Brothers in Arms
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
by Drauchenfyre
SUMMARY: Samuel Glyphs was Albus Dumbledore's great-nephew, but he grew up in America. Where and when was their first meeting?
STORY
30 Jun 1945
Somewhere North of Stuttgart, Germany
Albus Dumbledore looked up from the tactical map he and his troops- both British and French- were examining in preparation for tomorrow's assault. One of the younger British wizard soldiers, Private Charlus Potter, had just come through the tent flap.
"Report, Private," snapped his Sergeant-Major, Joseph Bones.
"Sir," saluted Potter, "Patrol just picked up a squad of American wizards who have been trapped behind enemy lines for days. Some of them are hurt pretty bad."
Albus reached up to stroke his beard, only to frown at its much shorter length. The battlefield was no place for his preferred hairstyle. "Send them to the MASH tent, feed them, and send me their commander."
Potter saluted and departed.
A minute later, a blond man in American Marine fatigues, carrying what Albus recognized as a 1903 Springfield across his shoulders, entered and flipped a lazy salute. "Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Glyphs, reporting sir."
Bones was scowling at the lack of military discipline from the 'upstart Colonial', but Albus silenced him with a glare. "Glyphs... I know that name from somewhere. Colonel Albus Dumbledore, Commander of the British Magical Expeditionary Force."
Glyphs smirked in response, "I'm sure you've heard the name before. My mother told me, if I bump into you, to convey greetings from Adele."
The light of realization lit in Dumbledore's eye. "You're Adele's boy."
"Sir?" asked a confused Bones.
"Mr. Glyphs here is my brother's grandson," replied Albus.
"Hell of a place to meet face-to-face for the first time, eh Uncle Al?"
"Indeed."
"Well, my thanks for the help- we were in pretty bad shape out there. If you need a few more wands and rifles out there, we're eager to help until we get the chance to hook back up with our battalion."
Dumbledore waved Samuel Glyphs over to the table, "We're planning our push into Nurmengard tomorrow, take the battle to Grindelwald himself..."
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISCENE BREAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
1 Jul 1997
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
A lone figure stood before the white tomb of Albus Dumbledore, a shot glass in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other. An old, battered military rucksack sat on the ground beside him, an old but still serviceable 1903 Springfield rifle leaning against it. The figure poured a shot, drank it, then splashed a shot at the base of the tomb.
"Fifty-two years ago today, Uncle Al."
Samuel Glyphs, just-retired Professor of Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, stared at the tomb of a man who had been an uncle, mentor, friend, pain-in-the-ass, and brother-in-arms for so much of his life.
"Fifty-two years ago today, we made the final push into Nurmengard. We took down Grindelwald and his Knights of Walpurgis- but at such a cost. Out of our multi-national force, a mere thirteen of us walked away alive. The other eleven- Potter, Bones, Hammer, Duquesnes, Lightfoot, Thomas, Sanders, Rustikov, Roquefort, Dupree, and el-Jibar- all gone in the years since. All lost to violence. There were times, Al, when I thought our unit was cursed. Now you're gone, and I'm the last man standing."
Another shot for Glyphs, another on the grave, and Glyphs vanished the empty bottle and glass. He hefted the pack onto his back and hoisted his rifle.
"It's gonna be bad here in Britain for a while, Colonel. I'm going to ground- fighting from the shadows. I intend to take as many of those bastards down as I can. Until then- I'll see you again, Uncle Al. This date next year. I'll either be here at this grave- or with you in the next great adventure."
Turning his back on the marble tomb, he walked across the lawn, disappearing into the Forbidden Forest.
Once a Marine, always a Marine.
END