HP: Night of the Wolf

"I don't think you'll get it to fade much more," Reg murmured as he inspected Nancy's latest scar.

She had been clipped with a searing curse leaving a burn across the back of her shoulder, an angry purple mark where the skin had bubbled. It was no longer so, but the tarnished flesh was still thick and puckered.

The woman released a deep sigh.

"Is it bad?"

Reg shook his head.

"Why does it matter?" he asked curiously.

"You're a pureblood, Reg," Nancy huffed. "It's been difficult enough for my father to find a husband for me. He only agreed to let me become an auror to shield him from that shame."

Reg frowned in confusion.

"Why would it be so hard to find you a husband?"

Nancy pulled her robes up to cover her shoulder before turning to face him, her almost silvery eyes laced with sadness.

"Look at me," she snorted humourlessly. "I'm over six feet tall, and come from a poor, pureblood family. Even in America I'm not considered a prize bride. There's nothing to be gained from a marriage to me."

"That's ridiculous," Reg chuckled.

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Add this into the mix," she continued, pointing to the prominent scar protruding from her hairline, "and the fact that my family supported Grindelwald whilst he was there, and you have the definition of an outcast."

"Your family supported him?" Reg asked, surprised by the revelation.

"At first," Nancy confirmed. "He promised he would restore the wealth that had been stolen from us by another family, and my father fell for it. When he was captured, everyone knew we had championed him. I had to jump through so many hoops just to be accepted into the auror academy."

Reg leaned back in his chair as he observed the woman.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect that," he mused aloud.

Nancy offered him a sad smile.

"It wasn't until I got older that I realised how stupid my father had been," she sighed. "I don't support him now."

Reg held up his hands to placate her.

"My family doesn't have the best reputation, but it is my brother that has to deal with that. I'm just a second son who has to endure the grimaces from others whenever my name is mentioned."

Nancy frowned at him questioningly, and Reg deflated.

"Only a few generations ago, my family was found to be involved in some very unsavoury business ventures. Our reputation hasn't recovered, especially since we still live off the proceeds. My father cares more for his life of luxury than he does about our reputation, and my brother is the same."

"But not you?"

Reg chuckled as he shook his head.

"Being out here and experiencing what I have, I'd sooner have nothing and live a simple, peaceful life. When it is all over, I plan to join the aurors, and finding a small home for myself. As long as it has walls, a ceiling, and I have food in my belly, that will be my luxury."

Nancy shot him a speculative look.

"Sounds like the American dream," she pointed out.

"I don't know about that, but it's my dream," he reiterated.

"Well, it's a good dream to have."

Reg nodded.

"I just have to make sure I survive this first. Your leader isn't making that easy."

Nancy nodded her agreement.

"Ken is…"

"A prat?" Reg cut in, eliciting a smirk from the woman.

"Yes, but he feels like he has something to prove," she explained. "We weren't exactly welcomed with open arms, and that hurt his pride. He's not usually so…"

"Incompetent?"

"Exactly," Nancy replied. "Your leader, Evans, what's he like? We only know what we have read in the papers."

Reg released a deep breath as he pondered the question.

"If it wasn't for Harry, we wouldn't be where we are now," he answered honestly. "He's saved our lives from things that most people would have nightmares about, kept us together when we were so close to falling apart, and risked his life countless times. Those things you read in the paper are probably true, but there's so much more to him."

"He has the respect of his men."

Reg nodded.

"He's earned it," he assured her. "He killed a dragon for us and has sent Grindelwald himself packing several times. More than that, he's our friend who does his best to keep us all safe."

"He sounds like a good leader."

Reg snorted.

"We probably would have lost the war already without him," he sighed. "He's a good man, who has earned the reputation he has. Adams would do well to listen to him."

Nancy nodded her agreement.

"Well, let's hope he's learned something from this mess," she murmured.

"He has to survive Harry first," Reg pointed out. "He will be furious when he gets back."

"Why isn't he here?" Nancy asked curiously.

"He finally took some leave to spend time with his daughter," Reg explained. "She's just a baby and he's been here since she was born. He even missed her birth."

"The poor man," Nancy sympathised.

"He's sacrificed a lot for this war," Reg huffed, "but missing that hurt him the most. Anyway, you'll get to meet him properly soon enough. He's due back today, so if I was Adams, I'd keep my head down. You don't really want to be on the wrong side of Harry."

"I'll bear that in mind," Nancy snorted. "Isn't that him?"

Reg looked to where she was pointing towards the unmistakable figure that was Harry Evans walking towards where the Russian lodgings were.

"That's him," he confirmed.

(Break)

The week spent at home had gone by much too quickly for Harry's liking. It was as though he'd barely arrived before he was once more having to say his goodbyes to Minerva and a little girl that had no understanding of the world she had been born into.

It certainly didn't lift his spirits that he already had things he needed to address, that his advice to his American counterpart had been ignored for the sake of pride, or whatever Adams' motivation had been to attack Grindelwald's forces across the border.

"What have you got for me, Petr?" he asked as he entered the room the man used as an office.

The Russian was startled by the sound of his voice but stood immediately and clapped Harry on the shoulder in greeting.

"It's been quiet," he replied. "Other than the stupid American, nothing else has happened."

Harry nodded gratefully.

"That's something, I suppose," he muttered. "Where's Adams?"

Petr grinned quite smugly before he answered.

"In the medical bay," he answered without any hint of sympathy. "He almost lost an arm and a leg."

Harry could only shake his head.

The man had brought it on himself, after all.

"Let's go and speak to him," he decided. "Despite how you feel about the Americans, we need to work together if they're going to be a part of this war. Think of it as being the bigger man," he added when Petr opened his mouth to protest.

He narrowed his eyes at Harry but gave a stiff nod.

"I am the bigger man," he muttered before gesturing for Harry to follow him.

With a grin of amusement, Harry did so, and the duo made their way through the streets of Ruse towards the field hospital.

"Do you think he will be difficult?"

Petr snorted at the question.

"He's American, they're always difficult."

"Why do you hate each other so much?" Harry asked interestedly.

Petr shrugged.

"The history between our countries is long and unpleasant," he replied. "They're arrogant, cocky, and won't ever admit they're wrong."

"That sounds a lot like you Russians," Harry quipped.

Petr frowned before a grin tugged at his lips.

"Maybe," he grunted. "We don't get on and that won't ever change. It is like asking a bear and a wolf to be friends."

"Is that a Russian saying?"

Petr huffed.

"I don't know, but have you ever seen a wolf and a bear as friends."

Harry shook his head.

"I can't say that I have."

"Then shut up," Petr chuckled good-naturedly.

They remained silent until they entered the makeshift hospital which comprised of a dozen or so large tents, each of them reserved to treat different ailments.

"I'm looking for Ken Adams," Harry informed one of the healers who was taking notes on a piece of parchment.

"Tent nine, bay eleven," the man replied without looking up from his work.

"Is that how you always address your commander?" Petr snapped.

The healer balked as he looked up at the two of them and began stammering an apology.

"It's fine," Harry assured him raising an eyebrow at his Russian friend. "Bloody hell, leave the poor man alone."

Petr laughed uproariously as he slapped the healer on the back.

"It was only a joke."

"Not a funny joke," the healer muttered as he walked away.

"I thought he was going to shit himself," Petr said gleefully.

"I would have made you clean it up, without magic," Harry returned with a smirk before he began heading towards where the American commander was likely resting up.

"I'd like to see you try," Petr replied challengingly.

Harry ignored him in favour of seeking out the man he had greeted only a week ago, any amusement he felt all but absent as the reality of the situation he faced set in.

As much as he was irritated with Adams, he needed the man to work with him and not jeopardise the work he and his men had done since arriving on the continent.

"Come to gloat?" the American asked sullenly as Harry and Petr rounded the curtain.

The man was pale, and evidently sulking at his failure.

"No," Harry sighed as he took a seat beside the bed, gesturing for Petr to do the same. "I've come to tell you that you really are a tosser and that I hope you learned something from your stupid attempt."

Adams scowled at him for a moment before seemingly swallowing his pride and nodding.

"It was a stupid thing to do without careful planning," he admitted. "I should have listened to you, and because I didn't, I lost many men and women."

"You did," Harry replied. "Now do you understand what we are facing?"

Adams nodded.

"I learned it the hard way," he mumbled. "I don't want to lose any more of my people."

"That's inevitable," Harry pointed out, "but you can minimise the losses. Work with me and I will do what I can to get as many of you home as I can. If you work against me, you will shoulder the consequences yourself."

Adams remained silent for a few moments.

"I suppose we got off on the wrong foot," he admitted wryly. "Ken Adams. An idiot who doesn't want to make the same mistake twice," he reintroduced himself as he offered his hand.

Harry accepted the handshake.

"Harry Evans," he replied in kind. "A man who has made and learned from his mistakes."

Adams cracked a knowing smile as he turned to Petr, his expression becoming more guarded.

"I suppose we will be working together too."

Petr nodded stiffly.

"Da, for this war at least."

Adams snorted.

"Well, for the time being, I'm willing to put any enmity between our countries aside for my people. They're more important than anything that has happened in the past."

"Da, I am willing to do the same," he conceded, accepting the proffered limb of the American.

Harry nodded his approval, relieved that the two had reached something of a tentative agreement.

"You'd best heal up, Adams," he urged. "When you're ready, we will be picking up where you left off. There's no reason to let our numbers advantage go to waste, but we will do it in a way that works for us."

Adams nodded as he leaned back into his pillows.

"Home before Christmas?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I wouldn't bet on it," he answered honestly, "but home alive and well when ever this comes to an end."

Adams grinned.

"If I had some whiskey, I'd drink to that."

"No, no, no," Petr denied. "Vodka is the only drink to toast with. Your whiskey is like piss," he added as he removed his canteen and took a deep sip before offering it to Adams.

With some reluctance, the injured man accepted it and devolved into a coughing fit after he drank, eliciting a guffaw from the Russian.

"Goddam, what was that?" Adams spluttered, red in the face.

"Good vodka," Petr answered. "You will get used to it, comrade."

The American looked sceptical, but he took another, smaller sip, grimacing as the strong spirit slid down his throat.

"I don't know about that," he choked, "but it's better than nothing."

"It is better than everything," Petr countered.

Harry could only shake his head.

The two of them would never likely be friends, but he would sooner this than have them at each other's throats.

Their lives and those of their forces could very well depend on it.

(Break)

Minerva had never spent so long away from the castle, but it had been months since she had been here. She had been focusing on raising Rosa, and the babe had been too small to be apparated, portkeyed or taken through the floo system.

Now, however, at almost eight months old, there was no reason she couldn't visit the place that would become a second home to her.

Armando had been writing every week for the past month all but demanding Minerva brought her in to see him and the other members of staff, and she had finally relented, though it wasn't until she laid eyes on the school that she realised just how much she was missing the place.

Minerva didn't regret her decision to take this year off, but Hogwarts was a big part of her life, and when the time was right, she couldn't wait to return.

With it being the weekend, there was not so many students roaming the halls, most choosing to remain in their common rooms as the weather was yet to break.

Still, those that Minerva did come across took a moment to look into the pram she pushed and offered their congratulations.

Rosa took it in her stride, already used to being the centre of attention.

By the time she managed to reach the headmaster's office, she had already been within the school for close to half an hour, delayed by the students.

"Let me see her," Armando requested as soon as she crossed the threshold, meeting her halfway between the door and his desk. "Aww," he cooed. "Look, Albus, she has a green bow."

With an amused grin, Minerva nodded her permission for the man to pick her up, and he did so, laughing as Rosa pulled his beard.

"She's beautiful," Armando declared, receiving a nod of agreement from Albus.

Her mentor had visited often during Minerva's absence from the castle.

It was him that had brought Rosa the green bow that was tied into her thick, red hair now.

"She's a handful," Minerva snorted. "If I turn my back for one second, she's trying to escape."

Armando grinned.

"Just you wait until she starts walking," he warned. "You'll spend most of your life chasing her away from things she shouldn't be near."

"She's an adventurer," Albus commented amusedly. "Just like her father, I imagine."

Minerva nodded.

"I could have swung for Harry last week," she huffed. "He took Rosa for a walk through the grounds. They'd been gone for a while, so I went to look for them. What do you think I found?"

"Well, judging by your rather displeased expression, I would say it was something you're still irked by," Armando replied.

Minerva hummed.

"He had taken her on his broom and was flying laps around the house."

Albus snorted, and Minerva shot him a glare.

She wasn't angry with Harry, but she had certainly been taken aback.

"Rosa wasn't harmed, was she?" Armando questioned.

Minerva huffed irritably as she shook her head.

"No, she was giggling just as much as he was," she muttered.

"Ah, so we may have a future Quidditch star on our hands," Armando mused aloud.

"Or a lunatic, just like her father," Minerva pointed out. "You find it funny now, but she will be your student one day," she reminded both men.

That sobered them, but both continued to smile, nonetheless.

"I look forward to the day," Armando declared, "and you forget, Minerva, she will be your student too. Unless you have decided you do not wish to come back?"

"No," Minerva denied. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Good," Armando declared happily. "Now that you are here, I was hoping you may be able to shed some light on an incident that occurred last week involving a certain Slytherin student."

"An incident?" Minerva asked guardedly.

Armando nodded.

"It was during the early hours of Wednesday that I felt a disturbance, and as I left my office to investigate, I spotted a rather dishevelled Mr Riddle sprinting across the Entrance Hall wearing soaked and torn robes. I would say he was certainly quite terrified. Horace has been unable to glean anything from the boy."

Minerva nodded her understanding.

"From what Harry said, Riddle found the Chamber of Secrets, but he got more than he bargained for," Minerva explained. "He won't be venturing down there anymore."

Armando frowned.

"It is quite disturbing that he managed to find it in the first place," he murmured. "He has become rather adept at avoiding being detected."

Albus nodded his agreement.

"I myself struggle to locate him within the castle. Even the portraits seldom see him in the halls unless he is attending his classes."

"Perhaps we could use the elves to track him," Armando suggested. "If he is finding places like the Chamber of Secrets, Merlin only knows what else he has found, and worse yet, what the boy is up to."

Minerva wouldn't pretend to know exactly what Riddle was doing, but she could not deny that she felt more than a little disturbed by it, even more so the older he got.

(Break)

It was a few times a year that Slughorn would gather a group of students within his own quarters. He would sup them, regale them of tales of all the well-known witches and wizards he knew, and boast of how highly he was thought of by them.

He would then proceed to show off all the gifts he'd received over the years and tell them how he had been so pivotal in their successes.

It was no coincidence that the professor only invited those from pureblood families, or those he believed would go on to be vaunted in their chosen fields.

Those within the room would be the subject of Slughorn's future bragging, of how these intimate dinners had inspired them to whatever they would eventually achieve.

Tom quite respected the man for his guile, but he saw through the façade, the overly exaggerated pleasantries.

Slughorn served only himself.

A Slytherin through and through, it seemed.

Tom was in no mood to be here.

He was still seething about what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, how his legacy had been stolen from him.

Having played over the near-death experience in his mind time and time again, Tom could only draw one conclusion as to who had dared sabotage the room.

Harry Evans.

The mere thought of the man made his lip curl in distaste.

It could only have been him.

As much as Tom had tried to rationalise the improbability that Evans was behind it, it proved to be the only logical explanation.

No member of the Gaunt family had been to Hogwarts in several generations, and the footprints had been quite fresh.

The note had also alluded to the perpetrator not hailing from the Slytherin line, so that too eliminated his magical relatives.

The revelation, however, did raise only more questions as to how Evans had come to possess his ability in parseltongue, but Tom could find no explanation for that.

Try as he might, nothing made sense.

Still, what he was certain of was that Evans had been the one to lay the trap in the chamber, and it only made Tom despise the man more.

Evans would get what he deserved.

How dare he commit such a transgression against his betters?

"Is everything alright, Tom?" the voice of Slughorn broke into his thoughts.

Tom schooled his features into the easy smile that seemed to work with the man, and the professor's own expression shifted from one of concern to something akin to relief.

"Sorry, Professor," Tom replied. "I was just pondering a rather vexing problem with something I'm looking into."

"Think nothing of it, Tom," Slughorn said dismissively. "A curse of such a gifted mind is that it must always be occupied. I suppose for one so young, my droning on can be quite tedious."

"Not at all," Tom assured the man, "I find your stories quite fascinating."

Slughorn smiled brightly before turning his attention to David Belby who had raised his hand, earning a nod of gratitude from Tom.

It had taken some adjusting to have almost the entire house at his beck and call. It was not something Tom had anticipated nor manufactured, but his association with Vinda and the other Slytherins who had graduated the previous year had elevated his position.

Somehow, even though he was only a fifth year, Tom had become the unspoken leader of the house. Even without the benefits of the best seat in the common room and being able to 'borrow' whatever he wanted from his peers, he quite liked that they looked up to him.

Tom was pulled from his thoughts once more by the sound of scraping chairs, though he remained seated whilst the other students left the room after bidding farewell to their host.

"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours."

Tom nodded as he stood, bracing himself to broach the subject he wished to with his head of house.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something," he said cautiously.

"Ask away, then, my boy, ask away," Slughorn urged.

Tom offered the most strained smile he could muster.

He needed to appear apologetic for querying about such a thing. He needed to come across as nothing more than curious.

"Sir, I wondered what you know about … about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absent-mindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defence Against the Dark Arts, is it?" he replied with a frown.

Slughorn was no fool. He knew Hogwarts would not cover the topic.

Perhaps they once had and if Rosalina Nott wasn't as close to Evans as she was, maybe Tom would have asked her.

She was bound to know more about them than a potions master.

"Not exactly, sir. I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

"No … well … you'd be hard pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom. That's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.

The man was reluctant to discuss them, so Tom decided to stroke his ego a little. It always worked with Slughorn.

Flattery was the key here.

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously – I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could – so I just thought I'd ask. I am merely curious," Tom added with a sigh.

Releasing a deep breath, he met Slughorn's concerned gaze.

"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Tom, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallised pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," Tom grumbled.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," Slughorn explained, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But, of course, existence in such a form …"

Slughorn's face crumpled in distaste, and he paused a moment before continuing.

"… few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

"How do you split your soul?" Tom asked.

Slughorn shook his head, distinctly uncomfortable by how deeply they were delving into the subject.

"Well," he said uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

"But how do you do it?" Tom pressed.

He had his strong suspicions, but he had found no way to confirm his thoughts. The book that mentioned he had read did not divulge how to create a horcrux.

"By an act of evil," Slughorn answered, his countenance strained. "The supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: he would encase the torn portion."

"Encase? But how?"

Slughorn eyed him intently for a moment before smiling weakly.

"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" he said irritably, becoming uncharacteristically agitated. "Do I look as though I have tried it – do I look like a killer?"

"No, sir, of course not," Tom assured him. "I'm sorry … I didn't mean to offend you."

He thought he had blown it, that he had pushed his luck too far.

Slughorn, however, released a laboured breath before waving off the apology.

"Not at all, not at all, not offended," he said gruffly. "It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things … wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to that aspect of magic …"

"Yes, sir," Tom snorted. "What I don't understand, though – just out of curiosity – I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces? I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven…?"

It was something Tom had thought about since discovering what a Horcrux was. This was what he was most uncertain of, what he couldn't hope to clarify without turning himself into a human guinea pig.

He was reluctant to do so, but he believed it was possible, though he could not be certain of the results. He was as sure as he could be that he could create the horcruxes, he just couldn't ascertain what the negative effects would be.

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn yelped. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case … bad enough to divide the soul … but to rip it into seven pieces."

Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Riddle as though he was seeing him for the first time.

"Of course," he muttered uncomfortably, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic?"

Tom nodded resolutely.

"Yes, sir, of course," he answered quickly.

Slughorn looked at him speculatively, his posture relaxing, and Tom's following suit knowing he was in the clear.

"But all the same, Tom … keep it quiet, what I've told – that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know … Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it."

Tom's nostrils flared at the mention of the transfiguration professor.

"I won't say a word, sir," he promised before takin his leave of the room, having gleaned the information he was looking for.

One horcrux would not be enough to secure his life, and neither two nor three made him feel any more secure.

From his studies in Arithmancy, Tom had learned that seven was the most magically powerful number and had decided that it would be the only acceptable number of soul pieces to safeguard his life.

The magic itself, he could figure that out, or he would peruse the books in Borgin and Burke's during the summer.

If anywhere had such books on hand, it would be the shop belonging to those two men.

At the back of Tom's mind was the need to take several lives in the pursuit of protecting himself from death.

For most, the mere thought of taking only one would prove to be too much, but not Tom.

He had always been oddly disconnected when it came to death and violence, and he would even daresay he found enjoyment in it.

He vividly remembered luring Amy and Dennis to the cave and revelling in their screams as he subjected them to his own methods of torture, the memory still filling him with the same glee he'd felt during their ordeal.

No, killing would only be more pleasurable, and already, Tom began compiling a list of those that would serve as a sacrifice to create his horcruxes.

He smiled at the thought, already pondering how he would set his plan into motion.

(Break)

Gellert chose to no longer pay much heed to the map that adorned the wall in his study. It made for rather depressing viewing, and instead, he focused on strengthening the positions he currently held.

With his forces now no longer stretched so thin, he was able to fortify his defences sufficiently, as demonstrated by the failed attack of the Americans upon their arrival on the continent.

No, the onus was very much on the ICW forces to attempt to dislodge his own men, and it would cost them dearly if they wanted to do so.

"Still no sign of Osbert?" he asked Cassiopeia.

He had tasked the woman with tracking the unsavoury man down, but he had seemingly fled when the tide of the war had turned against them.

Cassiopeia shook her head.

"No, there has been no sign of him or his beasts. I would guess that he has bolted."

Gellert hummed unhappily.

He could use the man, but he would not waste any more time locating him.

"And what of the reports from the magical districts we hold?"

Cassiopeia released a deep sigh.

"There are more pockets of resistance cropping up everywhere, Gellert," she answered.

Gellert nodded, a frown creasing his brow.

Without Weber, news was typically slow to reach him about such things, and without Hans, the uprisings were not quelled so soon.

Still, he maintained control in the major cities of Europe and could simply deploy more men to them to keep the peace.

Before he could question her on the movements of the ICW forces, the duo was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter," Gellert called irritably.

"The Americans are attacking again," a breathless man in red robes informed them as he peered his head around the door.

"Just the Americans?" Gellert asked.

The man nodded and Gellert snorted amusedly.

"Then more of their men will crash and burn against our defences," he declared.

Having grown so accustomed to the cunning way Evans commanded his men, the Americans were a breath of fresh air, and worked wonders for boosting the morale of his own men who simply had to pick the charging fools off as they attacked incessantly.

"I will keep you updated," the man assured him before taking his leave, seemingly to return to the front line.

"Are they really so stupid?" Cassiopeia questioned.

"No," Gellert denied, "but they do not have the benefit of experience that the rest of us have accumulated these past years. They will learn, but not too soon, I hope."

(Break)

"How did you even convince Petr and the other to put on the American uniforms?" Charlus asked.

Harry smirked to himself as he remembered the fit of Russian expletives that followed as he explained his plan to his second in command.

"Petr is dedicated to the cause," he replied.

Charlus snorted.

"I bet he was thrilled," he said dryly. "How many threats did he make?"

Harry shrugged.

"I lost count at five."

Charlus chuckled.

"Well, we still don't know if it will work," he pointed out.

"It will."

The idea was to make it seem that the Americans were attacking again in the same, sloppy manner they had previously. What Grindelwald's forces didn't know, however, was that they were faced with a group of incredibly angry Russians, and that their job was to lull them into a false sense of security to make them complacent.

What appeared to be a poorly planned and executed attack was merely Petr leading his men in such a way to make it seem so.

In reality, they knew exactly what they were doing, were drawing the attention of the men across the border whilst the secondary ICW force were readying themselves for their part.

Having fallen victim to the tactic Harry had chosen to adopt, he knew the effectiveness of it and was eager to give Grindelwald's men a taste of their own medicine.

"I told you it would," he pointed out. "Now we just need to wait for Petr to make his move."

Charlus nodded.

"What about the yanks?"

"They'll play their part," Harry assured him.

The relationship between the Americans and the ICW forces was still strained, but Harry was confident they would be on the same page with the success of this operation.

Adams had seemingly learned his lesson and had readily agreed to this plan of action, and even to allowing Harry to lead it.

Harry had expected some resistance to his idea, but Adams had offered none, and happily deferred to the more experienced commander.

"It looks like they're ready to move," Harry observed, holding an arm aloft to signal his own men. "Here we go. FIRE!"

As planned, Petr's men began retreating hurriedly, running in all directions, and being pursued by Grindelwald's keener followers.

As they did so, the first salvo of spells left the ICW positions, and before they realised what was happening, it was too late.

Harry, along with his men, exacted the same treatment upon Grindelwald's followers that they had endured the night they were forced to abandon their position on the French border.

Streams of pink and blue lights were sent into the evening sky, the ground trembling as they exploded on impact against the enemy positions.

Harry would never forget the feeling of being on the receiving end of a similar bombardment; the displaced dust, the trapped bodies and the screams of the men that were struck.

He took no pleasure in the suffering he was subjecting his enemies to, but he was grateful to be on the offensive this time around.

Those of Grindelwald's followers that had given chase realised their mistake, many freezing as they took in the unfolding devastation of their positions, only to be cut down by the combined forces of the Russians and Americans that had hurried into the fray.

There was no hesitation on their part as they cut down Grindelwald's men and continued towards the now decimated border of Yugoslavia.

Harry held up his hand to signal his own men to stop and watched as the combined troops of their Russian and American counterparts entered the country that was currently held by Grindelwald but would soon be in their possession.

"And that is how it is done," Harry murmured.

"Bloody hell," Charlus gasped, eliciting a nod of agreement from Yaxley, Arcturus, and Gilbert.

"Shouldn't we follow?" the former asked worriedly.

Harry pondered the question for a moment.

"Take two hundred men," he instructed Yaxley. "Begin helping the citizens, and make sure they are treated well. I don't think Adams would let his people take any liberties, but I won't take any chances."

Yaxley nodded and gestured for a group to follow him.

Both Gilbert and Arcturus went too, and Harry relaxed considerably in the knowledge his own men would be there.

He would have led the group himself, but he was needed to hold their position in Bulgaria, just in case Grindelwald decided to spring a counter-offensive in retaliation.

"We're really doing it, aren't we?" Charlus asked tentatively. "We're beginning to win the war."

"We are," Harry agreed, "but the hardest battles haven't come yet," he reminded the man. "The more we take from him, the more desperate he becomes."

It was a sobering thought, and though Harry was hopeful the war could be concluded sooner rather than later, he would not get ahead of himself, not whilst there were still enemies to face, and the most dangerous yet breathed.

(Break)

Gellert didn't need to be told the result of the fighting to know the outcome. The man that had arrived to inform him was shaken, cover in dirt and blood, and his eyes full of fear.

"Get out!" he growled, standing, and pressing his palms firmly into the top of his desk.

Everything he had worked for was crumbling around him, was being taken from him piece by piece by Evans and his allies.

"What will we do, Gellert?" Cassiopeia questioned worriedly.

Gellert swallowed deeply and took a calming breath.

"We keep fighting, my dear," he answered. "We keep fighting."