A Spy in our Midst
"Where the hell have you been?"
Charlus's tone was laced with relief, but Harry was under no illusion that he was being chastised also, his absence having stretched longer than he had anticipated.
With a shake of his head, he took a seat at the desk in the room they shared and released a deep breath.
"Later," he sighed tiredly. "Any reason why she is sleeping in my bed?"
He nodded towards the slumbering Summerbee who had evidently returned whilst he had been away.
"She's certain she's found the spy. Looks as though your little display was good for something."
"Who?" Harry asked curiously.
"Fontaine."
Harry frowned at the revelation, but his involvement made sense.
Some of the information that had been knowingly passed on were things made only known to the Commanders, and if his French counterpart shared a similar relationship to Fontaine as Harry did Charlus, he would have told the man all he knew.
It still didn't explain, however, how it had come to be known that he and Charlus had left to fetch Summerbee.
Was there another spy? Or was it possible that someone had unwittingly let Fontaine know as a friend, not understanding the potential fallout from saying too much?
Harry knew not, but it was something he would need to investigate.
"This won't go down well," he murmured. "We will have to bring him in quietly, and without provoking a fight."
Charlus nodded his agreement.
"When?" he asked.
That was the pertinent question.
Did Harry leave him in place and use the man to pass on more false information?
No, that wouldn't do.
It was risky and he was loath to have the spy amongst them any longer than necessary, but without firm evidence, he couldn't just simply apprehend the man.
Fontaine would need to be caught in the act.
"We leave him for now," Harry decided, "but only very briefly. We will have him in less than a few days."
Charlus nodded his understanding.
"How was Bulgaria?" he whispered, his gaze shifting the lightly snoring woman.
Harry released a deep breath as he shook his head.
"I didn't go to Bulgaria," he revealed.
"Then where did you go?" Charlus asked confusedly, a light frown creasing his brow.
"Czechoslovakia," Harry informed his friend. "Bulgaria would have presented too much a risk to try after the stupid cow got herself caught there already, so I went elsewhere. I was successful."
Charlus offered Harry a sympathetic smile.
"Any injuries?"
Harry shook his head.
"A few cuts and bruises, but they weren't expecting anything. They felt safe, and they got complacent. I doubt that will happen again."
Charlus nodded his understanding.
"What about Fox and her group?" he asked.
"What about them?"
Charlus snorted amusedly.
"You're not going to save them?"
"Even if I could, I'm not inclined to," Harry sighed, "and I'm certainly not going to risk my life for someone that wouldn't do the same for me. I take risks," he admitted, "but they are calculated. I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for them, and even attempting to find out is too dangerous, let alone freeing them from whatever prison Grindelwald has them in."
"Does it make me a bad person for agreeing with you?"
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
"No, it makes you a realistic one. As much as people would like to think, I can't save everyone, Charlus, and trying to do so will only get me killed. If I died fighting Grindelwald, I could accept that, but dying just to get one over on him would be stupid."
"So, what was Czechoslovakia about?"
"A reminder to him and his men that they are not as invincible as they seem to believe," Harry answered honestly. "We are not winning this war right now, Charlus, and Grindelwald knows it. We are barely keeping his forces at bay, and that won't last forever. Something has to give, and I have feeling it will happen sooner than we would like."
"You think we will lose this position?"
Harry shrugged.
"Either here, or he will manage to take one of the others in the south. We are no safer than his men, it is only a matter of time before he decides that we have hindered him long enough and attacks from both sides. His men still outnumber ours considerably, and we can't fight on two fronts."
"Bloody hell," Charlus murmured. "What will we do?"
"Whatever we can, but it won't be enough. Our best option would be to take the fight to him, but we risk losing valuable fighters that way. Either that, or we keep digging our heels in and hope we can stop his advance indefinitely."
"We'd be here forever."
"Exactly," Harry agreed, "and neither side will settle for that. Sooner or later, one side will have to make a decision on how to proceed, and the only outcome will be more fighting, and more death."
Charlus released a deep sigh.
"Well, you've brightened my day," he chuckled, "but I'm glad you made it back."
"He's back?" a sleepy voice questioned from Harry's bed.
"He has been for some time now," Charlus explained. "You must have been tired."
Summerbee nodded as she yawned once more, wiping the sleep from her eyes before she looked towards Harry.
"Not as tired as him," she mocked. "How was your trip?"
"It could have been worse," Harry replied. "I'm still alive, at least."
"And not injured badly," Charlus pointed out with a grin.
"Good," Eleanor declared as she stood. "Did you tell him?"
Charlus nodded.
"It will be dealt with soon," he assured the woman.
"And Bulgaria?"
Harry shook his head.
"I didn't go to Bulgaria."
"Oh," Eleanor said sadly. "I thought…"
Harry took pity on the woman, offering her a look of sympathy.
"I will free your home from him," he assured her, "but for now, it is too dangerous."
"So, what do I do?" she asked. "I can't go back, can I?"
"I wouldn't recommend it," Harry sighed. "It will be crawling with his men for some time. I can see about sending you somewhere else, if you'd like. Abreo would agree to it."
"Won't he want her back in prison?"
"I'm not going back there," Eleanor said firmly.
Harry snorted amusedly.
"I promised you'd have your freedom. I will see what can be done, but for now, I really need to get some sleep. Charlus, you're in charge."
"Bloody great," Charlus huffed. "Why don't you just give me that armband of yours?"
"If you want it, take it," Harry laughed.
"No thanks," Charlus grumbled. "I wouldn't want to look a ponce around here."
The Potter lord took his leave of the room, his head shaking, and Harry grinned at his friend before turning back towards Summerbee.
"Just let me know what you'd like," he requested. "I will see what can be done."
Eleanor offered him a sad smile but nodded, nonetheless.
"I will," she assured him, giving his shoulder a grateful squeeze. "Sleep well, I will guard you with my life," she added with a wink.
"There's some comforting words," Harry snorted.
With Charlus filling in for him a little longer, Harry climbed into bed for some much-needed rest.
It had been a long twenty-four hours, and he already knew that when he woke, things would only become busier as the world learned of what he had done.
(Break)
Gellert proudly watched the flurry of activity occurring in the grounds below. His followers were loyal to a fault, rushing around to carry out his orders, none needing to question them.
Those chosen to be sent to Bulgaria to await the impending attack had left hours ago minus Hans, who remained behind to ensure everything they would need to withstand the onslaught of Evans was being provided.
Five hundred good men with the forces already assembled would be sufficient, and with Gellert, Cassiopeia, and Hans there with them, their victory was all but assured.
"How are things proceeding, Hans?" he asked as the enormous man joined him in the study.
"Well, Gellert," Gaulitier replied. "I've sent for twenty of our best healers to attend also. With Evans, there will be injuries."
Gellert nodded his approval.
As much as he would like the confrontation to be without loss, it was unlikely.
If Evans was indeed coming to fight to the end, he would take many with him. Not even Gellert could prevent that.
"Good," he declared.
"Do you not think we are investing a lot into this?" Hans asked, his tone laced with concern. "Evans is just one man."
Gellert shook his head as he chuckled.
"Commander Evans is not just a man, Hans," he disagreed. "He is rather like me in many ways. He is gifted, and powerful, more so than you would believe. When we meet on the battlefield without interruption, the world will watch in awe at our prowess, they will tremble. A duel that will go down in history, never to be forgotten. Do not underestimate him, my friend, it would be a mistake on your part."
Gaulitier nodded.
"I will bear that in mind when I face him," he replied with a grin.
"I would not be so keen to meet him on the battlefield, Hans," Gellert sighed. "You're a strong wizard in your own right, but would you wish to face me?"
Hans swallowed deeply as he shook his head.
"No, I wouldn't," he answered honestly. "If that day was to come, I would ensure my affairs were in order. I have no doubt that I would finally be bested."
"And that is how you should view a fight with Commander Evans," Gellert urged. "At his young age, he is dangerous, and will become only more so with the more experience he gains."
"You believe him to be so dangerous?"
Gellert nodded severely.
"I know of only one other who could hope to stand against me in such a way, and he lacks the ruthlessness and spine that Commander Evans does not."
"What about The Serpent?"
Gellert's nostrils flared at the mention of the elusive man.
"When we fought last, he would have fallen, of that I have no doubt," he murmured. "No, The Serpent has proven himself to be a coward, an irritant that dares only strike from the shadows, as is the nature of the beast his moniker was born from. One day, Hans, he will make a mistake, and I will claim his head also."
Gaulitier grinned at the thought, though he frowned as a frantic knocking sounded at the door.
"Yes?" Gellert called impatiently.
It was a rather flustered Weber that entered, and Gellert's demeanour shifted to one of concern at his spy's expression.
"What is it?" he asked.
"We may have a problem."
"May have a problem?" Gellert returned irritably.
Weber nodded.
"We have not received a report from Prague in almost twenty-four hours," he explained.
Geller's eyes narrowed.
"How often are we being updated there?"
"Every six hours."
Gellert clenched his teeth irritably.
"Why has this only now been brought to my attention?" he snapped.
"Because we are unable to make contact," Weber explained. "It has happened before where check-ins have been late, but not this long."
Gellert huffed irritably as he fetched his cloak.
"Whoever is in charge there will no longer be so," he declared. "They have become very lax of late. It is unacceptable. Hans, you will join me and Herr Weber."
Gaulitier nodded and accepted the portkey that was offered to him.
Only a moment later, they arrived just inside the magical district of Prague, and a shrill alarm began blaring throughout the streets.
"What a racket," Gellert grumbled, drawing his wand, and silencing the noise. "The defences have been activated," he mused aloud, his grip tightening on his wand. "Keep your wits about you, something is not right."
With Weber and Gaulitier in tow, he edged ever closer to the centre of the magical district, the silence the trio were met with nothing less than unnerving.
"Where is everyone?" Hans asked impatiently.
The man received his answer as they rounded the corner, and he became immediately skittish, turning to look in every direction as though he was expecting to be attacked from all sides.
Gellert knew better.
There was no one here to carry out such an act, but the damage had already been done.
Strewn across the street were the bodies of his followers, smears of blood, and even scorch marks.
What had happened here wasn't clear, but the symbol that burned brightly in the early evening was all the explanation Gellert needed.
The Serpent.
The man had been inactive for several weeks now, the reason for his silence now apparent.
Gellert growled in fury, and sparks crackled as they shot from the end of the Elder Wand.
It would have been too much to hope the last remaining Hit-Wizard would have been killed in the interim or suffered a mishap that would leave him unable to play any further part in the war.
The thought of either happening brought a grin to Gellert's lips, one that faded quickly as he surveyed the damage around him.
"How many men were stationed here?" he asked soberly.
"Seventy-three," Hans replied.
"Only seventy-three?"
Hans nodded.
"We confiscated their wands, and locked up the troublemakers," he explained. "We did not anticipate any trouble."
Gellert shook his head irritably.
"It was a foolish idea to leave so few," he mused aloud. "Speaking of which, where are the citizens?"
Hans could only shrug.
"Might I turn your attention to the entrance to the Ministry?" Weber broke in.
Stuck to the door was a piece of parchment, and as Gellert approached, he held up a hand to prevent Hans and the sleuth from following, the feeling of threatening magic growing stronger the closer he got.
Checking that nothing untoward would happen imminently, he frowned as he removed the brief note from the door, the words written angering him almost as much as discovering the corpses of his men.
He came in the night and set us free.
Long live The Serpent!
The Czechoslovakian citizens had activated the defences, taken the time to write the note, and left, and with that, Gellert's control over one of his dominions had gone.
He balled up the parchment in anger and threw it to the ground.
What good was holding a country that had no one to liberate, no one to follow him?
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the door and the magic radiating from it.
Most of it was old, designed to prevent any from entering, but there was something new lurking under the surface, the same mix of hot and cold magic he'd felt the night he and The Serpent had fought in the cave.
If somehow the primary defences were breached, a reaction would be triggered, one that would see the death of the intruders.
"Clever," Gellert murmured.
Were he so inclined to, he could undo the magic, but it would take considerable effort on his part, and there would be no reward at the end.
The men and women that resided here had abandoned their country in favour of what they deemed to be safety, but they were far from it.
Once the deadlock on the front had been broken, Gellert and his forces would sweep across the remaining countries of Europe, and then beyond.
None who would oppose him were safe.
It was merely a matter of time before they realised it.
"Weber, reach out to your spies," he commanded. "I want to be informed of every development within the ICW forces, no matter how trivial it seems."
Weber nodded.
"What of The Serpent."
Gellert snorted.
All investigations into the man had born no fruit.
One would have better luck attempting to catch the wind.
"His luck will run out," he replied. "One day, he will slip up, and when he does, I will be waiting for him."
(Break)
The late afternoon found Harry seated behind his desk sorting through the various missives that had been delivered in his absence. None had been marked as important, so Charlus had left them for him.
As expected, there was nothing pressing he needed to do other than fill in requisition forms for supplies, and as far as Harry was aware, his group wanted for little.
"Evans?" Summerbee called from where she was once more sitting on Harry's bed, this time reading one of his books on duelling. "This Frenchman…"
"Fontaine?"
Eleanor nodded.
"When he was sending his message, he mentioned a name. It might be nothing, but probably worth questioning him about."
"What name?" Harry asked with a frown.
"Weber."
His frown deepened.
"German?"
"Or Austrian," Summerbee pointed out.
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Neither really bodes well," he sighed. "I'll ask him. Have you thought about what it is you want to do next?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"I need to get a wand."
"I'll take you tomorrow," Harry promised. "I'm sure we can find a suitable one in Paris."
The woman offered him a grateful smile.
"Other than that, I'm not sure what to do. Could I have a few more days to think?"
Harry released a deep breath.
Although he certainly wasn't entertaining Summerbee the same way the French Commander had been the women visiting him, he couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite, even if he wasn't risking the security of the men.
"Only a few days," he said firmly.
Summerbee's smile brightened, and she returned to reading the book contentedly.
With her problem solved temporarily, Harry turned his attention back to his own work, pleased that he had only one letter left to read.
It was a note from the Spanish Commander asking Harry to politely remind the men in his group of their guard duties.
"You're one to talk," Harry muttered as he threw the note into the fire. "Arsehole."
"Well, that's not a very polite way to greet someone," Charlus snorted as he entered, holding up an envelope and sporting a smug grin. "From the top brass."
Harry shook his head as he snatched the letter from his friend and broke the seal of the Supreme Mugwump.
Commander Evans,
I request that you meet with me at your earliest convenience.
This letter will function as your portkey when a drop of your blood is added.
Pierre Abreo
Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks
"Well, that's a new security measure," Harry mused aloud. "Will you be alright for a little while?"
"Ever since you got that armband, I've done the job more than you," Charlus quipped. "Go on, I can manage."
Harry nodded appreciatively, grateful that he had someone as dependable as Charlus that he could turn to when needed.
"I'll be as quick as I can," he promised, picking one of the cuts he'd received in Prague and allowing the blood to drip onto the parchment.
Travelling by portkey was something he did so often now that he barely paid attention to the feeling of being hooked through the navel, nor did he end up in a collapsed heap on the floor.
It certainly was nothing like his first trip using the device when he had attended the Quidditch World Cup during the summer before fourth year.
How he yearned for his formative years.
In comparison to what he faced now, a possessed defence against the dark arts professor, or fending off a hoard of dementors was quite trivial, though if he ever had to face a basilisk again, it would be too soon.
"Commander Evans, I thank you for your prompt arrival," Abreo greeted him.
Harry found himself in an unfamiliar office, one that evidently belonged to the Supreme Mugwump.
The crest of the ICW hung large and proudly behind the man, and the furniture was all made of an expensive wood.
"Well, your letter seemed urgent."
"Indeed," Abreo said gravely, "please, take a seat."
Harry did so, and the man stared at him speculatively for a moment before speaking once more.
"I was hoping for a progress report on this spy business," he requested. "It is quite unsettling and dangerous that we have one among us."
"It is," Harry agreed, "and Miss Summerbee has identified him."
"She has?" Abreo asked, surprised.
Harry nodded.
"She came to me yesterday having witnessed Fontaine, the French second in command having sent a message after listening in on a conversation I'd had. There are strict rules not to communicate outside the trenches without the use of an approved owl, or via an appointed messenger in the trenches."
"And this has led you to believe he is a spy?" Abreo questioned, evidently not wanting to believe a man from his own country was responsible. "Fontaine is a respected man in France."
"He is also a spy," Harry said confidently.
Abreo released a sigh as he shook his head.
"How do you intend to proceed?"
"Well, I need to catch him in the act, preferably," Harry answered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Then I will interview him. Would you be willing to provide Veritaserum? It's not a necessity, but it would save the hassle of tearing into his mind. I'm not a trained Legilimens, but I could get what I need to from him."
Abreo winced at the thought and shook his head.
"No, that won't be necessary. I will provide the serum for you."
Harry nodded gratefully.
He'd never cast the Legilimens spell and didn't think it best to do so on someone when he wasn't sure what he was doing.
He'd gotten an exceptionally good instinctive grasp on being able to tell if he was being lied to, but he hadn't delved into the art any further. Not consciously, at least.
Often, when he met the gaze of another, he got glimpses of what they were thinking or feeling in that moment, but it was not intentional on his part.
"You look as tired as I feel," he observed lightly, eliciting a chuckle from the Supreme Mugwump.
"My position is not an enviable one," the man replied with a shake of his head. "Only this morning I was rudely awoken and had the need to call an emergency meeting of the ICW."
"An emergency meeting?"
Abreo nodded.
"I am unsure of all the facts at present, but it appears the entire magical population of Czechoslovakia has left their country. Many have already arrived in Spain, France, and other places seeking refuge," he explained. "I spoke to a few who claim that The Serpent set them free after killing all of Grindelwald's men."
"The Serpent?"
Abreo nodded.
"They are all but worshipping him," he replied with a grin. "He is their hero, and if what I have been told is true, I can't find fault in it. Between you and him, people believe we have a chance at winning this war."
"Me and him?" Harry asked.
Abreo shook his head.
"Your modesty is admirable, Commander Evans, but your name and his are the ones on people's lips," he explained. "Wherever I go, they are the names I hear spoken so fondly. You have a very bright future ahead of you."
"If I survive, and if we win," Harry pointed out.
"Yes," Abreo said soberly, "if."
He fell silent for a moment as though contemplating what the cost of either victory or defeat would be before he shook himself from his reverie.
"My job may be difficult, but I cannot imagine what you and the rest of the men are enduring."
"We manage," Harry assured him.
"I'm pleased to hear it, and though I am most unhappy to hear of Fontaine's defection, I am sure you will handle the situation admirably."
"What would you have me do with him?"
Abreo released a deep, laboured breath.
"If he is a traitor…"
His words trailed off uncertainly.
"I think we only have two choices."
"Two?" Abreo asked curiously.
Harry nodded solemnly.
"We can execute him."
"That is what most will demand."
"Or we could send him to a prison that will ensure that his sentence is carried out in an unpleasant manner."
"I suppose you have a suggestion," Abreo snorted humourlessly.
"Azkaban."
Abreo swallowed deeply.
"It would be kinder to execute him."
"Probably," Harry agreed, "but then his death would not be on your conscience. If Fontaine is passing information willingly, he already has the blood of many on his hands. You're allowing your own morals to be the judge of his, but we are also not the enemy. We do not want to start a trend of executing prisoners, not when Grindelwald has so many of his own."
Abreo nodded.
"We do not," he agreed.
"Then there is no need to burden yourself with those thoughts," Harry pointed out. "Leave the killing to us on the battlefield and be a better man than Grindelwald."
Abreo offered him a grateful smile.
"I am no warrior, Commander Evans."
"No, and I hope that you never have to be," Harry replied. "Maybe we should wait until we know all the facts before deciding his fate."
"I think that would be sensible, but I would have the truth of his deception," Abreo demanded. "Do what you must, Commander, and we will drag him before the ICW to answer for his crimes."
"Of course," Harry agreed as he stood and headed towards the door.
"What of Miss Summerbee?" Abreo questioned. "I do not think it best that she remains in the trenches, for her own safety."
"I have given her a few days to decide what she wishes to do," Harry explained. "She lives in Bulgaria and cannot return home."
"I see," Abreo mused aloud.
"I have agreed that I will take her to purchase a new wand tomorrow, and then further arrangements must be made. She will not be sent back to prison. I gave her my word she would be freed, and I have every intention of keeping it."
Abreo shook his head as he grinned.
"I think for the work she has done; a discreet pardon can be granted. In the times we face, it is unlikely that any will bother with someone whose victims were the goblins. However, I would urge her to stay clear of banks, and any country she operated in."
"I will pass on the message."
"Thank you," Abreo said with a slight bow. "Now I only need to mitigate the fallout that will come when the media learns of what happened in Prague."
"Do they need to know?"
Abreo laughed heartily.
"The Czechoslovaks are practically queuing outside the offices to the newspapers to tell their stories. One man I spoke to even had some quite excellent photos to prove his word. I give it less than a day before The Serpent becomes the talk of the people across the continent once more."
Harry felt his stomach sink.
It would have been too much to ask that such an act he'd carried out would go unnoticed or unreported.
"Well, more fool him for doing it," Harry chuckled, the amusement he'd displayed fading the moment he left the office.
"Bloody hell," he cursed to himself. "Why is it always me?"
It seemed that no matter where he went, or what he did, he would somehow make the headlines, even when he was trying to be someone else.
Not that he was.
It had been easy to separate The Serpent and himself as two separate people whilst working as a Hit-Wizard, but officially, there was no place for the former in the world anymore.
So, why was Harry still using the moniker?
As much as he had managed to separate the two, there was no denying that Harry Evans and The Serpent were slowly becoming one, and with how the war was progressing, and the determination Grindelwald expressed to see the end to both, it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.
Harry, though he wished to deny it, couldn't.
His anonymity would not last forever, and then he would have to face the demons of both of the men that he was.
(Break)
The Serpent.
He was the talk of the castle this evening, and Tom narrowed his eyes as he pushed his food around his plate irritably. The way the other students spoke of the mysterious wizard was as though the man was a god, that he was invincible.
The awe in their voices angered him.
The Serpent wasn't a god and wouldn't even compare to the wizard that Tom would one day be, and yet his housemates looked down on him.
For now.
He grinned as he envisioned how the world would one day speak his name, not too dissimilar to how they talked of The Serpent, but with Tom, it would be in fear.
Fear to the young Slytherin was much more enticing than being a hero, but it could not be so simple.
No, he needed to be a hero to some, and feared by the masses, and as his gaze swept up and down the length of his house table, an idea hit him.
Why could he not have everyone fear him, yet still be a hero to some?
He nodded thoughtfully as he tucked into his meal, ignoring the ridiculous tales of The Serpent offered by his housemates.
"I heard that he is Salazar Slytherin come back from the dead to kill Grindelwald!" one whispered.
"We've all heard that, Avery," Selwyn huffed. "Do you think it is true that he can kill you just by looking into your eyes?"
"Don't be so bloody stupid," Rosier chastised.
"Well, what do you think?" Selwyn fired back.
Rosier shook his head.
"I don't know," he murmured, "I'm just glad he is on our side. Imagine going up against him, even if the rumours have been exaggerated."
Those around the seventh year fell silent, and Tom took his leave from the table, glancing briefly towards Dumbledore who was in a deep conversation with McGonagall.
Knowing they would be occupied for some time, he hurried towards the astronomy tower in the hopes of seeing Helena, only to find that she wasn't there this evening.
He didn't know if the ghost had been avoiding him since their first meeting, but he had not seen her around the castle the past few days.
With a frown, he headed back towards the dungeons, once more irritated but keeping his anger in check.
He couldn't alienate the woman against him, not until she had yielded anything useful she had.
Entering the common room, he spotted Rosier and the rest of his ilk gathered around the fire as they often did in the evenings. With a smirk tugging at his lips, Tom headed towards them.
"I think you will find you're in my seat."
Rosier looked up at him and swallowed deeply, nodding before he stood and moved to another further away from the warmth of the fire.
Tom took the seat the older boy had been occupying, but none of the others moved, each of them staring at him questioningly.
"What is it?" he asked.
It was Avery that spoke after glancing around the room to ensure none were attempting to listen in on them.
"We just thought, Tom, is it possible that you're related to The Serpent?" he asked quietly. "With you being a…you know."
Tom frowned at the question.
He had considered the possibility himself but had concluded that he didn't care if the man was kin. He was nothing to Tom who had been abandoned in an orphanage and left to rot by whatever family he did have.
He shrugged dismissively.
"Maybe he is in some way," he conceded, "but it doesn't matter. I will have a family that I choose for myself, not one I am tied to by blood."
"Choose yourself?" Rosier questioned curiously.
Tom nodded.
"One that will look to me to lead them through the challenging times ahead," he said simply. "What, you didn't think this war with Grindelwald would be the end?"
Rosier frowned.
"I have no idea what you are insinuating."
"I am insinuating nothing," Tom denied. "It is already happening around us."
"What is?" Selwyn broke in confusedly.
Tom snorted as he shook his head and stood.
"Nothing," he replied. "If you cannot see it for yourselves, then who am I to point it out to you."
"No, wait!" Rosier demanded. "What do you mean?"
Tom released a laboured breath and took his seat once more, pondering his next words closely.
"Take a look around when you are wandering through the school," he urged. "See how many students that have the same colour robes as you, maybe then it will make sense."
"What will?" Selwyn pressed.
"He means how outnumbered we are," Rosier answered.
Tom nodded.
"Not just in Hogwarts, I imagine," he said pointedly. "How many purebloods are there compared to half-bloods and muggleborns?"
Rosier narrowed his eyes, but the others seemed quite alarmed by the observation.
"What are you getting at?"
"Nothing," Tom replied innocently, "it was just an observation. I was just wondering what would happen when they realise they have the power, if they want to make changes in our world."
"Changes?" Rosier questioned.
"Well, it isn't exactly a secret that the Wizengamot is comprised of the lords of the pureblood families, and that any job in the ministry that holds any power is filled by purebloods. The lords and ladies run the country, and ensure the law is always in favour of their own kind. What happens when the rest realise that and decide that it must be changed by any means necessary?"
Rosier shook his head.
"They wouldn't dare!"
"Are they not already doing that in their own world?" Tom enquired. "Is that not part of the reason we are at war? It will happen, and the longer any waits to take steps to prevent it from doing so, the more difficult it will be to stop. Already the task is nearing that impossibility. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen," he offered his parting words as he stood and headed towards his room, another grin tugging at his lips.
For all Tom knew, what he said had been the truth.
Any fool could look around wizarding Britain and see that what he'd mentioned could one day be a possibility.
Not that he cared about what happened to any other but sowing the seeds of doubt and dislike could one day serve him on his own journey to having the world speak of him the same way they did The Serpent, or Harry Evans.
The second of the names elicited a growl from the teen.
Tom would never forget that Evans had tried to kill him and would avenge that slight against him in the future.
Evans would not get away with it, and though Tom knew he should be wary of the man proving himself to be such a dangerous foe, he had no doubt that he would one day surpass the man.
When that day arrived, Evans would die, and Tom would have the last laugh.
He always did when it came to those he saw as enemies, and that wouldn't change with Evans, nor any other that got in his way.
(Break)
"Special delivery!" Charlus said cheerily as he handed Harry yet another missive from the ICW headquarters.
"Good," Harry sighed as he tore the envelope open, revealing a small phial of clear liquid and sheet of parchment that he pocketed.
"What is that?" Summerbee asked from her seat at the desk where she was inspecting her newly acquired wand.
"Veritaserum," Harry explained, holding the potion up to the light. "Is Fontaine guarding tonight?"
Charlus nodded.
"I passed his group on the way here."
"Then let's not waste anymore time," Harry decided. "Let's bring him in whilst it's quiet. You wait here," he added to Summerbee.
Charlus followed as Harry left the room into the almost empty trenches where only those on guard duty were dotted around in their groups.
"So, it looks as though the attack has been cancelled," Harry explained quietly, shaking his head.
"Any idea why?" Charlus asked, playing along.
"From what I could gather, the ICW doesn't think it is worth the risk to enter Bulgaria. They're more interested in capitalising on what The Serpent did in Czechoslovakia. Poland was mentioned, but it won't be tonight we leave."
"When?" Charlus questioned.
Harry shrugged.
"Maybe in the next week or so," he guessed.
Charlus snorted as he watched Fontaine's eyes widen in panic, and the man skulked off, shortly followed by Harry when he had rounded the corner.
"I wouldn't move if I were you," Charlus warned the rest of Fontaine's group with his wand drawn as they looked on worriedly, some of whom seemed keen to see what was happening.
Harry returned a moment later dragging the unconscious second in command in his wake, and the other Frenchmen began to protest.
"Unless you want yourself hauled in front of the ICW, you will keep your noses out," Harry warned.
The French evidently knew better than to antagonise the man, but Charlus had no doubt they would be alerting their own commander the moment he and Harry were gone.
Once more, Charlus followed Harry as he returned to their room where he dumped Fontaine into a chair before tying him to it.
"Make yourself scarce," he instructed Summerbee, "we are about to have company."
Only a few seconds later, furious knocking sounded at the door, and Harry almost tore it from its hinges as he confronted the French Commander who was garbed in a silk dressing grown, an expression of fury marring his features.
"You will release him immediately!" the Commander instructed through gritted teeth.
Harry simply reached into his robes and removed the same sheet of parchment that had arrived with the potion and handed it to his irate counterpart.
"That is a signed order from the Supreme Mugwump himself giving me permission to conduct my investigation by any means I deem to be necessary," he explained. "As you will see if you read the bottom, any that are found to be hindering my work will face charges for perverting the cause of justice. I do hope that you are not doing so."
The Frenchman scowled at the document and cursed in his mother tongue.
"A saboteur? I have known this man for many years!"
"Not well enough," Harry replied. "Now, I suggest you piss off before I am left with little choice than to arrest you along with him."
"You cannot do that!" the Commander chuckled darkly.
"We could always test that theory, if you wish?"
Charlus's grip tightened around his wand, but the Frenchman showed no sign that he wished to engage Harry in a physical confrontation.
He was quite content to throw his weight around in his official capacity, but he knew better than to draw his wand.
"This is not the last you have heard of this!" the Commander warned. "I will be speaking with the Supreme Mugwump immediately."
Harry offered the man no reply, but instead slammed the door in his face before casting several charms on it to ensure they would not be disturbed any further.
"Now, where were we?" he asked as he removed the phial of Veritaserum and administered a dosage to the unconscious man.
Harry roused him with a flick of his wand, and Fontaine looked around the room in a confused state.
"What is your name?"
Charlus could only look on in horror as the man began answering the questions put to him, his level of deception towards his own country and those that opposed Grindelwald coming to light sickening to hear.
Fontaine had all but sealed his fate, but Harry was showing no signs that the interrogation was even close to being over.
(Break)
Bulgaria was not a place Gellert had spent much time, and he certainly did not plan to stay any longer than necessary now. The country had fallen swiftly what seemed to be so long ago and had been run by those in favour of his own interests since.
However, with the recent attempt to sabotage his hold here, and the impending follow-up attack, he was needed to lead his men against the invaders.
The streets around him hid his forces well, and none that entered Sofia would suspect that they were walking into a trap, not even Commander Evans.
"What is it, Herr Weber?" Gellert asked as he felt the man approaching from his left.
The German did not look pleased, his steely eyes expressing a rare anger.
"Evans is not coming," he replied, handing Gellert a sheet of parchment.
"Not coming?" Gellert whispered dangerously.
Weber,
The attack in Bulgaria has been called off in favour of one in Poland. I will update when I learn more.
F
Gellert's jaw tightened as he balled up the piece of parchment and threw it to the ground, his own anger spiking.
"We prepared for nothing," he growled.
"Not nothing," Weber corrected. "Poland."
"We are in Bulgaria!" Gellert snapped irritably. "It will take days to move the men and supplies there."
Weber said nothing else and Gellert paced back and forth for a moment.
"There is nothing for it," he decided. "We must be ready for his arrival."
"So, we move to Poland?"
"What choice do we have, Weber?" Gellert sighed. "For now, it seems that we are left chasing our own tails. Inform Hans and begin the preparations."
When his instructions were given, Gellert stalked away, cursing the ICW, cursing The Serpent, and cursing Harry Evans.
He despised all three with a passion, and the sooner he was rid of them, the better.
He smiled at the thought of a world free of the trio, calming himself as he was reminded that it was him who held the advantage, a bigger army, and more options with how to proceed.
The ICW could do what they wished, but it wouldn't be enough to stop him.
With his men at the front protected by the work he and Evans had carried out, there was no reason to delay the fighting.
An increase in intensity was needed, and just when the ICW forces thought things could get no worse for them, Gellert would strike harder, crippling their defences.
Indeed, the time had come that a war of attrition was no longer acceptable.
The fighting would resume and Gellert would overwhelm the men of the ICW until they had no option but to quit.
(Break)
For more than an hour now, Harry had questioned Fontaine, and the man had given him every answer he'd been looking for. Now all that remained was two final enquiries, one that would shape how he would proceed with this matter, and another that would likely open another door entirely, one that Harry had no desire to step through.
"Do you know of any others within the ICW trenches that is working for Grindelwald?"
"No," Fontaine answered.
Harry shook his head, feeling little relief that there appeared to be no others as far as Fontaine was aware.
Still, the damage the man had done was undeniable.
Being second in command had ensured he was made privy to information the ICW would prefer Grindelwald not to have learned, but it wasn't only his position that allowed such.
He had taken the time to befriend men from other groups, and they had been quite free with the things they knew, their tongues loosened under the guise of comradeship, and alcohol in some cases.
Fontaine had learned of Harry and Charlus's absence from the trenches when they had retrieved Summerbee through Gilbert, the drunken fool having given up the information.
Harry checked to ensure the man was still under the influence of the Veritaserum before accepting the words spoken as truth.
"Who is Weber?"
Fontaine froze as he stared expressionlessly at Harry for a moment, seemingly trying to resist the effects of the potion he'd ingested, so much so that his faced turned a shade of puce Harry had only ever seen in Vernon Dursley.
"Who is Weber?"
Fontaine lost the fight against the potion, and breathed heavily within his bindings, hunched forward as he gasped for air.
"He works for Grindelwald," he wheezed. "That is where he gets his information from."
"Information?" Harry pressed.
Fontaine nodded.
"He has spies all over the world that feed him information they think he will find useful. He passes it on and is one of Grindelwald's most useful assets."
"Where can I find him?"
Fontaine looked up at him, his eyes alight with amusement.
"You do not find Weber, he finds you."
The man began to laugh hysterically, as though he'd just been told the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"I'll find him," Harry muttered to himself. "Where is he?"
Fontaine composed himself after a moment before he shrugged.
"No one knows."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.
"How do you contact him?"
"With a messenger spell he taught me when I was recruited. You can't trick the spell. He will know who it is from and if any message is genuine."
"It's not worth risking," Charlus said tiredly. "If he's right, then we will just alert him."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Fine, I will see what I can come up with," he sighed.
Someone would know something, he just needed to look in the right places.
But where?
"How is someone recruited?" he asked Fontaine.
The man shook his head.
"It's like I said, Weber finds you if he thinks you could be useful to him."
"And what do you get in return?"
"Gold usually," Fontaine answered, "sometimes gifts will arrive from him, or he may even give tips on who to bet on in sporting competitions. When he does that, you place a big bet because he is never wrong."
"What competitions?"
"Duelling and Quidditch mostly."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
He didn't know how that could help him in his quandary, but it was a start.
Regardless of whatever steps he took, it was vital that Weber was silenced.
Knowledge truly was power in war, and the man had already proven a master at obtaining it to the advantage of the enemy.
"I'll take him in now," Harry sighed nodding towards Fontaine.
"What about this Weber bloke?" Charlus asked worriedly.
"I don't know," Harry huffed, "but I will figure it out. He needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later."
Charlus nodded his agreement, and as Harry secured the ropes around Fontaine before stunning him once more, he felt another burden weigh heavily on his shoulders.
His focus should be on fighting Grindelwald, but what good was that when the man held such a dangerous advantage over them?
He shook his head irritably.
The disadvantages of the ICW forces were plenty, and with no apparent prospect of receiving more men, and spies passing on vital information, it was a wonder they had not been steamrolled yet.
Not that Harry would allow that to happen without a fight.
Still, he could not help but feel they were facing almost insurmountable odds, and the moment Grindelwald decided his patience had run out, the consequences for the men Harry was leading would be dire.