HP: Night of the Wolf

As he had been doing for several weeks now, Gellert cursed the name Evans as he pressed the tip of his wand to his map, marking Finland in red, another country lost to him to the ICW forces.

The Netherlands had fallen first, followed by Denmark, then Norway, and now Finland. Four territories snatched from his grasp, and more of his followers killed.

The attacks came swiftly and as deadly as Gellert would have approached them were the roles reversed, and though he respected the ruthlessness and tenacity shown, it irked him so that he and his men were the subject of them.

The only light in what was becoming a darker tunnel was that his own men had swept through Portugal and taken it for him, but losing four countries was quite a blow, and one that no amount of preparation had prevented.

He could of course dedicate more men to defending his lands, but doing so would leave others vulnerable to attack, and that he could not do.

At all costs, he needed to maintain his control over France, Spain, and Germany. If he was to lose any of those, it would be a pivotal and perhaps major setback to his movement.

It was quite the quandary Gellert faced, and yet, he could see no way out of it, not without risking more than he knew he would lose.

"What is it?" he snapped as a knock sounded at the door to his study.

Weber entered, undeterred by Gellert's foul mood as he took a seat and looked at him thoughtfully.

"If you're going to tell me that we have lost another…"

Weber held up a placating hand and shook his head.

"No, Herr Grindelwald, I have come to discuss potential solutions to the problems we are facing."

"Do you have solutions?" Gellert asked somewhat petulantly.

"Perhaps," Weber replied.

Gellert eyed the man, doing his best to keep the irritation he felt at bay.

It had been like this since the night he had last seen Evans in front of Nurmengard when the man had absconded with Gellert's prisoners.

The man had escaped him, had fled like a coward, though given the circumstances he faced, it had been in his best interests.

Still, Evans' actions against him since then had only increased Gellert's ire, and he wanted the man dead, almost as much as he wished for his campaign to be successful.

"What would you suggest, Herr Weber," Gellert sighed as he deflated and took the seat opposite the German.

"If I may be blunt, we need more men," Weber replied as though such a thing was so simple to acquire.

With the success the ICW forces were having, recruitment had slowed to almost a standstill.

"And where do you suggest we find these men?" Gellert huffed.

"Further afield," Weber offered confidently. "The continent has stopped providing, so we must expand our search just as myself and Perseus did. It brought many to your side."

"It did," Gellert mused aloud as he stood and began to pace, "but we do not have Perseus to do this."

"We do not," Weber conceded, "but we have you. I believe your presence in this will show your dedication to your cause and will inspire more to pledge themselves to you. Gives those that may be undecided a reason to join you."

"And if it fails?"

Weber shook his head.

"I do not believe you will, but if the worst was to happen and our efforts are less fruitful than we hope, then we can always hire mercenaries. There are dozens of groups scattered across the globe willing to fight for anyone who can pay them the gold they seek."

Gellert frowned but nodded after a moment.

Perhaps Weber was on to something.

"Where do you propose we begin looking?" he asked curiously.

Weber smiled as he removed a sheet of parchment from within his jacket and proffered it to Gellert who took and perused it, humming thoughtfully as he did so.

"Are you certain of this?"

"As certain as can be," Weber assured him. "I have contacts in each of these places that believe their countrymen can be swayed. You merely need to arrive and do what you do best. They will flock to you."

The idea certainly had merit, and with recruitment all but non-existent in Europe, the opportunity was enticing.

It would also serve to give Gellert a break from the daily rut he had gotten himself into, though he had his concerns.

"Who will take charge in my absence?"

"Why does anyone need to?" Weber asked. "Should anything happen, you can be reached and consulted on what course of action would be best. You could task Black and Gaulitier with touring the territories under your control to improve the security in place. It would keep them suitably occupied."

"And what of the ICW? I cannot expect them to remain idle," Gellert pointed out.

"No, but they remain to be active even with you here," Weber countered. "Neither your absence or presence will change that, but with Black and Gaulitier doing what they can to better our defences, we can slow the ICW down at the very least until you return with the men we need to recapture the lands lost to us."

Weber made it sound all so simple, and had evidently given it considerable thought, but Gellert could not help feeling uneasy about leaving.

"I'm not sure, Herr Weber," he sighed.

"I sincerely believe this is the best approach we can take in this situation," Weber replied soothingly. "If we do not, we will continue losing more countries until the ICW comes for us, wherever we are, with an amassed force behind them. We do not wish to be cornered in such a way."

"We do not," Gellert agreed, the thought only making his unease grow. "Fine, I will heed your advice, Herr Weber. If you could arrange for Hans and Cassie to begin their work, I will manage the rest and keep you informed of my whereabouts."

Weber nodded compliantly.

"My contacts will welcome and guide you on your way," he explained before taking his leave of the room and leaving a very pensive Gellert in his wake.

He'd never been given a reason to distrust the German, who, if anything had been such a boon to his efforts, though Gellert had little desire to visit South America, not until his campaign called for it at least.

Still, Weber's advice had never led him astray, and with his own thoughts constantly occupied by the war, Gellert knew he would do well to listen to the man.

He just hoped that when he returned all his work had not been undone by the ICW forces, and Evans.

Despite what the governing body did, Gellert knew that Commander in Chief Evans, led them from the front.

(Break)

Dear Charlus,

It is difficult to ignore the pace in which the war has increased when the casualties continue to be admitted here.

Is there any sign that it will be over soon?

I think not, but that doesn't mean I can't hope.

Arcturus is writing to me regularly, as I'm sure you're aware and speaks very highly of you and Evans.

Will you be granted leave soon?

As ever, you are in my thoughts.

Do stay safe,

Dorea

Charlus yawned as he folded up the letter and placed it in his trunk with the others. At least once a week, Dorea would write, and though sometimes there was a delay in receiving them, he looked forward to her missives.

They were the one thing that kept him going through the seemingly never-ending conflict he found himself in.

He cast a warming charm over himself as he shuddered.

He had always thought of the winters in Britain as cold and unyielding, but here in Finland, they were much colder.

They had been here for almost three weeks since the country had been taken, and Charlus was grateful for the somewhat rest he and the others had been granted.

Ever since Harry had been made Commander in Chief, he had been pressing their advance, pushing the men to their limits.

Charlus understood why, and now that there was one person in charge of how the ICW progressed with the war, things were running much more efficiently.

The defences had been installed and bolstered, an effective move judging by how many counter-offensives they had repelled.

Harry somehow knew what he was doing, and though the man was a taskmaster, there was no other Charlus could think of who could lead them so effectively.

Of course, there had been casualties on the way, but they had suffered no defeat nor failed in their objectives thus far.

The war, however, was far from over, something that Harry reminded the men of to keep them grounded.

Charlus cast another warming charm over himself as he stood and lit a fire in the grate.

Despite their successes, he was growing tired of the cold and found himself jealous of his mother who was still in the tropics according to her latest letter.

He missed her and being away from home was hard enough knowing that when he returned next, she would likely be absent. It had been eight months since he saw his mother last, a much longer absence than when he had been at Hogwarts.

Still, she was safe where she was.

Even if Grindelwald managed to invade Britain, she would not be there.

It was a small comfort when he considered that very possibility, but one he was grateful for.

He would not lose another to Grindelwald if he could help it.

Sighing as he realised it would soon be time to attend training with the Russians, he took his leave of his room just as it was beginning to warm and stepped into the minus temperatures outside.

Sokolov had insisted all should be taught how to fight and survive in the conditions found in the colder climates of Europe, something Charlus was sure would prove to be useful, though that didn't stop him cursing the lessons.

When the war was over, he would spend some time somewhere hot to recover from this ordeal, the thought bringing a smile to his weather-beaten lips, an expression that turned to a frown as he spotted Arcturus leaned against the building his was staying in.

"You'll bloody freeze there if you don't move," he snorted as he approached the man who was oddly concerned. "What's happened?"

Arcturus shook his head as he handed Charlus a letter he'd received, and the Potter lord released a deep breath as he read it.

"Bollocks," he muttered sympathetically. "What are you going to do?"

Arcturus shrugged.

"I don't know," he murmured and Charlus gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Go and speak to Harry," he urged. "You have my support to take some leave to deal with this. I don't see why Harry would have a problem with it."

"I'm needed here," Arcturus pointed out.

"We will manage," Charlus said firmly. "Speak with him, he will understand."

Arcturus nodded.

"Thanks, Charlus," he offered sincerely before heading in the direction of the Post Office Harry had used to set-up the temporary headquarters they were using whilst they were here.

Charlus suspected this wouldn't be the case for much longer.

Harry had already voiced his eagerness to take the Ukraine from Grindelwald, and if the country proved to be even slightly warmer than Finland, Charlus too would be grateful to move on, even if it meant more fighting.

(Break)

It felt as though his life had become little more than spending his days poring over maps, barking orders at the men he had been charged to leave, a few hours of training, and conducting attacks, though the latter had slowed somewhat recently.

Not that Harry felt a shift in momentum.

Ever since he had been installed as the Commander in Chief of the ICW forces, progress was finally being made, and with every victory, morale was certainly on the up.

Harry, however, kept himself grounded.

The successes were most welcome, but they were still not even close to winning the war.

Not yet, at least.

Still, he was pleased with the progress being made, and proud of the men for persevering. Even over the Christmas period, they had given him all he could have asked of them and kept pushing forward when most wished for nothing more than to be home with their families.

Deciding who could take leave for the festive period had not been easy, but he had ultimately prioritised those with children waiting for them.

Many had been disappointed, but there was little to be done. They could not simply abandon their posts to return home, and Harry was certainly not willing to give Grindelwald a reprieve.

With considerable help from the Russians, taking Denmark, Norway, and Finland had been rather anti-climactic, the men stationed to defend the countries having no understanding how to do so in the cold climate.

Ultimately, the defences of each had collapsed with little resistance, and now the Russians were firmly in control of them with their attention now focused on the Ukraine.

The defences there had been bolstered, or Grindelwald had simply chosen to post more men to hold it when the others fell so easily.

The Ukraine would not do so, their numbers being much greater, but with Sokolov and a contingency of his men harassing the guards at the border, whatever morale they had would soon be broken.

Yaxley was doing the same at the Estonian border with a mixed group of Spaniards and Frenchmen.

Although progress had slowed due to the freezing weather, Harry was ensuring his enemies were not granted a moment of peace, his sporadic appearances as The Serpent ensuring that.

He snorted at the thought.

It was not as though he was allowed peace with all that played on his mind.

Between planning advances and directing the men, peace was a foreign concept to him, and with Summerbee still trying to identify Weber, his mind was always occupied with something pertaining to the war.

He'd heard nothing for several weeks from the woman, something that was concerning given that she informed him that she was following what she believed to be a solid lead in Germany.

A part of him wished that he'd not sent her, but Weber could not be left unchecked.

Harry wanted the man eliminated, and with that, Grindelwald would lose one of his greatest assets.

"Come in," he called when a knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his thoughts.

It was Arcturus that entered, his expression one of uncharacteristic worry.

"I received this letter today and was hoping I could be allowed to return home for a few days to remedy it," he explained as he handed a sheet of parchment to Harry.

With a sigh, Harry returned it before nodding.

"I won't pretend to understand all of the pureblood courtesies, but I suppose this is a big deal?"

Arcturus nodded.

"Formal gatherings like this can only mean that her father is open to a contract for her hand, even if he has provisionally agreed to us marrying," he explained. "Selwyn will do whatever he can to secure a bride for one of his sons, and with me not there…"

"Melania's father is more likely to agree to a match," Harry finished.

"You see the problem," Arcturus sighed.

Harry would never have taken the Lord Black to be so outwardly upset, his usually cool demeanour remaining in place even during the most difficult of times.

This meant a lot to the man, and Harry certainly wasn't going to deny the request.

Reaching into his desk, he removed a metal token that would serve as a portkey, and after creating it, he slid it across the desk.

"Take a week," he insisted.

Arcturus breathed a sigh of relief as he accepted the token, his posture relaxing.

"Thank you, Evans," he said gratefully.

Harry nodded and held up a hand to prevent Arcturus from leaving.

Removing his trunk from within his pocket and resizing it, he retrieved a stack of muggle notes.

"Whilst you are home, there is something you could do for me, if you have time."

"Of course," Arcturus replied.

"Could you take this to the church in Godric's Hollow? Usually at Christmas time, I volunteer there, but missed it this time around. Explain to the priest that this has come from me and the Potter family. He knows us well enough."

Arcturus nodded and pocketed the money.

"I will get it to him," he promised.

Harry smiled gratefully.

It would be one less thing playing on his mind whilst he was here.

He felt guilty for missing the tradition, and he knew that Charlus did too.

Giving the church money wasn't the same as being there, but it was something.

"Go on, get yourself home," Harry urged. "I'll cover your duties."

He chuckled to himself as Arcturus all but sprinted from the room in his eagerness to get away, and Harry followed only a moment later to attend the training session the Russians were holding.

In truth, Harry had become accustomed to the cold during his time as a Hit-Wizard, but he would not ask something of his men that he himself was not willing to do.

Especially when they were here laying their lives on the line and would need to do so again much sooner than any of them wished.

(Break)

Albus watched the boy closely as he went about completing his transfigurations. His talent was undeniable, but it was clear Tom had no passion for the subject. Even in his theory work it was impossible to ignore the boredom he wrote with.

Even so, Albus had tried to offer him some encouragement, had presented Tom with more challenging tasks that were completed with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

Whether it was the lack of rapport the two of them shared, Albus couldn't be certain, but what was clear was that Tom had no desire to be in this class.

As an educator, it was frustrating to see the boy squander his talents, but as someone so concerned with the behaviour of the teen, it felt almost justified that he wouldn't perhaps reach the heights of the potential he demonstrated.

Albus shook his head as he watched the rest of the class struggling with their own work.

If he thought that his prompting would yield positive results, he would ask Tom to help them.

Instead, the boy shot sideways glances at his classmates, grinning to himself at their failures.

Arrogance and selfishness.

That was what it came to with Tom who had never made the effort to integrate with his peers, even in first year when others had tried to befriend him, he had rebuffed their efforts.

The same, however, could not be said for the older Slytherins that Tom often spent his time.

The thought caused Albus to frown.

He didn't know what had happened, but the older boys and even a few girls gravitated to the fourth year, choosing to sit with him during meals and even walking to class with him before heading to their own.

None of these were done in sympathy or in an attempt to protect him from bullies but done so in a way that made Albus question why they sought his company.

These were purebloods that were almost hanging off a younger boy they would certainly see as below them, and not only that, but they also seemed to pander to him, paying rapt attention to his every word.

It was odd to say the least, and though Albus had paid more attention to what was happening in Slytherin in recent weeks, it only served to concern him more.

Tom would often vanish for hours at a time, and Albus had no idea where he would go. Even following him closely, the boy would disappear without trace after rounding a corner.

Having thus far failed to locate where he was going, Albus had checked the library and the books that Tom had been borrowing, most of which came from the restricted section.

The librarian confirmed that Tom had a permanent pass signed by Horace and that there were no limitations on what he could read.

The restricted section was labelled so for a reason, and the transfiguration professor was not comfortable with any student, let alone Tom, having access to some of the knowledge that could be found within.

With Armando's permission, Albus had removed several tomes that had no place in a school, something that should have been done decades ago as far as he was concerned.

The removed books had been placed in the headmaster's office, some two hundred works when his task had been complete.

Not that it would matter.

Tom had already taken several of them out on loan in the past couple of years.

The knowledge the boy possessed at his young age was dangerous for even the most accomplished wizards, and if Tom was not careful in what he did with it, it would be to his own detriment.

Dark magic, such as many of the things he had come across, should not be delved into, and certainly not by a boy who did not have the tools to counter the effects it could have.

No, the books that explained these strategies and practices had not been touched by Tom, and having discussed his concerns with Rosalina, she assured Albus that she would watch the boy closely for signs that he was indulging in the Dark Arts.

How she could tell, Albus knew not.

Tom, from the very moment he'd met him, exhibited worrying tendencies and traits, two things that would only become more dominant characteristics the deeper he delved.

With how introverted the boy was, it would be almost impossible to make a judgement on just how much of this magic he was attempting.

"That will be all for today," Albus announced as their time together came to an end, and he was unsurprised to see that Tom was the first to leave the room.

With the boy gone, he shifted his attention to Minerva who was on the cusp of being granted her mastery in the subject.

The woman looked more tired than usual, her skin slightly paler, and the dark circles around her eyes speaking volumes to the lack of sleep she was getting.

Albus had no doubt that her thoughts were far away from Hogwarts, and with the young man who was leading the fight against Gellert on the continent, the violence having increased exponentially in the previous weeks.

Harry was proving to be a successful leader, his victories growing in number, but being left as little more than a witness to the events with no control how they played out was taking its toll on his apprentice.

"How are you, Minerva?" Albus asked.

She offered him a smile, and though he wished to believe it to be genuine, it was strained.

"I'm fine," she said dismissively and Albus shot her a pointed look. "I'm just worried."

"About Harry?"

Minerva frowned briefly before nodding.

"Yes," she answered quickly. "I've not heard from him for a few days."

Albus offered her a sympathetic smile.

He knew it was difficult for her with Harry being away, and the pivotal part he was playing in the war.

"Take the rest of the week off," he urged. "I think a few days away from the castle will be good for you. You haven't visited your parents in a while."

His tone left no room for compromise, and Minerva evidently thought it best not to try.

With a grateful nod, she made her way towards the door, and Albus watched her closely as she left.

She had been coping so well, and he was proud of her for how she had managed to do so, but even the strongest of people would waver during times like these.

For Minerva, it was no surprise that she had reached the point, and Albus only hoped that visiting her parents would help keep her mind off what was occurring on the continent.

He had his doubts and wished there was much more he could do for her.

(Break)

Having visited Godric's Hollow previously, Arcturus was somewhat familiar with it, even if his previous venture had been for a rather sombre affair.

The village was one of very few communities in Britain where magicals and muggles alike seemingly lived quite harmoniously together.

It was, of course, famous for Gryffindor having lived here, along with many other prominent families throughout history; the latest being the Potters who made no secret of their guardianship over the area.

With Harry's request firmly in his mind, Arcturus had wanted to complete the task before moving on to the reason he had returned home and did not want to be distracted by anything else whilst conducting his business with Lord Macmillan.

Arcturus had never spent time in the company of muggles, but even he could see that he was oddly dressed compared to those around him, though they did not give him a second look.

Evidently, they were used to seeing wizarding attire, and that suited the Lord Black just fine.

Entering the church, it took very little time to locate the priest who offered Arcturus a warm smile, a gesture that did little to relieve the unease the latter felt.

"Welcome, young man," the priest greeted. "What can I do for you today?"

Arcturus removed the stack of odd currency that Harry had given him and held it out to the other man.

"I was asked to deliver this to you by Harry Evans on behalf of him and Charlus Potter."

The priest's expression softened at the mention of the men as he accepted the gift.

"I did wonder where they had gotten to," he sighed. "Am I to assume that they have been sent to fight in that awful war?"

Arcturus nodded.

"They have," he confirmed, and the priest murmured under his breath mentioning a father watching over them.

Arcturus had no idea what the man was rambling about but did not question it.

Muggles had strange practices indeed.

"I will pray for them both," the priest said passionately, "and for you, of course. Please, let them know my thoughts are with them."

Arcturus nodded before taking his leave of the church, his mind now able to focus on what brought him home.

He had returned to Grimmauld Place only briefly to remove the scruff from his chin and dress in a manner befitting his station. It would not do to arrive at the Macmillan home in his ICW-issued robes that, no matter what effort Arcturus made, had an aroma of death about them.

Dorea had not been there, no doubt having left for the hospital where she spent much of her life, though all thoughts of his sister were forgotten as he stood in front of the modest house belonging to the family of his intended.

The Macmillans were what most would consider to be a wealthy family, but in comparison to the likes of the Blacks, the Malfoys, and the Longbottoms, their fortune would be little more than a drop in a bucket.

Not that such a thing was important to Arcturus.

He certainly wasn't interested in Melania for any other ulterior reason than the woman herself.

In truth, he would gain nothing that most other lords would seek from this marriage. He would request no dowry and would even pay for the wedding himself.

All Arcturus sought was Melania's hand, nothing more.

Still, he felt a sense of nervousness wash over him as he knocked on the front door.

He had met both of her parents, but not in such a capacity that he may have to exert himself over them.

If Lord Macmillan had indeed agreed to meet with Selwyn to discuss a possible marriage match, the man had both slighted and disrespected Arcturus.

It was Lady Macmillan that answered, her expression one of shock, but equally of relief.

"Lord Black," she breathed, offering Arcturus a smile.

"I'm here to see your husband, Lady Macmillan," Arcturus replied shortly.

The woman nodded and gestured for him to enter, her relief being replaced by the same nervousness that Arcturus felt.

"Has Selwyn been yet?"

Lady Macmillan shook her head.

"He is coming tomorrow to meet with my husband. Please, come through."

The woman was intimidated by him, as were most other purebloods, with good reason.

The history of the Blacks was spotted with some rather unsavoury characters, the footsteps in which Cassie seemed determined to follow in.

"Arcturus!" Melania gasped as he entered the living room, quickly clearing the distance between them and throwing herself into his arms.

The Lord Black did nothing but bask in her presence, her scent filling his nose and relaxing him considerably.

He had missed her, more than even he had thought.

"You got my letter?"

Arcturus nodded, his eyes narrowing at the man who entered to see what the commotion was.

At the sight of Arcturus, Lord Macmillan swallowed deeply.

"L-Lord Black," he greeted him with a hurried bow.

Arcturus flared his nostrils irritably, the sight of the man testing the hold he had over his temper.

"I believe that we have things to discuss, do we not?"

Macmillan nodded and gestured for Arcturus to take a seat on the sofa.

He did so with Melania refusing to let go of his arm, and Arcturus levelled a glare at the woman's father.

"I would like you to explain to me why it is that you are going back on our agreement."

Macmillan shook his head frantically.

"I had no intention to. Selwyn, he's threatening me."

"Threatening you?" Arcturus growled.

Macmillan nodded.

"He says that if I don't marry Melania to his heir that he and his friends will take exception to me."

"Selwyn doesn't have any friends," Arcturus huffed.

"But what if the rumours are true?" Macmillan asked worriedly.

Arcturus frowned questioningly and Melania squeezed his forearm.

"Some of the other lords are claiming that Selwyn is trying to convince them to support Grindelwald," she explained.

Arcturus hummed.

If Selwyn believed Grindelwald was winning, he would side with him.

"So, he is supporting him already?"

Macmillan shrugged.

"I don't know, but his threats do not appear to be empty."

"Then I will deal with him," Arcturus declared. "He is arriving tomorrow?"

"He is," Lady Macmillan confirmed, "but I fear that it is too late. He said that he will be bringing a contract for us to sign."

"You have no need to worry about Selwyn," Arcturus said dismissively.

"But when you go back, he will try again."

Arcturus's jaw tightened at the thought.

Until he and Melania were married, Selwyn could do as he wished to convince her parents to go along with his wishes, so long as it was within the law.

Not that such a thing mattered to the likes of Selwyn, though pondering it, Arcturus had a sudden brain wave.

"Marry me," he requested, grinning as Melania's eyes widened.

"We can't just get married, Arcturus," she huffed, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"Yes, we can," he countered. "We only need your parents and my sister there, and I think I may know a way we can do it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Melania yelped. "I don't even have a dress."

"You could arrive in the same state as a house-elf and it wouldn't matter to me," he declared. "We can do this now and have a real wedding when we have time to plan it."

Melania was overwhelmed, but still smiling, something Arcturus took as a good sign as she looked questioningly towards her father.

"When we are married, your daughter will be a Black and under the protection of my house, as will the rest of your family," Arcturus explained.

"What about a contract, or dowry?" Lord Macmillan asked worriedly.

Arcturus shook his head.

"Forget both of them," he urged. "I do not require a dowry and your daughter will have everything she could ever want. There doesn't need to be a contract."

Lord Macmillan was taken aback.

Most other lords of a similarly higher standing than the Macmillans would demand quite a lucrative dowry to allow them to marry into their family.

"You're sure about this?" he pressed.

"Yes," Arcturus answered firmly, eliciting a smile from the man.

"Then I will of course agree, so long as this is what my daughter wants?"

Melania nodded, beaming as she continued to cling to Arcturus's arm.

"My only question is, how do you plan on finding someone to marry the two of you at such short notice?"

Arcturus snorted to himself, thanking Harry for asking him to complete his errand for him.

(Break)

It had not been difficult for Harry to enter the Ukraine by himself but doing so with hundreds of others would not go unnoticed, so a stealthy invasion swallowed by a swift coup was next to impossible.

The defences here were unlike any other he'd faced, the very same ones that were used to protect Russia, according to Petr, and these had only been added to by Grindelwald.

No, the approach the ICW forces had used thus far would not work here.

Portkeying in would be too dangerous, and their losses great.

The Ukraine was much vaster than the Netherlands and Denmark, and such little effort had been made to prevent them from taking Finland.

Here, it was different.

Grindelwald was evidently keen to hold on to this land and continue his threat of a Russian invasion.

He had not attempted to do so yet, and Harry had his doubts that he would follow through with it, but the presence of his forces on the Russian border was not something that could be ignored or left unchecked.

It left Harry and the rest of his men in a precarious position.

They simply couldn't abandon the plan to take the Ukraine but doing so would be a drawn-out affair.

He sighed as he stroked the head of his companion, the snake making a rare appearance now that the two of them were alone.

It really was an odd creature.

Beneath his fingers it felt solid, but in any given moment, his hand could slip straight through it as though it was a ghost of sorts, and Harry could not even begin to fathom what magic it possessed.

It was warm to the touch, unthreatening to him, but within, there was more than a hint of potential danger.

Still, it was little more than a hatchling, and though it was already large, the snake was in its infancy.

"Shall we leave this place?"

The snake hissed gently, the words not yet discernible, but it seemed to understand him now when he spoke to it.

It was an improvement from their first meeting, the thought bringing an amused grin to Harry's lips.

The serpent had been so hostile, had even tried to harm him, but now, it looked to Harry for protection whilst it became familiar with the world.

"Come on, let's get somewhere warm."

The snake hissed excitedly, eliciting a chuckle from the man as he stroked its head once more.

There was no indication of whether it was male or female, so Harry had not given it a name yet.

With a final look around, Harry vanished from the capitol to inform Petr of his decision on what they would do next.

The reprieve the men had been given from fighting these past weeks was over now, and as he arrived at the camp that his second in command was currently calling home, he offered the man a nod.

"We will take the border tomorrow," Harry declared, receiving a relieved cheer from the Russians and an approving slap on the back from Petr.

If Harry had his way, each country they took from Grindelwald would be as simple as the others had been, but he knew that such a thing could not last.

No, they would need to fight for every inch of ground they gained from here on out, spill more blood than ever before with the only saving grace being that they were now the invaders, and not the waiting force they had been on the French border.

The offensive would start tomorrow, and as Harry had already vowed, he would ensure that Grindelwald and his forces were not granted a moment of peace.