Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J. K. Rowling and the various publishers. This story is written with no commercial aims. I do not make any money from it.

AN: This chapter was betaed by Steve2! Thank you for the great work!

A bit short but its finally here! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

$Parseltongue$

That Chapter 8: Storm front

=CF=

3 November 1995; Castle Konningmere, Germany

A bunch of imposing ruins, surrounded by rusty fence on which signs declaring them unsafe relics from the second world war were laying over a hill in the Bavarian countryside. That's what a muggle would see if he was able to come into a visual range of the place. Not an easy task considering the massive notice-me-not and muggle repellant wards surrounding the "ruins".

The castle was under a magic dome projected by massive ward stones situated into its six imposing towers. The point of that exercise was to project an image who someone looking at the place through aerial reconnaissance or satellite cameras would expect – blown up fortification left from the last war. The official version why the place was off limits was that there was a lot unexploded ordinance left there when the allies had assaulted the place.

Nowadays almost no one remembered that there was no battle there either between muggles or the magicals. During the Great war, Konningmere was one of a handful neutral places in Europe. Its purpose – a safe haven for mercenaries both magical, muggle and creature, had something to do with that. No one wanted to poke their nose there. It was hazardous for their health.

That was the upstanding establishment that Blaise visited that morning while Magical Britain was receiving their morning papers. He was on recruitment drive.

Dumbledore and Voldemort had organizations with a lot of manpower. In this new world, the two displaced war veterans were at a disadvantage. While personally extremely dangerous, they could not be in more than one place at a time which did place limits on their usefulness. Not to mention, they could still be overwhelmed with sufficient numbers; especially if Harry and Blaise did not have the luxury to choose the battlefield. And both veterans knew that was something you couldn't count on in a war.

Harry and Blaise had no illusions that, baring a miracle, that would be the endgame. The only thing that was not clear was how many sides the conflict would have. Harry's and Voldemort's were a given. But then there was Dumbledore and the Ministry. And if things got bad enough the ICW would be forced to intervene. That was one of the two nightmare scenarios for the veterans – either Voldemort would succeed in making a repeat performance of the war they fought (unlikely with them already taking steps to neutralize his major advantages) or a five-side war fought on British soil. Both cases would inevitably expose the Wizarding world, showing to everyone its worst sides. Magic was a wondrous and terrible thing.

The new Lord Zabini arrived at the designated apparition area. It was a nice little killing ground covered by machine guns, what looked suspiciously like a flamethrower and if he was not mistaken there were small holes in the ceiling from which acid could be poured on any unsuspecting guests (or boiling oil if the current management of the castle wanted to go on with the classics). The only exit from the room was protected by what in Blaise's professional opinion were armored slabs with thin holes from which the defenders could shoot safely.

The guards were five strong lads, clad in muggle body armor and uniformed with digital camouflage for city warfare. Two Alsatians, which had rune covered collars around their necks were glaring at the newcomer and growling quietly. Blaise was efficiently scanned by both magical and muggle means and after the guard detail determined that he was not carrying anything that would pose an unacceptable danger to the castle and its inhabitants, it was a time for a short chat.

"What is the purpose of your visit?" asked a short, blond man in perfect English. Despite his small statute, the guard with sergeant stripes on his sleeves gave off the feeling that he was the most dangerous of the security staff manning the barricade.

"I am looking for Major Mainshtein. My Principal has a business proposition for him."

The sergeant looked at something hidden by the armor slab behind which he was taking cover and nodded.

"Enter, sir. The major should be in the mess hall shortly."

He made his way past the courtyard. There were a few pairs of guards patrolling around the outer walls. A platoon strength formation was on their morning run around the citadel. Ah, the atmosphere here made him feel almost home.

Blaise reached the entrance to the citadel, where he had to deal with another checkpoint. At least the folks here were not clueless about security. The way Remus was let in the Wizengamot chamber's visitor stand yesterday was bloody appalling. The "security" in the ministry had confiscated his wand... but the incompetent idiots let the werewolf keep his gun, a pair of HE grenades and few flash-bangs. Not to mention the many blades the man had secured on his person. Had he been a terrorist he would have been able to decimate the parliament members before the clueless wizards and witches knew what hit them. Here however, while he was allowed to keep his gun and wand, both weapons were noticed and he was watched constantly. It was a good thing that he had not brought grenades or something else to test the security of the Germans.

Blaise went through a long corridor, in which there were niches for people to take cover in the case of an assault making its way through the outer defenses. Finally, he reached the mess hall, which was similar to the Great Hall in Hogwarts, at least in shape. There were twelve long tables with benches on each side. About half of them were scarcely occupied by small groups of men and women who were eating breakfast and chatting behind privacy wards. Zabini looked around for familiar faces.

At a table to the far right Blaise saw three witches wearing form fitting dueling robes. They were huddled together and laughing over something. One of them, a tall woman with curly, short brown hair got his attention. Sophia Adria, a third cousin if he was not mistaken. In his original time-line she was leading group of witches who specialized in information retrieval and the occasional assassination. They had distinguishing themselves hunting Voldemort's agents who were trying to foster trouble within Continental Europe during the war. A possible ally that one.

He looked around the rest of the tables where the occupants were eating. There were familiar faces he couldn't place but at least none of them felt like a threat. Blaise could not see the man he was here to speak with and frowned. While in the short term this was not exactly a time-critical errand, he needed to speak with the mercenary leader. He and Harry, they desperately needed the manpower. There were simply too many things that needed doing.

Blaise heard a door opening to the left. He turned in that direction and felt relieved. A not particular tall man, about 1.80 m high, had entered the mess hall followed by a head taller blond mountain of muscle.

Blaise smiled and went to meet the officer.

=CF=

3 November 1995, Potter's flat, London

"Raise and shine, sleepyhead. Raise and shine!" an all too cheerful voice woke Rose. Or tried to as the case were.

"Gwd aut. Ist erly..." the girl muttered from under her blanket.

"Tsk. You want me to do this the hard way, don't you?" smirked Harry. He snapped his fingers and a couple of litters of ice cold water appeared a meter over the bed of his sister. Gravity took effect over the conjured liquid with predictable results.

Rose jumped from her bed with an almighty, indignant shriek which would have caused the neighbors to call the bobbies if it was not for the powerful wards protecting the apartment. Now the fully awoken witch threw away her soaked blanked and growled.

"Harry James Potter! I'll get you for this!"

Said man had decided that discretion was the better part of valor and had made his way to the kitchen where he had breakfast almost ready.

Fifteen minutes later a grumpy looking Rose joined her brother. She glared at her older sibling and was tempted to hex him. The way he was nonchalantly sipping his tea and smirking at her was infuriating.

"Tuck in, sister dearest. Today I'll be starting your training."

Rose perked at that.

=CF=

3 November 1995; Hogwarts

After their morning classes, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley went straight to their dorm. After the revelations in the morning most of the students were stunned by the news screaming from the front page of the newspaper. For the first time in their lives, many of the boys and girls attending Hogwarts started thinking for themselves. About everything that had happened in school ever since Rose became a firstie. The picture their young minds drew was not something most of them liked.

That was especially true for the two roommates of said girl. Both of them had spent the morning on autopilot, dazed while in a state of a stunned disbelief.

=CF=

When Albus Dumbledore entered the Great Hall for supper he was greeted by utter silence. All people in there had their eyes on him. And precious few of them held anything that could be considered warmth or the respect he was accustomed to. But the attitude of the students was his last problem. The glares from his staff directed towards him were somewhat unsettling.

The headmaster had hoped that by secluding himself in his office until the evening most of the emotions caused by the morning papers would have blown over by then. As it turned out that was little more than wishful thinking. His first clue that the mess created by Potter wouldn't go away like the usual fare was the withering glares he received from the professors. Most importantly was the way Snape was looking at him. The young man looked positively murderous. Albus wondered what the Gryffindors had done this time to irritate the young man so much.

Dumbledore frowned when he met the piercing gaze of Minerva. He shivered. The headmaster felt that he might have miscalculated a bit...

"Headmaster." McGonagall smiled at him thinly. "Explain." she ordered with a flat tone. Minerva's smile never reached her eyes, which reminded him of a predator stalking its prey.

"Now, Minnie... You see all this is just a massive misunderstanding..." Albus started.

"Albus..." her angry hiss could be heard all over the professor's table.

Dumbledore stared at his deputy for long moments, then glanced at the students who were all looking at him with angry expressions on their faces. His hopes that it would all just blow over were dashed. Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't considered such a possibility.

Albus released the hold he was usually maintaining over his aura and subtly guided it. If it were not for the various wards and enchantments active in the castle, at least a few of the professors would have noticed what he was doing. As it was, only Snape figured it out. However, the spy, simply gritted his teeth and watched carefully. The headmaster was about to put on a show.

Dumbledore placed his best, grandfatherly smile, on his face. His expression became solemn, and little sad. A subtle, wandless spell insured that every last soul in the great hall would hear his voice.

"Minerva..." started the old man. "I'm not as young as I was. I freely admit that this atrocity that happened to young Rose is my fault. I should have watched her closer. We all should have done so." The tiniest bit of admonishment entered in his tone, when Albus stared Minerva in the eyes. She had the good grace to look away. After all she was the girl's head of house, the one who should have noticed the signs of abuse first, just after the nurse. "Perhaps I've taken too many responsibilities upon myself and that is the reason why I did not find out sooner," he said in a voice laced with sadness.

Both students and teachers were hanging on his every word. To them, Dumbledore looked like an old man who deeply regretted a mistake that was not entirely his, yet he was ready to take responsibility. Something that they should respect. Right? He certainly hoped so.

When Severus' rolled his eyes, no one was looking at him. The double agent was struggling not to gag at the spectacle. Say what you wish about the old coot, but Dumbledore was master manipulator.

"Who in his right mind would have thought that a family could treat one of their own in such a way?!" Albus exclaimed and shook his gray head.

Was that a tear at the corner of his eye?! Severus grumbled something under his voice and took a long sip from his tea. Albus was overdoing it... not that anyone else was noticing.

"It was a terrible thing that happened to this poor girl," commented Dumbledore. "However, as you should be well aware, the Wizengamot dealt with those awful people. The only regrettable thing is that Harry Potter is confused and persists to tear Rose away from her friends." At that the old man gave a small smile and a nod towards the Gryffindor table, where the lions preened under his attention. "She should be here, where it is not only safe, but where her friends could help her. It is sad that where he was all those years, young Harry has become paranoid, mistrustful. It should be obvious that he should listen to my advice and let Rose rejoin us! It will be for the best, for both of them!"

The aura surrounding the old man spread throughout the whole chamber. It was making the people there susceptible to Albus' words. For the ancient mage, it was easier than stealing candy from a baby; to persuade the assembled children and adults that he was right despite their earlier anger with him.

Dumbledore beamed at his listeners. Even without reading their minds, he knew that he had them. It was truly amazing what an experienced archmage could achieve. Truth to be told, with his unrestrained aura, guided to enhance his charisma, it would be trivial to reassert his will upon them. Much like he should do with Rose when she returned, he knew.

The down side was that he could not really use it in the Wizengamot chamber. The damn place was enchanted too heavily and would blunt the use of such tricks.

After the conversations he had with different Lords and Ladies during the previous day, Dumbledore was unconvinced that he would be able to retain all his official titles. Not that it was necessary in order to keep most, if not all of his real power. Even better, if he could play his cards right...

The headmaster surveyed his students.

"It appears that thanks to all my other responsibilities taking so much of my time, I was unable to do my most important job as well as I should have," he said with a sad tone. "If I had, perhaps Rose would have been spared a lot of pain and grief." He lowered his head in apparent shame.

His spectators were eagerly watching the spectacle, believing every word. Well, perhaps not all of the Slytherins, but that was expected from those little snakes. Albus just hoped that eventually they would see the light and abandon Riddle's insane side. Eh. One could only hope and give them as many chances they needed to redeem themselves!

"So in light of all that happened I'll decide how much of my other responsibilities I'll have to give up in order to have enough time for my most important job – to insure that you receive the best possible education in the world, and remain as safe as possible behinds the walls of Hogwarts!" exclaimed the headmaster.

The Great Hall was silent for a moment, before it exploded in cheers from the students. Even the Slytherins reluctantly joined.

Snape grimaced at the noise and Albus' performance. He incidentally met Minerva's eyes and frowned. Severus could see that she was fuming behind her small smile. There was cold anger in her eyes which was hastily hidden behind a carefully constructed mask. Well, well, isn't that interesting? So there was at least one more who no longer bought in Dumbledore's image. How interesting...

=CF=

Gryffindor Tower, Girl's dormitories, Hogwarts; 3 November 1995

After dinner, Ginny and Hermione headed straight to their room. They were heartened by the Headmaster's speech, but that did not change one painful fact. Both of them had spent years in the same room with Rose... and neither of them noticed that she's been systematically abused and starved at home. That simple revelation shook their world to its foundations. Dumbledore was ready to take responsibility for his oversight and was going to step down from some of his positions. But what about them?

The girls looked at each other, when the door to their dorm shut behind them.

"What do we do?" Ginny said in a quiet voice. Since she has been a little girl, Rose was her hero, the person like whom she had striven to be. Yet she had failed her.

Hermione sat glumly on her bed. Her hopeless, confused expression, said it all. She didn't know how to make it better, how to fix her mistakes. Or even if they could be fixed.

She stared at the floor with unseeing eyes. How was it possible?! Her parents were doctors. She had even been told more than once how to look about the signs of abuse amongst her classmates after seeing about such a case on the TV years ago! Yet she missed it where Rose was concerned...

That thought caused Hermione to frown. How did she miss seeing what had been done to her best friend anyway?! She bit her lip and started carefully to think about everything she could remember about Rose.

Seeing her friend's expression, Ginny raised a delicate eyebrow. She knew it well. Something was nagging Hermione, and she would not stop tearing at the problem before she had an answer that would satisfy her.

"What is it, 'Mione?" asked the youngest Weasley.

"Ah!" Hermione was startled by her roommate's voice. Her brown eyes focused on the read-haired girl. "You see..." she started explaining what was bothering her to her friend.

=CF=

Pub "Claymore", London; 3 November 1995;

Harry was sitting at a secluded table at the back of the fine establishment. He had left Rose with her future sisters in law in Greengrass manor, where she should be reasonably safe. Besides, Daphne had called him on the Floo insisting that at least his sister join her them for dinner. He knew better than to argue with her.

He looked around checking for the man he was waiting for. The establishment had been shown to him years ago, or years from now, in his original timeline, by a squib Sergeant Major, from the Black Watch regiment – one of the UK's few still combat capable formations at that time. Incidentally, he was waiting for that same man; Sergeant Major Greene, who had retired a few years ago, and who he was supposed to meet here.

Potter was idly studying the rest of the patrons in the dark pub. Most of them were squibs who had joined the army – one of the traditional way for the Wizarding families to dispose of such embarrassments. The fools. Well, their loss was Harry's gain. Or so he hoped.

He sipped from his whiskey, relishing at the taste of the strong drink.

Harry allowed himself a thin smile, when an ordinary looking man, wearing old, worn jeans and a brown leather jacket entered the pub. The old NCO, who looked to be in his mid-fifties scanned the establishment until his eyes reached Harry and stopped on him for a moment, before finishing their sweep. The man nodded at the bartender and stalked towards the back of the room.

Grey eyes met emerald and Harry could no longer suppress his smile. He stood up to greet his mentor. Mark Greene was the man who was to blame for who Harry was today. The Sergeant Major was the one who got him out of his funk after Daphne's death and turned him into a soldier.

"Sergeant Major Greene, it's an honor to meet you in person." exclaimed Harry with a huge smile plastered over his face.

The grizzled NCO frowned at the much younger man but clasped his outstretched hand anyway. Sure hard grip, with callused palm. So the youngster used his hands for something more than waving his wand around. That put him over ninety percent of the British wizards. Not too bad for a first impression. The veteran soldier wondered if the fact that Potter was sitting so his back was turned towards the wall was simple coincidence or a healthy dose of paranoia.

"Mister Potter," Sergeant Major Green began, "or should I call you Lord Potter?"

Harry cast few wandless privacy charms and waved the Sergeant Major to sit, which prompted a raised eyebrow.

A busty, black haired waitress hurried to deliver a frosty mug of Greene's favorite beer. When the young woman moved away, Harry sat down too.

"I prefer commander, Sergeant Major." said the younger man.

"Really?" deadpanned the sergeant.

Harry stared at the man.

The youngster sitting across the table was too young to hold such a rank. Or he at least looked so. However, something shifted in Potter's green eyes. It was as if a mask was removed. The whole posture of the other man shifted. Two trained predators looked at each other.

"You called me here with an offer I simply could not refuse, Mr. Potter," growled the old NCO. Under other circumstances he might even have liked the kid. Hell, depending on what he had to say, that may yet be the case.

All traces of amusement vanished from Harry's face. If he had really thought straight during the last few days, he would have contacted his mentor earlier. He only prayed that the information he had from his own past was still valid here. Potter gave another unbreakable vow and told a part of his story to the man who would have been his mentor.

On the bright side, Harry was treated by to an unique sight: the gobsmacked expression of the Sergeant Major, something until now he thought to be impossible. It was too bad that their first meeting in this world would be under such grave circumstances. But it couldn't be helped. Harry hoped that he was not too late.

After a full minute Greene shook his head and glared at his host.

"You know, the vow you gave me did not cover insanity. That you believe everything you just told me proves nothing..." trailed off the retired veteran. "However, it's not like I can afford to disregard any lead, no matter how outlandish it is," muttered the NCO. "Who do you believe has her?"

"Vincent Crabbe." declared Harry. "To the best of my knowledge she should be still alive."

Mark's eyes narrowed. The air around him became noticeably colder as the sliver of magic that he had buried deep within him resonated with his fury.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." said the retired NCO and abruptly stood up.

"Not so fast Sergeant Major. You are not going alone," stated Harry and followed suit. "I still owe you more than one."

Greene shook his head. He wanted to refuse, but too much was at stake. Yet, could he really trust this man? For all he knew, Potter might be a madman. Bloody hell, it was more than likely!

"Well, it's not like I can afford to not accept your help, Mr. Potter," Mark smiled coldly. "Not when my granddaughter's life is at stake."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment. There was really no need for anymore words. Harry knew that he would be in a world of pain if he fucked up with the veteran who had trained him in a future that would not be.

They exited the pub and Harry apparated them away.