The Ways of War

The Wizengamot gatherings were not joyous to attend on any occasion, but
the meeting taking place this morning was particularly sombre. For Arcturus,
the Minister was only confirming what he already knew was coming; that
Grindelwald was finally pursuing his ambitions out of the shadows, and with
more tenacity.
Those that had chosen to ignore the threat were silent now. There was no
laughter nor mocking the severity of what mankind faced. A war amongst
wizards was one thing, but such a conflict between the muggles was another
entirely.
Arcturus did not know what would come to pass in the coming months and
years, but he was certain the world would change because of it.
“Grindelwald has invaded Denmark and Sweden, and he met little resistance,”
an exhausted Minister Fawley explained. “He did so before any defence could
be mounted, and it is expected that he will cross over into Norway in the
coming days.”
“Is a defence of Norway planned?” Lord Nott asked.
Fawley released a deep sigh.
“The ICW are dispatching men but with how thinly spread they are with the
defence of more tactically significant countries, I am not expecting a positive
outcome. The fact is, we need more men.”
“We have had an influx of volunteers, Minister,” Gabriel Moody announced.
“Unfortunately, they will have to be trained where they are deployed, but it
cannot be said that Britain isn’t doing its’ part.”
Fawley nodded almost proudly.
“And what of the muggles?” Lord Yaxley questioned. “You met with the Prime
Minister, did you not?”
“I did,” Fawley confirmed frustratedly. “If truth be told, Chamberlain is doing
his best, but he is not cut-out to be a leader during times of war. I expect he
will either resign or be replaced in the coming months. The man is a bag of
nerves.”
“So, what are the muggles doing?” Yaxley pressed.
“Currently, they are preparing to deploy their own men to the continent, and
their navy has been sent to blockade the Atlantic to preserve trade roots and
block supplies being sent through to Germany,” Fawley informed them. “It will
be weeks before any significant fighting will take place amongst them, but the
Prime Minister is certain that this is merely the calm before the storm.”
Arcturus nodded his agreement.
The fighting would come, and when it did, it would be as ferocious as it would
violent.
“Do we know exactly what caused this?” Lord Boot asked.
“The Germans broke yet another agreement,” Fawley huffed. “They invaded
Poland who is an ally of both Britain and France. An ultimatum was given and
ignored. Now Poland is under the control of the Germans, and even the
Russians arrived to stake their own claim on land. It is a very messy situation.”
Lord Nott shook his head disapprovingly.
“The Russians?”
“They signed a pact with the Germans,” Fawley informed the lords and ladies.
“I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but it is bad news. If the Russians form an
alliance with them, the outlook is bleak.”
The members of the Wizengamot murmured amongst themselves.
“And what if Grindelwald does break the Statute of Secrecy, what then?” Lord
Longbottom called.
“Then the ICW will decide on what action to take,” Fawley answered. “As yet,
he hasn’t done so, only because he needs a firmer hold over more land. I
expect that it will happen eventually, but all that is being done to prevent it is.”
Arcturus snorted as he shook his head.
The ICW were as idle as the Wizengamot when it came to making decisions or
taking necessary action.
The idea that they were setting up defensive positions rather than attempting
to claim back land that has already been taken did not sit right with him.
Already the war was taking its’ toll on Arcturus, and the conflict was only in its
infancy.
Dorea announced that she had been assigned to specialist healing unit that
would be treating wounded British volunteers. The only reprieve in this was
that she wouldn’t be sent overseas to carry out her work.
Still, this only added to the stress he was already under from what Cassiopeia
had done in Hogsmeade.
None dared say anything to him directly, but Arcturus found himself faced with
unveiled looks of suspicion.
Most undoubtedly believed that he too had chosen to follow Grindelwald,
though nothing could be further from the truth.
Arcturus was loyal to his family first and foremost, and the family loyalty would
never have been to a man like Grindelwald if his father was of sound mind.
The Orion Black Arcturus had grown with would have spat in the man’s face
had he suggested he become a traitor to his country and everything the Blacks
stood for.
His family may be considered dark, but the Blacks were British, and proud of
their heritage.
As far as Arcturus was concerned, his father and siblings had not only turned
their backs on the country that had allowed them to thrive, but they had also
turned their backs on every Lord Black that had ever served on the
Wizengamot.
His nostrils flared in displeasure.
He didn’t care what the other lords and ladies thought. Arcturus was not like
the rest of those he once considered family. He would be a loyal and just lord,
like most of the others that had come before him.
Cassiopeia had shown her true colours, and he only wished that Evans had
succeeded in ridding him of her.
Evans.
Arcturus knew not what the man had become since they had graduated from
Hogwarts, but to get the better of his older sister in a duel was no mean feat.
Despite his feelings towards her, Cassiopeia was an exceedingly gifted and
dangerous witch, and yet, Harry Evans had evidently grown to be even more
so.
Arcturus had known the man had been talented in school with the way he had
dispatched of Malfoy, Parkinson, and his ilk, but what he had grown into was
something else entirely.
Although he hadn’t been seen since that night in Hogsmeade, his name had
been on every pair of lips in wizarding Britain, and there was no small part of
Arcturus that hoped he would be one of those fighting on behalf of their
country.
Britain and the wizarding world as a whole would need men like Harry Evans. It
would be them that made the difference in the fighting to come, and if
necessary, Arcturus would add himself into the mix.
He hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, but in his mind, he knew that his
presence could well be all but unavoidable if things continued to progress as
they were currently doing so.
(Break)
Belgium was in a state of panic. William had been deployed here with the rest
of the British in anticipation of Grindelwald’s arrival. Already, several men
suspected of colluding with the Dark Lord had been spotted in several
countries, evidently bracing themselves for a full takeover.
According to the ICW, there was a strong chance that the country had already
been infiltrated from within and that the magical government of Belgium
already operated under Grindelwald’s direction, though to the average witch
and wizard on the street, no such thing had occurred.
Strangely, many did not appear to be concerned with losing control of their
own country.
William would even go as far to say that most would welcome.
Grindelwald had support here, and the position of those that had come to
defend the Belgians was a delicate one indeed.
“Why the bloody hell are we bothering to protect them if they don’t want us
to?” Yaxley grumbled as he, William, and a few others from their group
patrolled the streets of Bruges.
“Because we don’t want Grindelwald to take another country,” Gilbert, a
muggleborn who had been chosen by Moody to join them explained. “We
follow orders, Yaxley, and let those more important than us make the
decisions.”
William chuckled.
Gilbert was good to have around.
He always kept their mood lifted during rigorous training sessions with his dry
wit, something he was seemingly determined to continue doing now that they
had been deployed.
Gilbert always had a look of mischief about him. It didn’t help that he held a
slight resemblance to a weasel and that his hair matched the colour of the fur
of them.
If that wasn’t enough, William found that the man was often up to something
he shouldn’t be.
It turned out that Gilbert volunteered to serve as an alternative to being
brought up on charges for dealing in illicit goods.
What those goods were, William knew not, and he hadn’t asked.
Gabriel had offered the man the opportunity to redeem himself in an
alternative way, and here he was.
“Well, it seems pointless to me,” Yaxley muttered unhappily. “If the buggers
won’t fight for themselves, why should we?”
William conceded the man had a point, not that he would voice that.
Gilbert was right.
It was the likes of Diggory and the ICW that made the decision of where they
were needed most.
“Hold up a second,” Gilbert requested, peeling off to speak to a man who was
waving him over.
“He’s up to something,” Yaxley sighed.
William nodded.
“The sod could be dropped in a desert and find an oasis.”
Yaxley snorted.
“He’s quite handy to have hanging around though. At least we won’t go
without. What are you fiddling now?” he asked as Gilbert returned.
“I’ve got a hot tip on some sausages,” Gilbert explained with a wink.
“Sausages?” Yaxley questioned William.
“You don’t actually think he would tell a Lord of the Wizengamot, and the son
of another Lord what he is up to, do you?”
“I suppose not,” Yaxley mumbled. “Come on, let’s get back. Nothing is going to
happen today.”
William nodded his agreement and gestured for the rest of the group to follow.
They had been billeted a large hotel to live within whilst they were deployed in
the city.
Were it not for the circumstances that brought them here, William would have
enjoyed it.
Instead, he found himself away from home, away from his wife, and he didn’t
know when he would be going back.
The war could drag on for years, and with the enormity of the task they faced
and numbers to boot, he wasn’t expecting a fast outcome.
“Anything to report, William?” Gabriel asked when they arrived.
The Lord Potter shook his head.
“Nothing more than usual,” he sighed. “The same people are lurking around,
watching I suspect. You?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Aye, we’ve got some more lads on the way. They’ll arrive tomorrow, but little
else. I’m still hoping the Evans lad will volunteer. He’d be a great addition to
our lot.”
William released a deep breath.
Gabriel spoke often of his wish for Harry to join them, not knowing that the
young man had done more than most to put an end to the war in his official
capacity.
Somehow, word had not spread that Harry was a Hit-Wizard, and William
would not break his trust.
No, Gabriel was a friend, but Harry had all but become a part of the family over
the years he had gotten to know him.
“He would be,” William agreed.
“Any lad that can send one of the Blacks packing isn’t to be messed with,”
Gabriel pointed out. “Any idea what’s happened to him. No one’s seen hide
nor hair since what happened in Hogsmeade.”
“He has stayed in touch with Charlus, but I suppose he’s keeping his head
down. Few lords or ladies will be happy with him for getting the better of a
pureblood, even if it was Cassiopeia Black.”
Moody laughed uproariously.
“Aye, your lot can’t stand being outdone by us scum,” he said mockingly.
“Scum?” William asked with a raised eyebrow.
Moody nodded.
“Most of them aren’t like you, William,” he pointed out. “They look down their
noses at the likes of me and Evans because we aren’t purebloods, but who
would you rather have watching your back in a fight? You’d pick us. We’re dogs
who have to scrap for everything we get.”
“I can fight!” Yaxley protested.
“Aye, you can use your wand alright,” Moody acknowledged, “but you don’t
know what it’s like to fight, not really. You will though, and we will see what
you’re made of.”
Instead of balking as William expected, Yaxley nodded challengingly before
heading towards his room.
“There might be something to him,” Moody mused aloud. “Anyway, have you
heard from your wife yet?”
“No,” William sighed.
Angelica had not taken the news of his deployment well. Understandably, she
assumed that Belgium would be as Poland had and that Grindelwald would
attack in the same way.
William did not expect he would.
One could say what they wished about his ambitions and approach to
achieving them, but Grindelwald was not a fool.
He would not try the same tact twice.
“She’ll come around,” Gabriel assured him. “I go through this every time with
my own wife whenever I’m sent to do something foolhardy, as she calls it. Give
it a week or so and she’ll write.”
“I hope so,” William murmured.
Charlus had accepted the news with little more than a nod, seemingly having
come to terms with what William was doing and why. His own foray into
standing up for what was right seemed to have given him a better
understanding of how the world worked.
Angelica simply could not accept it.
William could empathise with how she felt, could understand she was terrified
that the same fate that had befallen his father would repeat itself with him,
but he wished she could understand why he was here.
Every Potter and Peverell that came before him had stood up to fight for those
that couldn’t, had been amongst the first to fight for their country when
needed.
William, in good conscience as a proud Potter, could not fail to live up to their
example.
Angelica knew this deep down, but she came from a family that had always
comprised of politicians and businessmen.
The Fawley’s weren’t warriors. They were traders, and there was no tradition
to uphold, no example to follow when it came to times of war.
For William, it was different.
He just hoped his wife realised that sooner rather than later.
(Break)
Hogwarts was different this year.
The school had almost immediately turned from a place of wonder to one of
nervousness. Even the first years couldn’t enjoy the novelty of the castle
before the news that war had been declared had broken.
Many of the students had fathers, brothers, uncles, and cousins that would be
fighting, some magical, others muggle.
For the first time since Minerva had stepped into the castle for her own
schooling, the breakfast tables were awash with as many muggle newspapers
as there were editions of The Daily Prophet.
These were passed around the Great Hall and read in between personal letters
that had certainly increased in their frequency.
The students were scared for their families, but they were safe here.
Not that they took any comfort in it.
It wouldn’t be long before the first casualties of the fighting would be
announced, and the nervousness would become fear.
If there was anything positive to take away from what was unfolding outside of
Hogwarts, it was the students realising how petty the house rivalry was.
Any animosity that would usually exist between them was absent.
Minerva had even seen a sixth year Slytherin girl comforting a first-year
Gryffindor boy in the library.
It was truly a shame it took such disaster for that to happen.
Still, it was a small thing and Minerva would sooner have the castle the way it
had been in previous years compared to what she was experiencing now.
She glanced up towards the enchanted ceiling before her eyes roamed over
the table of the students clad in silver and green trimmed robes.
Despite everything, the worry, the nervousness, the sombre mood that hung
over all within the castle, there was one boy who had not been touched by any
of it.
Tom Riddle continued on as though nothing had changed, often shooting looks
of disgust at his peers who cracked under the strain, and even smirking at
those he had found himself at odds with.
The boy lacked any empathy or care for anyone besides himself.
He was cruel beyond typical pettiness that often plagued teenagers. Minerva
even begun to believe that he was revelling in the misery of those around him.
Inevitably, her thoughts eventually shifted to Harry as they did when she
observed the boy he had tasked her with watching.
It had been almost three weeks since she had last seen or heard from him, the
kiss she had unashamedly stolen now feeling like a distant memory.
He was alive, of that she had no doubt, but she couldn’t be certain of his
safety.
Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she knew it was for the good of
putting an end to Grindelwald, yet there was a selfish part of her that wanted
him there.
She missed him as much as she worried for him and were it not for how busy
she was kept, she would spend her days fretting.
Minerva took a calming breath.
He would write when he was able to, but until then, she too had her duties to
fulfil.
Albus had given her more classes to teach, including the entirety of the first-
year syllabus that included working with the young half-giant that had joined
them.
Harry had been right about Hagrid.
Rubeus was a timid but sweet boy that didn’t have an aggressive bone in his
body.
For one so large, close to six-and-a-half-feet, he was softly spoken. Already he
sported quite the impressive beard and were it not for the rest of the students
being so distracted by other troubling things, he would garner much more
attention than he had.
Any that looked at him would believe him to already be a man, but from what
Minerva had seen, he was a lost boy who was more scared of his classmates
than they were of him.
She felt for him, and hoped that when he settled, he would come out of his
shell a little more, though she had her doubts.
Rubeus was not unfriendly towards any, and avoided conversation for the
most part, but it was clear that he preferred the company of creatures.
When he wasn’t in class, he could be found by the edge of the forest looking
for something he could spend his free time with.
Armando had already discussed it with him, and the boy had promised he
would not venture in, even if he was compelled to do so.
Minerva found it hard to believe his words.
Even when she was teaching, she often caught him looking out of the window
towards the thickets of trees.
There was nothing that would keep him from there, and it was only a matter of
time before he plucked up the courage to break his word to the headmaster.
Rubeus was quiet now, but it wouldn’t last.
“Come, Minerva, you’re teaching first today,” Albus reminded her from his
place at the staff table.
Minerva nodded as she stood, her eyes once more looking towards the
enchanted ceiling.
It was a gloomy morning, the weather reflecting her mood, and all it would
take to change it would be even a short note from Harry letting her know that
he was safe, and that she would see him again soon.
(Break)
Gellert nodded satisfactorily at the map of the world pinned to the wall of his
study, pleased with the addition of Denmark and Sweden to his conquered
lands.
No more than a token force had opposed his own upon the invasion of each. A
half-hearted attempt at best to please those of the ICW that would be
watching.
The Danes cheered for him as he walked casually through the magical streets
that were lined by his own men.
It filled Gellert with warmth to be received in such a manner and reaffirmed his
belief in what he was doing.
“If only Albus could see me now,” he murmured to himself. “Come in,” he
called as knock sounded at the door.
“Gellert, Weber is back,” Cassie explained eagerly as she entered.
“Then send him in.”
The German entered, the dark circles around his beady speaking volumes of
the lack of sleep he had endured.
“Take a seat, Weber,” Gellert offered as he sat behind his desk. “Drink?”
“That would be most appreciated,” Weber sighed.
Gellert poured the man a generous measure of whiskey and allowed him a few
moments to enjoy the warming drink.
Cassiopeia, evidently, was not so patient.
“So, what did you find out?”
Weber shot her a look of irritation before placing the glass on the desk and
removing a roll of parchment from within his jacket.
“Harry Evans,” he began. “No known date or place of birth, parentage
unknown. Began attending Hogwarts in September of ’35 after being assessed
during the summer by Madame Griselda Marchbanks. He scored very highly on
his OWL and NEWTs. He impressed his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor
so much that she apprenticed him, one Rosalina Nott.”
“Nott?” Cassiopeia asked, impressed. “She is an exceptional duellist. She could
have been a world champion if she didn’t choose to teach instead.”
Weber nodded.
“She retired from the sport after she inadvertently killed an opponent.”
“I suppose that would explain why Evans is so competent,” Cassie mused
aloud. “She must have seen something in him to invest so much time into a
half-blood.”
Gellert hummed thoughtfully.
“Anything else, Herr Weber?”
“Upon graduating, he went on to become an investor, and quite the successful
one. He has shares in several thriving businesses.”
“Yet, he put so much effort into becoming exceptionally proficient with his
wand.”
Weber nodded.
“It makes little sense,” Gellert whispered to himself. “Is he wealthy?”
“Quite,” Weber confirmed. “His wealth is increasing daily.”
“So, he doesn’t need to work?”
Weber snorted.
“If his portfolio continues to grow at its current rate, he could retire within five,
perhaps ten years at most.”
Gellert nodded to himself.
“And no mention of the Flamels?”
“Nothing official, but there is no mention of his parentage. I scoured the entire
Ministry, at great risk, and only came across his exam results. Everything else
came from my own digging.”
“Then where did he come from?”
Evans was quickly becoming a point of frustration.
It was public knowledge that he was related to the Flamels, and that his
parents had been murdered when he was a babe, but where had he been?
Who were his parents?
“I do not know,” Weber answered irritably.
This was the first time the man had failed to find what he’d set out for, and it
would have stung his pride.
“And how would you suggest we proceed?”
“That is down to your own discretion,” Weber responded, “but I believe in this
case that Evans is an unknown that cannot be left to chance. If he opposes us
the way he did Miss Black, there is no telling what a man like him could do. He
should be eliminated at the earliest opportunity.”
Gellert nodded his agreement.
“Thank you, Weber,” he said gratefully. “Go and rest. You have earned it.”
The German left and Gellert leaned back in his chair, pondering how best to
get to Evans.
In Britain, he was all but out of reach, and it would not be a favourable place to
confront him.
No, other arrangements would need to be made, and Gellert believed he had
the perfect solution.
“I want the men to move on Norway within the week. When it is captured,
only a few hundred will be required to hold it.”
“What of the rest?” Cassiopeia asked.
“I want half sent to Belgium and the other half brought back. They will be
needed for our next move.”
“To deal with Evans?”
“Partly,” Gellert confirmed. “It just so happens that his demise will tie nicely in
with the rest of our plans.”
Cassiopeia shot him a questioning look, but Gellert dismissed her with a wave.
He trusted the woman, but now was not about trust. He needed to be certain
in himself with the plan he was formulating, and one formed on emotion
would not do.
Evans was clever, and to catch him off guard the man would need to be taken
by surprise, placed in a peril he could not prepare for.
Yes, Gellert’s plan would be perfect, but before it could be executed, other
things required his attention.
Evans must wait for the time being, until other things come to fruition, and
preparations are made towards the next step of achieving victory.
The man wouldn’t even know that his death was all part of a much bigger
picture, one that would gain Gellert further notoriety than he had already
obtained.
If Albus didn’t confront him after this, his old friend never would, and the path
to victory would be all but assured.
(Break)
Harry had been in Copenhagen when Grindelwald’s men had all but marched
in to lay claim to the country. The resistance met was pathetic, a pantomime
showing.
The natives were quick to throw down their wands when commanded to do so
and had even cheered when Grindelwald had arrived a short while later to
announce his victory here and in Stockholm at the very same time.
Harry could only look on in disappointment, wondering where the sense of
national pride was.
He soon realised it wasn’t that it was lacking, but a sense of self-preservation
had taken prevalence. The Danish nor the Swedes really cared who was in
control, they merely wished to get on with their lives without conflict.
It just so happened that Grindelwald was the first to arrive here out of the two
warring factions.
Had it been the men of the ICW, they too would have been welcomed in the
hope that the violence seen across the continent wouldn’t spill onto their
streets.
Truthfully, Harry couldn’t blame them, but it the liberation, as Grindelwald
insisted on calling it, would not be so easily undone.
Having spent the past weeks living amongst the Danes, there was no planned
resistance of which to speak.
It seemed that control of the two Scandinavian countries would need to be
wrested away from the invaders and with no assistance from the natives.
Harry shook his head frustratedly.
The ICW likely wouldn’t bother doing so unless it became a necessity.
There seemed to have been no rush to deploy men here to defend the people,
and if there was even a modicum of truth to the rumours he had heard, it
wouldn’t be long before the German muggles arrived.
What resistance they would meet, Harry knew not, but he hoped the Danish
government wouldn’t cede their land as easily as their magical counterparts.
It irked him still how simple they had made it for Grindelwald to spread his
hold, but even more so that he had wasted so much time here in the aftermath
hoping to find any indication of rebellion.
There was none to speak of and instead of dwelling on it further, Harry knew it
was best to cut his losses and make a reluctant report to Federov so the efforts
of the ICW could be spent wherever else they were needed.
With a final glance around the bustling magical district of Denmark, Harry
passed through the enchanted the wall that separated his own kind from the
muggles and activated his portkey.
Arriving in the headquarters of the ICW, he immediately headed towards
Federov’s office, disappointed that he did not have better news to bring the
man.
“Come in,” the familiar voice of his superior bade after he knocked. “Ah, Evans,
I was beginning to wonder when you were going to check in. You are the last to
return.”
“Everyone else made it back?” Harry asked.
Federov nodded, unable to hide his relief.
“They did,” he confirmed, “and I suspect your report will be as discouraging as
theirs?”
Harry released a deep sigh.
“Both Sweden and Denmark are a lost cause from what I’ve seen,” he revealed.
“Almost no fighting took place when Grindelwald’s men arrived, and now it is
as though nothing happened. The people are going about their daily lives, the
only difference being that they are being watched over by Grindelwald’s men
instead of their own aurors.”
“How many men?”
“No more than a few hundred, but with both countries having fallen, I expect
reinforcements could arrive in a matter of minutes. I think both are lost to us.”
Federov shook his head frustratedly.
“I feared this would happen,” he huffed. “We took too long to mount our
defences and we now find ourselves playing catch up. Although it pains me to
admit it, we had no choice but to make a few tactical sacrifices whilst we focus
on the defence of more important nations.”
“Does that mean Norway will be allowed to fall too?” Harry pressed.
“I expect so,” Federov grumbled unhappily. “If it were down to me, it would
not be this way, but thankfully it is not. Difficult choices have had to be made,
and though I cannot morally agree with conceding even one defeat, I believe
the right decisions have been made. If Grindelwald is smart, he will take
Norway in the coming days.”
Sitting back and simply allowing it did not sit right with Harry, but he was in no
position to do anything about it.
Grindelwald would arrive in force, and if the Norwegians followed the example
of the two other Scandinavian countries, they would offer little fight in favour
of saving their own lives.
Harry deflated at the thought.
In Poland, he had been able to catch Grindelwald’s men unaware, but they
wouldn’t fall for such a thing a second time, and Harry trying to resist whatever
number of men were sent was too risky by himself.
As much as it pained him to admit, Federov and whomever was in charge of
the tactics was right.
“Take a few days of, Evans,” Federov urged. “We already have men in Norway,
and if you are needed, I will send for you.”
Harry nodded tiredly as he stood.
He could do with a rest to clear his head. He had slept little recently, and a
freshly cooked meal would be most welcome.
Besides, he needed to write to Minerva and pay a visit to Nicholas and
Perenelle to check on them and see how they were coping with everything
that had unfolded since his last visit.
Having lived through countless wars already, he suspected they were fine, but
he wouldn’t feel safe in that knowledge until he saw them for himself.
(Break)
It used to be that Wizengamot gatherings would occur perhaps once a month,
twice if something important needed to be discussed before the next. Now,
three per week were being held, and though Charlus was honoured to be
amongst the other lords and ladies, it felt to him that much time was being
wasted.
This morning had been nothing more than a briefing to inform them that the
British men who were now overseas had yet to be involved in any fighting.
Charlus had assumed that had been the case, and that if there was a battle of
which to speak, The Daily Prophet would cover it.
The Ministry was being over-cautious in Charlus’s opinion.
Not that he could blame really.
A war was the last thing that any nation wanted to be involved in.
Even though Charlus had only had a sample of combat, he wasn’t so keen on
experiencing it again, and it only made his respect for is father grow.
The Lord Potter had left England once more, this time for an indeterminable
period of time.
Charlus was worried.
As a son, he feared for the safety of the man that had raised, had taught him
much of what he knew about the world and magic.
At any given moment, William Potter could be taken away from him, yet
Charlus had to remain strong.
His mother needed him as did the responsibilities that came with being in
charge of the Potter family.
As such, he found himself in a subdued Diagon Alley that was noticeably bereft
of men who had volunteered their services for the war.
Charlus had business to discuss with the goblins, another meeting he was not
looking forward to, but one that would teach him much about the family
finances.
His father had insisted he request to be shown and talked through the Potter
accounts in his absence.
He was nearing the bank when his attention was grabbed by someone familiar
leaving Madame Malkin’s, and he quickened his pace to catch up with her.
“Miss Black,” he called when he was a short distance away.
The woman stopped, her expression guarded when she realised whom it was
that had addressed her.
“Have I done something to offend you?” Charlus asked. “You didn’t reply to my
last letter.”
The two of them had been writing to each other, something that had suddenly
stopped recently and Charlus didn’t understand why.
Dorea shook her head and shot him an apologetic look.
“I thought that after what Cassie did you wouldn’t want to speak with me
anymore,” she explained confusedly.
Charlus chuckled.
“I don’t hold what she did against you,” he assured her. “I know you’re not like
her.”
Dorea raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“What makes you so sure?” she asked challengingly.
“Well, you haven’t tried to kill me.”
“Not yet,” Dorea pointed out.
Charlus grinned and held his arms out wide.
“You could if you wanted to,” he offered. “You could do it before I could even
get close to my wand.”
“Don’t tempt me, Potter,” Dorea snorted. “You know, my life would be easier if
I didn’t know you.”
“But certainly duller.”
Dorea narrowed her eyes but conceded the point with a nod.
“I was warned about the Potter arrogance.”
“I think you mean charm,” Charlus corrected.
Dorea hummed.
“Maybe someone would take pity on you and call it charming.”
“And there is the acid tongue of the Blacks,” Charlus returned amusedly.
“You are a reckless fool, Mr Potter,” Dorea sighed. “Most people are too
frightened to talk to me. They’re rightfully scared of what Arcturus would do to
them.”
Charlus laughed heartily.
“I’m not frightened of your brother.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.”
“Should I be?”
Dorea shook her head.
“No, he thinks highly of you, but for the life of me, I can’t see why.”
“Ouch,” Charlus groaned, clutching his chest dramatically.
“You really are a prat,” Dorea huffed as she walked towards the apparation
point.
“Does that mean you’ll write back to me,” Charlus called.
“I’ll think about it,” Dorea replied, eliciting a smile from the Potter heir.
Having bumped into the woman, the meeting with the goblins didn’t seem so
bad now, and Charlus made his way towards the bank feeling a little brighter
than when he had left the Wizengamot chambers only a short while before.
(Break)
Nicholas looked at the young man seated before him. Never in all his centuries
of life had he seen one man carry so many burdens, and certainly not with the
grace and strength that Harry did.
In the months that had passed since he had seen him, the final vestiges of
youth had ebbed away, and though he was still little more than a boy to the
old alchemist, Harry had grown into a fine man.
From when he had arrived and the ritual had been carried out by himself and
his wife, Nicholas had watched Harry become what he was now.
His talent seemed to know no bounds, but it was the aesthetics that caught the
Frenchman’s eye.
He could see the Potters in him, the dark and messy hair, and even in the
jawline. The higher cheekbones may have come from his mother, but Nicholas
and Perenelle both had those too.
The rest, Nicholas couldn’t be certain, but there was an undeniable familial
resemblance in Harry’s features.
“You are eager for the war to be over.”
Harry nodded and Nicholas chuckled to himself.
As much as he had grown, there was still naivety there.
“I would not get my hopes up for a quick resolution, Harry,” he urged. “Wars
can drag on for many years, and I believe that this will be one of them.”
“Me too,” Harry muttered. “This is only the beginning, but so much has already
happened.”
“And much more is yet to come,” Nicholas replied. “It all seems to be setback
after setback, but when real fighting begins, it will not be so one-sided. Your
victories will come, and I have no doubt that it will be you that emerges on the
other side triumphantly.”
“What about the others?”
Nicholas nodded his understanding and offered the boy a comforting smile.
“Many will die, as is the way of war. You cannot save everyone, Harry, as much
as you would like to.”
“I know,” Harry huffed, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”
Nicholas placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“You have lost much already, and perhaps you will lose more,” he sighed. “I
hope that does not happen, but you must remember to never lose yourself. In
times of war there must be no doubt, no hesitation. You must be more ruthless
than the enemy you face. If you’re not willing to do to them that they will do to
you, you will lose.”
“I am,” Harry replied. “Ever since I lost Sirius, or when the ritual was done, I
have not been hesitant to kill when needed. It’s like there is something inside
of me that reminds me of what has already been taken from me.”
“There is,” Nicholas pointed out. “You have absorbed the soul of one that took
steps no other had taken before him all in the name of self-preservation, a
ruthless and dangerous man if what you have said is correct.”
“Voldemort.”
Nicholas nodded.
“As much as you despise him, you have taken on some of his more useful
qualities, and those of myself and my wife who also sought our own
immortality. You have our blood and his soul, but you are also the same as you
have always been. You care for people, Harry, and the same desire to survive is
projected onto those you hold in your heart. As much as you wish to live, you
do not wish to do so at the expense of them. I believe that is what gives you
that ruthlessness.”
Harry nodded his agreement.
“That you have also lost so much only fuels it,” Nicholas continued. “It is that
hurt and anger that you draw on as much as it is the desire to see those you
care for survive. It is protectiveness and the anger you have held onto. It
makes you a very dangerous man to cross.”
“I suppose that is what I have to be.”
“It is,” Nicholas agreed. “People do not win wars by shaking hands and fighting
fairly.”
“No, they do not,” Harry mused aloud.
Nicholas gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“Now, have you eaten?”
Harry shook his head.
“Then you will join us for dinner, and then you will rest. I will not be argued
with on that.”
Harry laughed as Nicholas all but frogmarched him from the library and
towards the dining room where Perenelle was undoubtedly preparing a meal
for their guest.
As always, the woman doted on the young man the moment she laid eyes
upon him, checking that he was unhurt and forcing him into a seat at the table
where she watched as he ate until she was satisfied he’d had enough.
“You need a shave, Harry,” she said disapprovingly. “You know where the
bathroom is. You will enjoy a soak and then you will come back and join us for
dessert, oui?”
Harry knew not to argue with Perenelle, and with a nod, he kissed the woman
on the cheek and took his leave of the dining room.
“If my hair wasn’t already grey, he would be the cause for it becoming that
way,” Perenelle sighed. “He is doing too much, Nicholas.”
“He is,” Nicholas agreed, “but it is not our place to deter him. He needs us to
be there for him as somewhere to escape from all he does.”
Perenelle nodded reluctantly.
“Do you think he will ever know peace?”
“I do,” Nicholas said confidently, “but it must be Harry that takes it for
himself.”
Perenelle said nothing and kept her thoughts to herself whilst she sipped her
tea.
It was only a few minutes later that Harry returned.
He had managed to shave but his hair was sodden wet, and he had dressed in
a hurry.
“What is it?” Nicholas questioned.
“Norway has been taken,” Harry informed them. “I have to go.”
Nicholas watched as the boy gathered his things, said a hurried goodbye to him
and his wife, and was gone only a moment later leaving behind a worried
woman, and a man that wished there was more he could do for him.