Retribution

Neither Grindelwald nor his men had made any effort to clean up the devastation wrought during the last battle that took place in Belgium. Both buildings near the Ministry that had been toppled remained in the same state, the debris still strewn across the street.

Only the bodies had been removed, and even the Ministry building that had been blown up by William Potter had been left untouched.

"My father really did that?" Charlus asked in awe.

Harry snorted amusedly as he nodded.

"He did," he confirmed. "We were told the Ministry wasn't to fall into Grindelwald's hands, and it didn't."

Charlus shook his head.

"I just can't imagine my dad doing something like that," he murmured. "The more I think about it, the more I realise he wasn't cut out for war. He was a peaceful man…"

"Who died doing what he believed was right," Harry pointed out. "Grindelwald will pay for what he did to your father."

"He will," Charlus agreed darkly. "Come on, let's take it back."

Harry watched as Charlus made his way back to where the rest of the men were lying in wait.

It had taken them a week to make it here while having to avoid the other surrounding countries Grindelwald currently occupied.

Not that he would be keeping them.

Harry had promised he would take everything the man had worked for, and he fully intended on following through with that promise.

"How many are there?" Yaxley asked nervously as Harry arrived.

"No more than two-hundred."

As expected, Grindelwald had left an insufficient force to hold Belgium, and sneaking in had not been as difficult as it should have been. At first, Harry suspected that they may be being lured into a trap, but he'd come to realise that his foe had truly been negligent, his focus solely on invading and capturing France.

Such negligence was to be his downfall here. Evidently, he had not been expecting a response so quickly, likely believing the ICW forces would take much longer to lick their proverbial wounds.

Perhaps they would have had Harry not been so insistent on striking back but waiting truly wasn't the correct course of action.

Grindelwald needed to be reminded that he was not facing men who would allow him to simply have his way, and the world needed to know that the fight against him would continue.

"That still leaves us outnumbered," Gilbert pointed out.

"Only for a few minutes," Charlus comforted. "As soon as the fighting starts, the others will arrive."

That was the plan at least.

Sneaking an entire army across the continent without being seen was not an option, but once Harry and his group began the ambush, Grindelwald's paltry force would face a considerable number of the ICW men.

"How are we doing this?" Charlus questioned.

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"It's best to strike hard and fast. Let's not give them time to mount any offense," he decided.

"Prisoners?"

"No, there will be no need for that," Harry said dismissively. "The first thing they will do is alert Grindelwald to what is happening. We need to take the city whilst the Russian's are securing the border."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Yaxley questioned. "Let's take the bloody city."

Harry saw no reason to delay the inevitable and nodded his agreement.

"Alright, Charlus, you take half the men and circle round the first collapsed building. I'll take the others and go around the second. We will meet in front of the Ministry and whilst they try to swarm us from the north, the rest of our lot will arrive from the south, boxing them in."

"Sounds good," Charlus replied. "Shouldn't we put some apparation wards up?"

Harry shook his head.

"Best not just in case something goes wrong. We don't want to trap ourselves here," he explained. "The wards will be put up when the others come, when they think they have us outnumbered. It will be too late for them by then."

Charlus nodded his understanding.

"We'll see you on the other side," he said before gesturing for his half of the men to follow him.

Harry followed suit with the remaining and he led them through a nearby alley and onto the street where he held up an arm to prevent them moving further.

"What is it?" Gilbert asked.

Harry silently pointed to one of the rooftops ahead where a man was standing looking across the city around fifty feet ahead of them.

"A galleon says you can't take him out from here," Gilbert whispered challengingly as he spotted the lone guard.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man as he conjured a smoky, black blade and banished it.

His target made no sound as it was lodged into the side of his head, but the thud of his body to the ground below was enough to alert the rest that something was amiss.

"You're a scary bastard, you know that," Gilbert commented as he drew his wand and followed Harry as he began the charge towards where the questioning voices of Grindelwald's men could be heard.

As they rounded the corner at the end of the street, Charlus's group had already engaged the enemy who were congregating in front of the Ministry building, adopting a similar tactic the ICW forces had used during their own defence of the city.

Those that had rushed to check on the man that had been on the roof were cut down swiftly as they realised the danger they were in too late.

They had attempted to join the rest but didn't make it more than a few feet before Harry's men pounced, the resistance they managed to put up being short-lived.

Only a moment later, the furious fighting was underway, and Harry sent off his patronus to signal the others to arrive.

He parried a bone-splintering curse that had been sent towards him before returning the gesture, his assailant collapsing to the ground as he clung to his broken neck.

"Keep pushing," Harry urged his men who were still considerably outnumbered, though with all the training he had been putting them through the past several months, they were doing an admirable job at holding their own.

With a wave of his wand, he transfigured some nearby debris from the first battle into an array of projectiles, flinging them towards the gathered enemy, and felling another trio of men.

"WATCH OUT!" he called, rushing to shield Gilbert as a vicious rupturing curse was sent his way.

Gilbert nodded gratefully for the intervention knowing he would have been too slow to intercept it himself.

Having caught Grindelwald's men unprepared, Harry and his men had cultivated an advantage to begin with, but the enemy soon gathered themselves and began fighting much more effectively, shielding one another, and seeking opportunities to strike back.

"Bloody hell, where are the others?" Gilbert asked.

"They'll be here," Harry assured him, batting aside a curse, and twirling to avoid another three that had been sent his way.

Although only a few minutes had passed, it seemed to be much longer, and Grindelwald's men were beginning to get the better of the exchange.

Much to Harry's relief, the others did arrive only a moment later, and the tide of the battle changed quickly.

Being on the receiving end of a numbers advantage, Grindelwald's men folded quickly, their morale broken, and their bodies following soon after.

In a matter of minutes, the streets of Bruges ran red with blood and the fighting ceased as Grindelwald's last man was cut down.

An uproarious cheer of victory filled the air, and though Harry didn't join in, he was relieved their efforts were not in vain.

All that remained now was to see how long it took until Grindelwald heard of what had transpired here, and what his response would be.

He would come, of that, Harry had no doubt, it was just a matter of when and not if.

(Break)

The sweet taste of victory Gellert had experienced at taking France had been soured by Albus's visit. He had always thought fondly of the country, some of his more cherished memories having been spent here with his former friend in their youth.

Now, his thoughts were reflected by the devastation the German muggles had wrought here. All the things he had once enjoyed had crumbled into dust, along with the friendship of the man that now looked upon him with such disappointment.

Gellert had always clung to a small amount of hope that Albus would one day be able to put what happened to Ariana behind him, that he would come back to Gellert, and they would bring their vision to life together as they had so meticulously planned.

Any notion of just that had been dashed with the last conversation they shared, and Gellert couldn't help but think that if he saw his friend again, it would be with their wands in hand, facing off with one another.

As much as he wished to avoid that, it was not something he would shy away from.

His ambition and desire to see the world as he envisioned it outweighed anything he ever felt for Albus, and if it meant that he had to kill the man, then so be it.

Not even what could have once been would be enough for Gellert to cede anything.

For him, it was all or nothing.

His mood was not improved by the presence of Osbert who insisted on complaining about the loss of even more of his creatures.

Gellert could not find it in himself to even care.

The man's beasts meant little to him.

The lives of his followers had been preserved and that was all that mattered.

"And then the flaming snake killed them. One spell, and most of my lovelies were gone."

"One spell?" Gellert asked, the last words spoken by the man piquing his curiosity.

Osbert nodded glumly, his eyes full of tears.

"One spell…big snake."

"Big snake?"

"Fire," Osbert choked. "I could feel it from where I was."

"Who cast the spell?"

"Evans!" Osbert spat.

Gellert frowned.

There was only one spell he knew of that sounded like what Osbert had described, but Evans would have to be insane to cast it with so many of his own men.

The cursed flames were dubbed such for a reason.

It consumed without prejudice unless the caster seized immediate control of them when they were summoned.

"A snake you say?"

"A basilisk," Osbert confirmed.

Gellert hummed thoughtfully.

In the grand scheme of things, it meant little.

Fiendfyre had not been recorded taking many forms, but a basilisk was one of them along with dragons, chimera, and even manticores.

It wasn't enough to confirm his suspicions, but he would not dismiss the occurrence out of hand.

He had once more been pondering the identity of The Serpent, and Evans certainly had the skillset to be the firm favourite of possible candidates.

Still, there was so much other contrary evidence, and in truth, it didn't matter.

Both Evans and The Serpent would die eventually.

Gellert sighed as Osbert continued rambling about the loss of his creatures.

"Can you not acquire more?" he asked irritably.

"That is not the point!" Osbert hissed. "He killed them, my babies."

Gellert was close to losing his patience with the man. He had other more pressing concerns, and he feared something even more pressing than what was currently occupying his mind was about to become known to him as Weber arrived, his expression one of deep concern.

"What is it?" Gellert snapped.

"I have received a report that Russians have been spotted on the Belgian border."

"Russians?" Gellert asked curiously.

Weber nodded.

"I have not received confirmation, but I believe Belgium has been taken."

Gellert's jaw tightened as he smashed his fist into the top of his table.

"How?" he demanded.

The ICW forces should be hiding after the decisive defeat in France.

It appeared that Gellert had underestimated their resilience, though if Belgium had been taken…

"I will see for myself," he decided, his stomach sinking at the thought. "Come, Weber."

It would not do to have captured France, only to lose one of his other territories he had fought so hard to acquire.

Activating his portkey, he arrived in the trenches his own men had occupied until a little over a week ago.

They were empty now, but further to the north-east, he could see a large gathering of men on the borderline of Belgium, a much larger force than he had left in the country.

These men were garbed in the red robes of the Russians, and as they spotted him in the distance, they began to jeer, mocking him from afar in a way they wouldn't dare to his face.

Gellert growled as he spotted a man grabbing his crotch in an insulting gesture and turned away to avoid the temptation to be drawn into an impossible fight.

Even he was not foolish enough to begin a battle against hundreds of opponents at once, as much as he wished to punish them.

No, it could wait, but not for long.

Belgium would need to be reclaimed.

He hadn't put so much effort into all he'd achieved only to allow it to be taken from him so easily.

"Send for Hans," he instructed Weber. "Have him assemble the men immediately."

(Break)

Since the news broke that France had been seized by Grindelwald, the mood in the castle had been a sombre one with students speculating if the Dark Lord's next conquest would be Britain.

It had been difficult to assure them that they were safe within the walls of Hogwarts, particularly the older ones who were concerned with the welfare of their parents and what would happen should Britain meet a similar fate to those across the channel.

Today, however, their spirits had been raised somewhat, much to the relief of Minerva and the rest of the staff who were at a loss of what more they could do for their charges beyond offering them weak platitudes.

The Daily Prophet, once nothing more than a way for some to keep up to date with what was happening in Britain whilst they were in school had quickly become an essential read, and it was in the morning edition that the latest development was made known to those residing in Hogwarts.

ICW Forces Reclaim Belgium!

By Herbert Winkle

The Great Hall had fallen silent as the newspaper was delivered before excited whispering follow, each student with one name on their lips.

Harry Evans.

Under the bold leadership of Commander Evans, Belgium was snatched away from Grindelwald's control…

Minerva had always been proud of Harry, for what he'd endured and what he'd achieved since he'd arrived, and never more so than she was now.

Unwittingly, he had given the students hope when it seemed to have run dry, the victory he had led the ICW to reinvigorating those within the castle immediately.

The accompanying photos showed the men patrolling the streets of Belgium, assisting those who had spent the past months suffering under Grindelwald's regime, and leading by example was Harry.

In one photo, he was giving food to an elderly couple, trying as he always would to avoid the attention of the cameras, and failing.

Another showed him standing in front of a collapsed building, helping his men cleaning up the debris that littered the street in an attempt to restore Bruges back to its former glory.

That wouldn't happen overnight, but Harry and the rest of the men from the ICW were there, willing to ensure it was done.

"TO COMMANDER EVANS!" Arthur Abbot called loudly, raising his goblet of pumpkin juice as he stood at the Hufflepuff table.

The sentiment was echoed as the students and staffed followed suit, though there was one boy who remained seated, his expression the look of someone who had swallowed something deeply unpleasant.

Tom Riddle seemed to relish the chaos happening on the continent, and certainly didn't like that the ICW were fighting back so valiantly.

Or he simply despised Harry for what had happened the night the boy had been caught eavesdropping on them.

Minerva shook her head.

His disgust did not surprise her, but the boy knew not the danger he would one day be in.

Harry had promised that when Riddle graduated his days would be numbered, that the boy before her seated in the Great Hall would die at his hands.

At first, Minerva had struggled to come to terms with it, but the older Tom Riddle got, the more unpleasant he became and the more his presence became worrying.

Something was very wrong with the boy, and whatever was festering within him only grew more prominent with each passing year.

(Break)

Charlus folded up the latest letter he'd received from his mother and added it to the pile he'd accumulated since leaving Britain, relieved she was taking his advice and spending some time at one of the Potter properties in the Caribbean.

He was confident that the war would be won, but with Grindelwald occupying France, he wanted to leave nothing to chance.

Being here, he couldn't protect her himself, and there was no one he trusted to do so other than the man he had arrived in France with so many months ago now, but Harry was here, doing what was needed to see an end to Grindelwald's movement.

"Bad news?" Harry asked.

"No," Charlus replied, releasing a deep breath. "My mother is leaving Britain for the time being and taking some time away."

"A good idea," Harry agreed.

Charlus nodded.

"You don't think he will make it to Britain?"

Harry shook his head.

"He will be too busy here to even consider it," he promised. "When he realises what we are doing, Grindelwald will only be thinking about taking back what he loses, and I won't let that happen."

Charlus snorted.

"If anyone else had said that, I wouldn't believe it."

"Maybe you shouldn't believe me either," Harry returned with a smirk.

Charlus chuckled.

If there was one man he believed in to a fault, it was Harry.

The man had never let him down, not when they had been in school, and not since they'd made the journey to the continent to fight.

Harry had been a hit-wizard and could have continued his work, but instead, here he was with Charlus, fighting for what was right, each of them keeping the other alive.

The Potter lord wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'd best check on the others," Charlus declared. "I wouldn't be surprised if Gilbert has managed to find a pub that's somehow still open."

Harry shook his head.

"If he is pissed, kick him up the arse," he instructed, "and kick Yaxley for letting it happen."

"With pleasure," Charlus agreed with a chuckle as he left the room Harry had taken in an abandoned apothecary.

The streets of Bruges were still scarred from both battles that had taken place here, but the men were putting in the work to clean up the debris and assist the people that had remained.

The Belgians were cautious of them, but many had been desperate enough to ask for medical assistance and help rebuilding their homes.

Charlus liked to think they were earning the trust of the men, women, and children, the former already expressing an interest in signing up to join the fight against Grindelwald.

There weren't so many that those lost during the attack in France would be replaced, but it was a start, and the Belgians seemed to be determined.

They would need to be trained first, something that Harry would likely undertake himself for the most part.

"Still sober, Gilbert?" Charlus asked as he came upon the man handing out bars of chocolate to a group of children whilst Yaxley spoke with their parents.

The man nodded.

"I won't be drinking anymore, not after what happened with Fontaine."

Charlus nodded approvingly.

Harry had torn strips out of Gilbert for his loose tongue whilst inebriated. He hadn't done so publicly, but the event had not been a secret either.

Gilbert had been rather subdued since, choosing to atone for his mistake with missionary work, and though Harry hadn't forbidden him from drinking, he certainly gave the impression that any further stupidity from Gilbert would result in much harsher consequences than a verbal dressing down.

"Where did you get the chocolate?" Charlus asked curiously.

"The less you know," Gilbert replied, tapping his nose conspiratorially. "Isn't that one of the Russians?"

Charlus looked towards where a man draped in red robes was sprinting almost aimlessly down the street, seemingly looking for someone.

"What's the problem?" the Potter lord called.

The man breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing him.

"Grindelwald is coming!" he wheezed.

"Here?"

"Njet, the border," the Russian explained.

Charlus nodded grimly as he raised his wand and fired four bursts of red sparks into the air followed by a caterwauling charm to rally the men.

"How many are there?" he asked the Russian.

"All of them, sir."

Charlus hummed.

The border had been secured as a priority, and with Harry's tireless work, no one would get into the country without him knowing.

"PORTKEYS READY!" he commanded as the men assembled. "WE HAVE VISITORS AT THE BORDER. LET'S GO!"

As one, the ICW forces activated their portkeys, vanishing from the streets of Bruges and appearing on the border where the Russians had been hard at work fortifying the defences.

They had done an exceptional job, and any attacking force would struggle to make any ground here.

Still, the sight of Grindelwald's army walking towards them in the distance was unnerving, their previous battle having been a one-sided affair, one that Charlus would never forget.

"Will they attack?" Yaxley questioned.

Charlus nodded.

"They will," he confirmed. "They have to if they want to take back Belgium and prevent other countries being taken from them."

"So, we wait?"

"We wait," Charlus confirmed. "Make them come to us and remember what we have been working on."

Yaxley nodded his understanding.

"Where's Evans?"

Charlus smirked at the question.

"He's here somewhere."

(Break)

Harry watched the advance of Grindelwald's men from above, atop his broom and disillusioned. He wanted to see how they operated, and though it was dangerous to be up here, there was no better view.

He shook his head as they adopted the same approach they'd used the night the ICW forces had been caught unaware, hoping the tactic would prove to be effective once more.

It wouldn't work again.

Harry had made sure his men knew how to rebuff such an attack, and as the bombardment began, he smiled proudly at how well the ICW men stood their ground, using their shields to repel the explosion curses that simply bounced off their collective defence.

Not that he was content for them to remain this way.

As the spells rained down on them, the rest of Grindelwald's men continued to proceed, closing the distance between them.

Soon enough, they would be in a position to overwhelm the defenders with their superior numbers.

No, Harry couldn't allow that.

Again, having planned for this eventuality, he sent up a flurry of red sparks before moving himself to a safer position.

He looked on as the group of Russians emerged on the right flank of the enemy, returning the favour by showering Grindelwald's men with the very same curse they were implementing, a move the attackers had not evidently prepared for.

Chaos immediately ensued as they broke formation, running in all directions to escape the bombardment they found themselves under and Harry turned his attention towards those at the rear that were still unleashing their own barrage despite the onslaught their own men were enduring.

The tactic left the majority of the ICW forces unable to mount any offense as they focused on repelling the explosion curses, something Harry would have to consider further in his defensive planning in the future.

For now, however, something needed to be done, and as he glanced at the gap separating the two sections of Grindelwald's men, he was struck by an idea, one that may be reckless, but one that would equally give his own men a much-needed edge.

With a shake of his head, he plummeted towards the ground, much the same way he had dived after a snitch countless time during Quidditch matches and brought his wand to bear.

The men he targeted were focused on their task, their wands aimed towards the sky as Harry passed them so closely that he could have reached out and brushed his fingertips against them.

Instead, he waited until the command came to fire another salvo of spells, and he cast a strong gust of wind as he made another pass, bowling over several of the men and knocking several others of balance.

The spells they'd so willing fired into the ICW positions were sent off course, straight into the air above them.

The large group began to panic, fleeing as they realised they would fall victim to their own curses if they remained where they were.

Grindelwald's men fell over one another in a bid to escape, and though most managed it, many did not.

Their screams could be heard across the length and breadth of the battlefield, and as Harry looked down on the results of his handywork, he was satisfied they would rethink using that particular strategy.

Having sustained the losses they had, Grindelwald's men began to retreat, and Harry was relieved the men of the ICW had managed to fend them off.

It would do wonders for the morale that had slumped in recent days at their defeat in Paris.

"What the bloody hell are they doing?" he asked himself as a few groups of the men spilled out from their own defences and began giving chase to Grindelwald's retreating forces.

Harry had explicitly told his own that they were to hold Belgium only if they were attacked. They had lost too many to consider fighting on an open battlefield, and their priority was maintaining their positions.

No, this wasn't his men charging.

His own remained where instructed along with the Russians. It was the Spanish that had developed a lust for blood, and as they continued running, the enemy suddenly grew bold at the sight of the paltry force.

This was not good, and when Harry got hold of whomever was responsible for this stupidity, they would pay dearly.

(Break)

"What the hell are those fucking prats doing?" Charlus seethed as he watched the French and Spanish groups pursuing Grindelwald's men.

"Being prats?" Yaxley huffed irritably. "Oh bollocks, they're turning around."

Charlus's jaw tightened at Yaxley's observation.

"They'll be obliterated," Gilbert commented.

He was right.

The French and Spanish groups equated to less than eight-hundred men, and though Charlus would prefer to let them reap what they had sown for their stupidity, it was a significant portion of their army they couldn't afford to lose.

"Right, we go after them, only to drag them back here," he decided, signalling the advance with a burst of green sparks. "Come on, before any more damage is done."

Reluctantly, he left the defensive positions Harry had ordered them to hold, cursing the French and Spanish Commanders under his breath.

They had been made aware of the plan and had chosen to formulate their own.

Harry would be furious, even more so than Charlus.

The Potter lord would not want to be in either of the Commander's shoes when Harry caught up to them.

Ducking under a sickly yellow curse sent his way, he returned fire with a bludgeoning hex that caught his foe clean in the face.

The man was sent spinning through the air and was unmoving when he hit the floor.

With one enemy dealt with, Charlus turned his attention to the ensuing fight unfolding around him, spinning quickly to avoid another attack before felling another man with a blasting curse, only to find himself targeted by several others.

With a growl, he delved into the family magic he so seldom used but realising he had fought himself into a position where he was surrounded, it seemed an apt approach.

Twirling his wand, he erected a blue shield around himself to absorb the plethora of spells sent towards him and waited for the barrier to begin pulsating with a reddish hue.

When it did, he forced the magic outwards, the resulting explosion causing the ground beneath his feet to tremble as the men around him were blasted away; none any longer fit to mount any further attacks.

Using the reprieve to take in his surroundings, Charlus looked for any sign of the French and Spanish Commanders, and though he didn't see them, he spotted another that made his blood boil.

"Bastard!" he spat, charging towards the man that had cursed his father in the back, carving a path through the men who had opted to cling to their leader for protection.

Grindelwald did not notice him at first.

He was locked in a furious duel with another who seemed to have as much fury as Charlus felt towards the Dark Lord.

Before Charlus could intervene, however, a man with a blade in hand lunged at him.

The attack was poorly executed, the attempt to gut him clumsy and uncoordinated.

Taking hold of the assailant's hand, he ploughed his fist into the man's face, eliciting a yelp of pain as the nose was broken.

Still, the man continued with his attempt to stab Charlus, undeterred by the following blows, though he eventually fell limp, his grip on the blade loosening, and his face a swollen and unrecognisable mess.

The man was breathing shallowly, but Charlus was no longer focused on him.

Consumed with rage, he was already stalking towards Grindelwald who fired an odd, purple curse streaked with yellow that dropped the opponent he had been facing off with.

The man collapsed limply to the ground, unmoving, and without preamble, Charlus launched his attack, a cutting curse aimed to cleave through the neck of the Dark Lord.

Much to Charlus's chagrin, Grindelwald seemed to sense the attack at the last second and turned his head to avoid it.

Instead of removing his head, the spell grazed his cheek and only opened a superficial cut.

Grindelwald smirked almost mockingly as he wiped away the blood before raising his wand to offer a retaliation, only for his eyes to widened.

Charlus winced as a burst of magic passed him, the coldness of which made him shudder and forced Grindelwald on the defensive.

Although he managed to shield himself, he was sent skidding backwards several feet, and Charlus caught a glimpse in his periphery of Harry.

He was covered from head to toe in blood, the devastation left in his wake a sight to behold.

His own path to reach Grindelwald was a morbid one, littered with dismembered limbs and pools of bodily fluids that flowed like so many streams.

Taking in the utter destruction, it was plain to see who had gotten the better of the battle, something Grindelwald too could not ignore.

Despite his presence, his men were once more in retreat, and with another smirk, he vanished, not even offering a rebuttal to Harry who was waiting for such to occur.

Evidently, Grindelwald thought better of it, and though the ICW forces would claim victory, Charlus could already see their losses were not negligible.

"TEND TO THE WOUNDED AND GET BACK BEHIND THE DEFENCES," Harry barked with his wand placed next to his throat.

The man was beyond any anger Charlus had ever witnessed from his friend, and Harry remained silent as he helped an injured Spaniard to his feet.

Charlus shook his head as he was distracted by a groan, and he kneeled down next to the man who had been fighting Grindelwald before his own arrival.

"Not the smartest of moves trying to take him on. Next time I bet you'll think…"

He paused as he turned the man over and took in the familiar face before him.

"Black?" he asked in disbelief, his former classmate the last person he'd expect to find here.

"Potter," Arcturus wheezed.

His skin was deathly pale, his breathing laboured and a wound across his shoulder bleeding quite profusely.

"Bloody hell," Charlus muttered. "It doesn't look good."

"Dorea!" Arcturus gasped. "Family magic…she will know."

His teeth were clenched as he endured the agony he was suffering.

"HARRY!" Charlus called.

Hearing the urgency in his voice, Harry rushed over, his expression morphing into one of surprise that matched Charlus's own as he took in the sight of Arcturus Black.

"He said he was hit by a family magic spell. If it's true, only a Black will be able to fix it. His sister…"

Harry waved off the rest of the explanation.

"Go," he instructed. "Stay with him until he is better and keep me updated. I can handle things here."

Charlus nodded.

"Hold on, Black, I'll take you to my house and I will send for her."

As soon as he felt Arcturus's grip tighten around his arm, Charlus tapped his lordship ring with his wand, and the two of them vanished from the battlefield, appearing in the entrance hall of Potter manor only a moment later.

(Break)

With the war taking place on the continent, it wasn't often Dorea was granted a day off from the hospital. In truth, she was glad for the distraction. The work was hard, the hours long, but it helped her to not be constantly consumed by thoughts of her older brother risking his life on the battlefield.

Arcturus wasn't like Perseus or their father.

He was much more level-headed and not easily led astray. Their own grandfather, Sirius, would say Arcturus was a Black through and through, an ambitious, strong, and deserving lord of their family.

Everything her other brother and father were not.

She shook her head of the thoughts of her family.

Dwelling on them would only upset her, and she had endured enough heartache because of their actions.

Releasing a deep sigh, she turned her attention towards the letters she had received over the past few days.

All of them were from Lord Parkinson who was keeping her up to date with the family affairs whilst Arcturus was away.

Not that Dorea had any idea how the ins and outs of how the businesses worked.

She was a healer and had never been taught the same way Arcturus and Perseus had by their father.

Most of what Lord Parkinson wrote went over her head, and though understood enough of what he was saying, she was no businesswoman nor accountant.

"MISS BLACK?"

The sudden intrusion startled her, the voice a familiar one, but Dorea couldn't believe she had heard it.

No, she must have imagined his voice.

There was no reason it would be sounding within the walls of Grimmauld Place.

Was she going mad?"

"MISS BLACK!"

There it was again, but Dorea had certainly heard it that time.

With a frown marring her features, she entered the kitchen to find the head of Charlus Potter floating in the fireplace.

"Lord Potter?" she questioned, making an unconscious effort to flatten out her robes.

What was he doing here?

His expression became one of relief at the sight of her, his eyes softening before he shook his head.

"Your brother has been hurt. Could you come through?"

"Is he okay?" Dorea asked.

"I don't know," Charlus replied. "He seems to think only you can help him. He was cursed with one of your family spells."

Dorea nodded her understanding, though the revelation raised dozens of questions.

"I'll come straight through," she agreed.

Charlus's head immediately vanished, though the flames remained green.

Summoning her medical kit, she took a deep breath before stepping through.

"Where is he?" she asked in a business-like tone.

"He is in a guest room," Charlus answered, pointing up a nearby staircase.

Dorea raced ahead, forgetting she didn't know where she was going, only to feel Charlus take her gently by the arm and lead her into a room off one of the landings where she spotted a house-elf attempting to wrestle the duvet off a figure hidden beneath them.

"Bloody mad elf!" Arcturus grumbled.

"Maisy!" Charlus chided.

The elf ceased its efforts to extract Arcturus, though it didn't appear to be in the best of moods.

"Master Black needs to take his potion!" she insisted firmly.

"I can't take the potion until the curse has been removed!" Arcturus's muffled reply came.

"It's alright, Maisy," Charlus placated, "you can give Master Black his potion when the curse is gone."

The elf nodded as it hopped off the bed, and Arcturus emerged, his face red and usually kempt hair in disarray.

"Bloody elf," he growled.

"Let me take a look at you, you stupid man," Dorea huffed, sitting on the bed next to her brother.

The wound he'd sustained was still bleeding freely, the skin around it turning black, and the curse slowly but surely spreading through his veins.

The spell itself was one that had been in the family for generations. It infected the blood, and if it reached the heart, the victim would die.

Only those with the magic of the Blacks could undo the damage, any other that attempted it would accelerate the process.

"This is going to hurt," Dorea murmured. "Can you keep him talking, Lord Potter? He must remain awake."

Charlus nodded, and Dorea set to work whilst the two men conversed, her efforts requiring her full attention.

The curse had already taken a firm hold and it proved to be difficult to remove.

Still, she persisted with her efforts and managed to purge his blood, though it would take several days for him to recover from the damage.

"It's done," she declared breathily.

Arcturus sagged in relief, barely conscious as Lord Potter eased him into the pillows.

"He won't be able to travel for a few days at least, maybe a week," Dorea explained. "Would he be able to stay here until then? I will check on him regularly."

"Of course," the man replied easily.

Dorea hadn't noticed before, but his robes were covered in blood, his eyes as soft as they'd always been when he'd looked at her, but with a hardened edge to them.

This wasn't quite the same boy who had come to her rescue all those years ago outside the library at Hogwarts.

Charlus Potter was a man now, one that had endured much, but still somehow managed to hold onto the kindness she remembered him for.

"Thank you, Lord Potter," she replied gratefully. "He will feel better after some rest."

Arcturus was already asleep and Charlus snorted.

"The sod gave me quite the scare when I saw him," he explained as he led Dorea from the room.

"What happened?"

"Grindelwald," was the cold answer Dorea received.

"He did this?"

Charlus nodded.

Somehow, the man must have learned the family magic, and could only have done so with a Lord's blessing.

In her father's state, it wouldn't have been difficult to convince him to give his permission, and it only gave Dorea something else to be irritated with the man for.

Dorea startled as she felt Charlus thread her arm through his own, and she blushed unwittingly at the gesture.

They hadn't spoken in months, and oddly, it was as though no time had passed at all, and nothing had happened that spoiled what they may have once had.

With the death of William Potter and Perseus's part in it, such a thing wasn't to be, something Dorea had reluctantly accepted long ago now.

"I-I'm really grateful for you saving him," she murmured. "You didn't have to. No one would have blamed you if you let him die."

Charlus shook his head.

"Your brother and I weren't exactly friends, but there was always respect between us at school. We managed to put an end to the fighting between our houses, and he had no hand in what happened to my father. I don't hold him responsible in any way for your brother's actions, or any other member of your family."

Dorea offered him a sad smile.

"He's not like them," she assured him. "He's a good man who just wants to make up for what the rest of my family has done."

Charlus nodded his understanding.

"I don't think getting himself killed will do much good," he snorted, "but if he insists on fighting, I will keep him close to me. Harry will be glad to have him."

"Commander Evans, you mean," Dorea returned, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You should hear what they all say about him."

"Who?"

"Everyone," Dorea replied with a shrug. "They speak about him like he is a god."

"He will love that," Charlus snorted.

"He never struck me as someone who would want to be the centre of attention."

"He isn't," Charlus sighed, "but I doubt even what you hear in St Mungo's would ever do him justice. Without him, we wouldn't stand a chance in this war. He has saved our lives more times than I care to count."

"Then we should all be grateful he is fighting for us."

Charlus nodded.

"We should."

They had reached the entrance hall now, and though the last thing she wanted to do was let go of his arm, she did so reluctantly.

"Are you sure it is okay if I check on him?" she asked nervously.

"As much as you'd like," Charlus insisted with a smile.

That smile.

It was enough to send her chest aflutter.

Dorea returned the gesture, though she suspected hers was quite feeble.

"Then I will see you soon, Lord Potter," she replied, throwing a handful of floo powder in the fire.

"It will always be Charlus to you, my lady."

Dorea paused and made the amateur mistake of looking back a final time before she stepped through and returned to Grimmauld Place.

For months she had done her best to not think of him, to wonder if he ever thought of her in the same way, and in only the short time she had been in his presence once more, her resolve had crumbled.

What she felt for Charlus Potter, she couldn't put into words, but even without any effort on his part, he seemed to have ensnared her all over again.

(Break)

The dead had not yet finished being tallied and the French and Spanish troops had taken it upon themselves to celebrate what they perceived to have been a great victory.

Whilst Harry had been accounting for the losses, they had lit fires in the streets of Bruges as they drank, none seemingly caring for the men that had died because of their stupidity.

Harry cared, and his own men did too.

Each were disgusted at the display of the fools that were making merry of the situation, and even though his work was not done, Harry could no longer ignore what was happening.

He'd been keeping his temper in check, but it was dangerously close to boiling over.

"Come on," Yaxley urged the rest of the group as Harry stalked towards where the French and Spanish Commanders had seated themselves around one of the fires.

"Commander Evans, it is a fanta…"

The Spaniard's words were cut off as Harry's fist connected with his jaw, the crack silencing the laughter and joyous mood of the others as the Commander skidded across the pavement.

"You stupid bastard!" Harry seethed.

He pulled the disorientated man to his feet by the front of his robes, aware that Yaxley, Gilbert, and the others had drawn their wands to ensure no one intervened.

"Do you think today is something to celebrate?" Harry questioned. "The plan was to hold the defences, not chase and attack them."

"Keeping behind the defences was your plan," the French Commander interjected with a sneer. "You're not in charge of us!"

"I'm not," Harry agreed, "but because of you and your fucking idiocy, we lost several men today, and you're here drinking and acting like we achieved something."

"We won!" the Frenchman argued.

"How?" Harry demanded to know.

"He lost more men than us," the French Commander said smugly.

"He has more men to lose than us!" Harry spat. "We cannot afford to lose men the way he can, so no, you daft bastard, we didn't win. All you did is demonstrate your incompetence, and it isn't you that paid the price for it. The lives of our men are not for you to throw away because you feel like you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove!"

"Yes, you do," Harry countered. "You have to prove that you're not a completely useless shit, but you will not do it at the expense of anyone else. If it happens again, I will personally tear your throat out, and that goes for you too," he added to the Spaniard before allowing the man to fall to the floor.

"You don't get to threaten us!" the Frenchman growled.

Harry snorted.

"That was no threat," he corrected, "and you can run to Abreo all you like. I'll happily repeat my words to the Supreme Mugwump if it makes the message sink in. Now, you will be the ones to write to the families to inform them of what happened, and you should think yourselves lucky. If we didn't need every wand we have, I'd push to have you both locked up."

Having given the two Commanders a piece of his mind, Harry headed back to where the bodies were being tallied.

The ICW forces had been fortunate that they hadn't lost any more than they had due to the actions of the inept Commanders leading them.

Not that it would offer any comfort to the families who would soon receive a notification of loss.

"What a bloody waste," Yaxley muttered irritably.

Harry could only nod his agreement, and if he had his way, such a thing would not happen again.

The Frenchman need not concern himself with paying a visit to the Supreme Mugwump.

Harry would be doing it himself at his earliest convenience.