I know that look," Charlus whispered. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly, "but there's something out there. I can feel it."

"What is it?" Charlus asked worriedly.

Harry shook his head, frowning as he the feeling of danger became stronger.

He pressed his omnioculars to his eyes, but it was too dark to see anything.

"You'd best get Moody," Harry sighed.

"He's not here. He left to meet with the other commanders," Charlus replied.

Before Harry could reply, a series of howls rent the air, and when he turned back towards where Grindelwald's forces had dug in for the duration, he saw the reason for his sense of unease.

"Oh, shit," he cursed simply.

"Are they werewolves?" Charlus yelped.

"Among other things," Harry confirmed, drawing his wand, and firing red sparks into the air followed by several loud bangs to rouse the slumbering men. "The las thing we want is to be cornered in here and have that lot with us," he said urgently to Charlus who nodded his agreement.

"Bloody hell, what will we do?"

Harry clenched his jaw as his sleepy comrades emerged from their quarters, roused by the cacophony of sounds.

"UNLESS YOU WANT TO BLOODY DIE, GET YOUR ARSES MOVING. COME ON, OUT OF THE TRENCHES AND FORM LINES. WE WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH WHATEVER COMES OUR WAY!"

"Who placed you in charge?" a Frenchman demanded to know.

Harry shrugged carelessly.

"Don't listen to me," he returned evenly. "You'll be the one trying to push your own guts back in when they're torn out."

The man's eyes widened fearfully before he scrambled out of the trench.

"COME ON YOU BASTARDS!" Charlus roared, not dissimilarly to how Moody would often address them. "THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO HIDE UNDER YOUR BLANKETS!"

The men were scared, and Harry too felt the weight of fear begin to bear down on him as quickly as the unexpected enemy that was charging towards them.

In the light of the flares he had sent up he could see scores of werewolves, several chimeras, a variety of trolls, a few erumpent, and somewhere in the distance, he could feel a chill that was brought on by the Dementors.

He shuddered at the thought of them wreaking havoc here, but he could not ignore the imminent threat, nor the indiscernible figures heading towards his allies further up the trench.

They would need to fend for themselves,

Harry could not be everywhere at once.

"HOLD!", he commanded as he stood amongst those that he shared a living space with, each of them wearing, without exception, a look of terror. "THEY WILL REACH THE TRAPS SOON."

They did, but the defences proved to be less effective against the creatures than Harry hoped.

The traps were designed for use against other wizards, not creatures whose magic was entirely different.

"What do we do?" Charlus questioned worriedly.

The werewolves had crossed more than half the distance between them now, followed closely by the trolls.

"SOAK THE GROUND!" Harry instructed.

It wouldn't hold them back forever, but it was a start.

The men complied, and Harry joined in with his own stream of water as he wracked his brains for the next best course of action.

"Charlus, start transfiguring projectiles, anything sharp," he decided. "Is anyone else adept at conjuring?"

"I am," the Frenchman Harry had spoken with earlier declared.

"Then help him. We will need as many as you can make."

The duo set work and were quickly joined by a few others who began conjuring what they could and even transfiguring any stones on the ground around them.

"Have any of you lot ever taken down a werewolf before?" Harry asked those closest to him.

"Mate, I worked in a greenhouse before this," a man to his left answered.

A short bout of humourless laughter followed his words.

"Then think of them as big plants that need pruning," Harry advised. "Blasting and severing curses will hurt them. Aim for the legs. If they can't walk, they will be slower. FREEZING SPELLS!"

The saturated ground froze and the werewolves bearing down on them skidded across it as they fell, but there was no time to celebrate the temporary success.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? KILL THEM!"

Harry and Charlus took the lead, firing a mixture of severing and blasting curses at the beasts, the yelps of pain filling the air as the werewolves scrambled to regain their footing.

The strategy was working well enough, but in their panic, the men were not aiming carefully.

Instead of injuring the legs, they were hurling their spells at whatever part of the werewolf they could hit.

The severing curses were barely a scratch to a werewolf, and the blasting curses seemed only to send them back a few feet, leaving no lasting damage.

They needed to change their tactics.

With no silver to hand, removing or damaging limbs was the best defence against them, but with so many to deal with, such an approach would not be easy.

Nonetheless, Harry set to work, his wand snapping downwards and a length of black, searing magic shot from the end, scorching the earth it settled upon.

"GIVE ME SOME SPACE!"

The spell used was not a forgiving one, the heat emanating from it making it uncomfortable to use for long periods of time. Eventually, it would cause severe burns to his own hand, the darker magic he'd chosen being a spell that came at a price.

The whip Harry had conjured crackled as he wielded it, the snapping sounding like each werewolf it connected with was being hit with a bolt of lightning.

The screams that followed were bloodcurdling as arms, legs and even heads were removed.

"DON'T JUST BLOODY STAND THERE, KEEP FIGHTING!" Harry shouted at the men who were staring at him wide-eyed.

The command pulled them from their stupor, and their own efforts continued.

With them forcing the creatures back and Harry striking them down, the enemy could seize no advantage, but even as the last of the werewolves fled and Harry ended his spell out of necessity, the fighting had only just begun.

Before them now stood dozens of trolls, and Harry hurriedly doused his scorched hand before wrapping it in a bandage.

It would need to be tended to later by a healer, but for now, he had more pressing matters to occupy him.

"We will need those blunt objects now," he said with a grimace, ignoring the looks of disbelief the other men were giving him.

"YOU HEARD HIM!" Charlus roared. "BLUNT OBJECTS."

As the trolls unleashed a plethora of guttural roars, the bombardment began, the men not missing a beat as they followed the given instructions.

"Are you alright?" Charlus asked Harry worriedly.

Harry nodded.

"I'll be fine," he assured his friend. "Let's just get through this and we can handle the rest later."

(Break)

To fend off the attack from the werewolves, Arcturus had torn off the silver buttons from his coat and enlarged them before sending them whizzing amongst their ranks to devastating effect.

Those that had not perished from their injuries were firmly in retreat and the men surrounding the Lord Black cheered jubilantly.

Arcturus, however, did not join in.

The others were so invested in the triumph that they failed to see the new looming threat, the behemoth with a horn that glowed like the embers of a fire in the darkness.

The Horn!

Taking careful aim, Arcturus aimed spell after spell at the erumpent, the swaying of its head making it difficult to land the needed blow.

"Come on," he growled.

The beast continued charging, but with persistence, one of Arcturus's spells hit true.

Before the young man could even celebrate, the air was forced from his lungs, and Arcturus found himself on his back, and his hearing muffled as he gasped for breath.

"Bloody hell," he wheezed as he sat up, the crater left behind by the exploding erumpent sizable and surrounded by various parts of other creatures that had fallen victim to the blast.

Others across the battlefield began following suit, and more explosions sounded as the massive creatures were dispatched of, the heat from the fires left behind warming up an already muggy summer night.

"What is that?" one of the Portuguese men asked, shivering despite the burning fires.

Arcturus felt it too.

He had assumed the chill he felt was coming from the ground he as still seated upon, but as he stood, it set in even deeper, into his very soul it seemed.

"Dementors," a Bulgarian declared gravely, pointing towards the sky.

Through the flames, Arcturus could just about make out some shadowy figures drifting across the sky, the cold he felt becoming more prominent as they drew closer.

"Can anyone cast a patronus charm?" he asked.

The men shook their head, and Arcturus snorted.

He knew one man who could, one who had been able to since before he'd graduated from Hogwarts.

Arcturus had seen it for himself during a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"Evans?" he choked.

The man of his thoughts seemed to have answered his prayers, the very same Grim-like creature he had summoned at Hogwarts dancing across the sky as it snapped at the Dementors that fled from it.

In pursuit was a figure on a broomstick, streaking through the air as they saw off the latest additions to the ongoing battle.

Once more, the men cheered, and Arcturus shook his head at the questionable antics of his former classmate.

"I'll buy the mad bastard a drink a day for the rest of my life," he muttered to himself, though he did find himself wondering why Evans was here.

The last he'd heard of the man, he had become a successful investor, and gained fame in his own right by defeating Cassiopeia at Hogsmeade.

That thought still brought a smile to Arcturus's lips.

Still, it didn't answer just what it was that had brought Evans to the front?

Not that he had time to dwell on such a trivial thing.

With the Dementors gone, the fighting continued but it came almost to a standstill as a roar louder than any Arcturus had ever heard drowned out any other sound around him.

"Is that a dragon?" a terrified voice asked.

It was.

Arcturus had thought that Evans was quite mad for taking to the sky to tackle the Dementors, but to see him turn towards the dragon on his broom made him realise the man was completely, and utterly insane.

The Lord Black could only shake his head as the other men pointed to Harry Evans willingly flying towards the monstrous creature.

"He's lost his damned mind," Arcturus declared in disbelief. "He'll be sizzled like a bloody sausage the lunatic."

None voiced their disagreement, each of them transfixed on what was happening above them.

To see a man face off with a dragon where the beast ruled was unheard of.

No other had ever been so stupid, and if they had, they certainly hadn't lived to tell the tale.

(Break)

In his wildest dreams, Harry had never expected to find himself in the same position he had when he'd been only fourteen years old, but here he was, fleeing from an enraged dragon.

Was this one a nesting mother too?

It mattered not.

The creature was attempting to immolate him the same way the horntail had so many years ago now.

What breed this one was, Harry couldn't be certain. It was not a horntail, nor was it a Chinese fireball, Common Welsh green, nor a Swedish Short Snout.

No, this one was larger than any of those, slower, but no less dangerous.

Harry was well aware that he was not riding his Firebolt this time, and he found himself wishing more than ever he had it with him.

The base model of the Nimbus could not hope to compare, but what it lacked in speed, it made up for in manoeuvrability.

He weaved around a stream of molten fire and aimed a conjunctivitis curse towards the dragon's yellow eyes, but it bounced off its maw as it turned its head.

"Shit!" Harry gasped as it turned in mid-air and swung at him with its tail.

It passed so closely by that the resulting wind knocked him off course, something that proved to be a blessing as its snapping jaws followed, missing him by mere inches.

That was too close for comfort, and yet, Harry couldn't flee.

Who knows what damage a dragon would do to the men and trenches before it could be taken down?

If it could be taken down at all.

(Break)

Charlus could only look on in horror as the dragon chased Harry above no-man's-land, the smaller, nimbler man doing all he could to avoid being engulfed in flames.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" the voice of Gabriel Moody cut through the din, his gaze sweeping across the corpses of the men and creatures littering the ground in front of the trenches.

"We are under attack, s-sir," the former greenhouse worker stammered.

"I can bloody well see that!" Gabriel snapped, wincing as a roar of fury sounded across the battlefield. "Flaming hell, is that a dragon?"

Charlus nodded, his eyes not leaving the pursuit.

"Evans is up there on a broom," one of the men explained.

"YOU WHAT?"

Gabriel removed his omnioculars from within his robes and peered through them.

"He's bloody insane," he muttered. "EVANS! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!"

"I don't think he can hear you, sir."

Charlus shook his head, wincing as another gout of flame was shot towards Harry.

"I'm going up," he declared, fumbling with his trunk to resize it.

"Don't be bloody daft, Potter," Moody huffed. "You'll both be bloody killed."

"We can't just leave him up there!"

"You'll go up there over my dead body," Moody growled. "Your father will already have my hide for letting you here in the first place. If Evans wants to get himself killed, that's his business. Don't even think about it, lad," he warned as Charlus's grip tightened around his wand. "I'll stun you if I need to."

Moody would, and though Charlus wanted nothing more than to help his friend, he remembered he hadn't even brought his broom along.

He'd left it in his room after the last time he'd flown with his father.

All he could do was watch in horror as Harry tangled with one of the most dangerous creatures one could happen across, and hope that his friend would emerge on the other side no worse for wear.

(Break)

"Who is that man?" Gellert demanded to know.

The attack thus far had produced mixed results.

Many had fallen to the onslaught of Osbert's beasts, and though the Dementors had proven to be ineffectual in the face of a powerful patronus charm, he'd had high hopes for the dragon.

The blasted thing had been distracted by a single man on a broom.

"No one knows, Gellert," Gaulitier answered.

Whomever he was, he flew just as well as any Gellert had seen take to the sky on a broom, and even his own men watched the exchange with excitement, some making bets as to who would emerge victorious.

"Then find out," Gellert commanded.

He watched as man and beast duelled in the air, the former aiming spells towards his adversaries' eyes, but it wasn't the flashes of magic that caught Gellert's attention.

High on a hill in the distance, someone was risking it all to take photos of the event, undoubtedly to sell them to the highest paying publication.

Gellert was pulled from his observation of the photographer by a roar of anger mixed with agony, followed by cheering from the opposing trenches.

The man on the broom had scored a direct hit and the dragon began to flail desperately, its' vision having been compromised.

"What is he doing?" Gaulitier muttered.

Gellert frowned as the man circled a length of red chain above his head before lassoing it over the dragon's nose.

The creature roared once more and the man set to work, flying up and around the struggling creature who swung its tail wildly, to no avail.

After only a few moments, its' wings were bound by its side and it plummeted to the ground, followed by the man still clinging to the chain.

"Unbelievable," Gellert muttered, admittedly impressed by what he had seen.

It was quite the feat for one man to bring down such a creature alone, an act that earned a nod of respect from the Dark Lord.

"Osbert, bring your creatures back," he instructed.

Gellert had seen enough to begin planning his next phases of attack.

Osbert whimpered sadly and complied with Gellert's wishes.

"He's there!" one of the German men scoffed, pointing across the field to where the dragon had been dragged from the sky.

Gellert shook his head as the figure stood in front of the dragon for several moments before conjuring a large sword and burying it in the skull of the beast, eliciting not a roar, but little more than a defeated grunt.

When the dragon remained unmoving, the man hobbled back towards his own trenches, and the only sound that could be heard was the distant crackling of fire and Osbert's sobs as he looked on in despair at the enormous, dead beast slumped on the battlefield.