Hy!

I am finally able to post a new chapter. I am sorry for the delays, but I had a lots of exams this past month and wasn't able to write. I have a few things to say:
1) I have finally finished the whole plot, including the paring. I'd like to thank you all for your suggestions!
2) I want to thanks everyone who commented. I didn't have the time to reply, unfortunatly, but do not fear, I will! Just know that I read them all and that I am very please that so many people like that story! also thanks to all the likes and subscriptions! :)

Warning for this chapter: PTSD

I think that's it! Thanks to my beta, adlertypwriter as usual :)

~LadyBraken

Chapter 10: Moles

He stayed silent for a long moment, assessing his possibilities. What could he say? He really had no official reason to stay in Numengrad - but ' I was just looking around' didn't sound like a good excuse to be in a proto-dictatorial possibly genocidal fortress.

Well, he had never been good at lying.

Harry took a deep breath. "I met Grindelwald by pure chance, in the Black Forest." He started. "Well, pure chance may not be exactly true. He told me that he had Seen something here he was looking for since a long time. I, for one, was completely lost."

Harry stopped. The woman was making such an expression. That didn't bode well for the credulity she should have had about his story. Well, it was the truth. So, Harry continued, changing and censoring only a few parts of his story, with the casual detachment he had learned while making war reports in his previous life.

And wasn't it odd to think about his previous life.

He saw her raise an eyebrow once or twice when a too modern expression slipped - but he could easily pass it on a bad translation of another, more used, language.

Or another proof of his weirdness, he didn't really know.

But if the woman slowly opened her mouth in disbelief, the man behind her stayed still as stone. Harry's bad feeling was lingering. The man was too cold about it all - as if he already had heard at least a part of the story. A vein had appeared on his forehead when Harry had talked about that time he had hit Grindelwald, and his fist had closed slightly squeezing and bulging his forearm.

Grindelwald's men weren't Death Eaters, but some behaviour didn't lie. If not a sworn oath towards the Dark Lords, the man at least sympathized with his ideas, that was pretty clear. Harry would ask himself how nobody had noticed this before - but he knew how hard it could be to see the betrayal right under one's nose, especially in a bureaucracy as heavy and important as a ministry.

From the outside, of course, it was always a bit ridiculous.

"So, you're telling me that you stayed almost three weeks in Nurmengard by… chance?"

Really, Miss Goldstein was giving some very McGonagall vibes right now.

"I don't really believe in… chance, Ma'am. But it was completely unintentional, that's for sure."

She pinched her lips.

Harry was sitting on his prison bench. Figure the first thing they would do was to lock him up. They couldn't really trust him - but hell, he had made it possible for most of Numengard's prisoners to escape ( the ones that were important, apparently), they could at least have give him a pillow to sleep on. Or given him shackles that were a little less tight.

Harry sighed, rubbing his neck. The chain linked to the magical cuffs that held him back made a small metallic sound. He could still feel the after effect of Grindelwald's Cruciatus. It hadn't been as powerful as Voldemort's used to (will?) be, but of all the Unforgivables, Harry had always been more sensitive to the Cruciatus. Obviously.

He was forced to notice that the prisons of the American's ministry were far more comfortable than any other in which he had had the displeasure to reside. He wasn't worried. He could escape from here too, after all, and quite easily. Probably.

He just really didn't want to have an entire ministry on his back.

Said back that was killing him right now.

He groaned.

But his eyelids were heavy, and he was tired.

She was laying there, on the dirt, on the floor. Naked, her skin so white it shone…

He didn't want to fall asleep. Harry knew what was waiting for him in his dream.

Untouched, perfect, if not for the small, cut on her side, from where was dripping blood, if not for the blue marks on her wrists, if not for the complete stillness, the whiteness of her stare.

He fought in vain, fear choking him as his heart beat slower, tiredness forcing him into sleep.

She didn't move, nothing moved. And then, a crack. A sickening crack as her limbs shuddered on the floor. her ribs broke and crumbled under her skin, creating shapes and unnatural angles. Her spine twisted; the noise grew stronger.

Something was growing inside, pushing against the bones, stretching the skin to its limit until it tear the flesh. It grew in her wound, it spurted in her mouth, distending her jaw, cracking it with a sickening noise, until the stem broke in half, revealing it's internal silkyness.

A petal, two, then a flower would spread and bloom, and another, and another…

Portions of pulpits would have fallen to the ground with humming noise, abandoned by the body that was transforming itself. They would have revealed a white grumbling that was spreading as the body lost its natural color - its human color. He was becoming less, more and more. He would become nothing.

Pretty… Pretty, yes? Would say the voice.

No.

He wanted to scream, to shout that it wasn't pretty, that it had to stop, please. But there was no use. Some things couldn't be stopped.

"Hello, Sir."

Harry's eyes snapped open.

Ravier. Of course, he would come now. The man may have been an Unspeakable, but it didn't make him a good spy. He had been too angry, already in the interrogation room.

Harry did his best not to move despite the chill, despite the ice he could still feel in his bones.

"Hello, there. Revier, is that it?"

The man smiled crookedly - well, he tried to. He mostly looked like he was constipated. The man pointed his wand at Harry - 10 inches, light wood, probably hornbeam, he noted distractedly - his hand steady, but his wrist too tense for proper use in a fight.

The man snarled."Ravier, actually. Not that someone like you would remember the name of someone like me."

Good. Play for time. Hopefully, an Auror would come soon enough.

"I don't really know what you're talking about, Sir."

The beauty of it was that he really didn't know. The man clearly had made an assumption on him based on whatever information Grindelwald's people - or the M.A.C.U.S.A. - had lent to him. Which meant that it was at best probably wrong, at worst clearly dangerous.

But at least it allowed Harry to stall for a while.

The man had let the door open.

"As if you didn't know!" he sneered.

He really didn't.

"As if you weren't one of those snobbish pureblood, thinking your above everyone else! As if-"

Harry threw himself against the man, knocking the air out of his lungs with a wooof. He would have managed to get out of the room if the shackles hadn't suddenly held him back. They both fell onto the ground.

Harry winced as he tried to get back on his feet. He saw that Ravier's wand was still tightly held in his hand.

"Accio Elder Wand." He grumbled when he had managed to get on his knees.

He could clearly feel the pull, but his wand didn't come. The idiots must have locked it somewhere. Unfortunately for him, Ravier was back on his feet, his face red in anger, and a very present wand pointed at Harry's face.

He should have went for that wand instead.

Harry raised his eyes to meet his aggressor's, glaring like there was no tomorrow. Adrenalin was coursing through his veins, but he remained steady, pondering on his possibilities. There was many ways for Harry to get out of this situation, but he didn't want to go as far as most of them needed him to.

He had seen worse, really.

He got up to his feet, ready to jump again if need be. Ravier seemed very pissed off, an angry red flaming his neck and his cheeks. He shouted a Stupefy that Harry dodged easily. The spell crashed against the wall behind him - the aim was slightly off, and the spell in itself not really powerful.

Ravier was probably more counting on the fact that Harry was chained than on his own power.

Harry saw something move at the corner of his eye and stilled.

"Not only are you a coward to attack someone trapped, but you apparently can't even do that properly!" Harry taunted, hoping that the man would be too angry to notice whomever was tip-toeing behind him.

Ravier sputtered and held his wand higher. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His face locked in surprise, he fell on his knees, before landing completely on the ground in a ridiculous position, face first and bum in the air.

Behind the fallen Ravier was standing a man that would have been tall if his back wasn't so bent, with soft light brown curls, almost copper, and a long blue coat. The man barely met Harry's eyes, before stubbornly looking at the ground, half hidden behind the small curls of his hair, his face slightly tilted, as if to compensate his lack of vision by paying greater attention to what he heard.

His wand had disappeared in his sleeve as quickly as it had appeared. Harry had barely the time to see a flash of soft green- a leaf?

Curious.

"Harry!"

Harry was shocked out in his observation, and into the heavy feeling of awkwardness as no one talked, by a limping Mr. Graves. The ex-Auror was now well-groomed, and cleanly shaven Heavy black circles were obvious under his eyes. He walked with purpose - the stance of a man used to command and even managed to reduce his limping to something dignified.

Almost.

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry, a bit a lost with the situation, and a bit weary.

Not that he was complaining. It's not every day that complete strangers came to rescue you; but in Harry's experience, these strangers tended to ask something from you afterwards.

"We're getting you out of here." Graves walked until he was close enough to be heard while whispering, and leaned on the wall. He pointed at the other man with a small tilt of his head, "This is Newton Scamander. He's a Magicozoologist, but tends to break into places once in a while."

Harry looked at the man for a second. "Are you comfortable with hand-shaking?" He asked. Scamander rose his eyes in surprise for about a second, before lowering them again.

'I would prefer not to, Sir." He said, with a small smile gracing his lips.

"It's quite alright, and call me Harry."

"Call me Newt, then."

His accent - English! Harry didn't think he would ever had felt so content to find a compatriot, but after Germany and the U.S, the sound of proper English almost made him swoon.

"That's all very well and good, but we really need to get out of here."

There was noise of a small explosion, and a second later, the Wand was in Harry's hand. He grinned at the wide eyes the two other threw at him. "She's a bit capricious. You'll get used to it." He said, twirling his wand in his hand. How better he felt when She was there, where She belonged, in his hand… "Well, no time like the present. Shall we go?"

"We need to put a desillusionate charm on you before… see I would, but, my case has extension charms and I would carry you out but unfortunately, my case doesn't work anymore around here."

"Oh, there's no need, don't worry." Assured Harry.

He covered himself with his Cloak and disappeared entirely from their sight.

He ignored their shocked looks and started moving. "I'll stay behind Graves here, so no one will notice."

Graves nodded, muttering something about obvious madness. Newt only grinned and took his place. "You seem to be prepared for everything," he whispered.

"Not everything I'm afraid, or I wouldn't be in this situation."

Newt grunted noncommittally as they ascended the first stairs.

Harry had to use all of his stealth talents not to get noticed. He had to follow Graves's step, which, he understood now, wasn't that much of a good idea considering that the man was limping.

But he couldn't follow Newt; not only because he didn't know the man and thus didn't trust him much on principle, but also because the poor man had so little presence that people kept bumping him in the corridors, or brushing his shoulders as they passed. So Harry was doomed to observed Graves's leg and count in his head to follow the limping pattern.

Harry was so focused concentrated on Graves that he almost missed how lost he was here. Not only in these times the style and ways of casting were different, but even the magic had changed, surprisingly. The spells pronunciation was different, and most of them seemed weaker. They were too complex for the results they were supposed to have. Not only that, but the Americans seemed to have adopted a Muggle- like sense of fashion. As far as Harry had seen, the only difference was that wizards still favoured longer clothes to billow around them dramatically and lighter choices of colors. At some point, Harry even wondered if these people still had a Status of Secrecy considering how close of a muggle-like style and behaviour they were showing.

Then, remembering his teachers always in traditional wizarding robes at Hogwarts, he thought it might just be an American thing.

Which was, thinking about it, even stranger.

Suddenly, a lot of things he knew about the future U.S.A made a lot more sense to him. Only wizards could have invented Monster Trucks.

It was almost too easy.

They passed a few people who had the bad idea to congratulate a very tense and moody Graves for his remission. All of it was really awkward, especially for those who obviously knew about the real causes of his 'retirement'.

In fact, it was made even easier when most of the Aurors were called away, something about a problem in the obliviation system between the blocks seven and ten. This followed by the most Americans slurs Harry had ever heard and a lot of strong young people running towards the exit.

Harry awed at the ingenuity the M.A.C.U.S.A had shown at length; to the contrary of the English Auror's Office, the American one was placed in such a way that the only way to go out of the cells was to pass in front of them, and yet when the Aurors needed to get out quickly, they could avoid any other office. The corridors were almost exclusively for them. To beat it all, the similarities between the wizards and muggle fashion allowed the Aurors to get out without getting changed and immediately blend in with the crowd of the city.

Harry grinned. In England, he had had to wait for the Status War for the ministry to start using officially these methods, and only thanks to the DA's constant influence.

In the whole escape, all they had to do was to break a few series of wards, to go around those that couldn't be safely put down and to act like nothing was wrong. Graves was unsurprisingly good at that; after all, Harry had seen first hand how Aurors tended to turn into criminal masterminds in order to prevail the Healers or their superiors restrictions.

They finally had to pass through the main entrance. Graves wasn't accredited to apparate out of the ministry like the Aurors were, and if he toyed even slightly with the law considering his previous position as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, doing so would be suspect.

And Harry had the distinct impression that Graves wasn't the type of person to enjoy breaking the law, no matter the situation.

The House elf sent a suspicious look at Graves and Newt but closed the elevator' door diligently.

Harry crouched to put himself at the elf's eye level and pulled down his cloak, revealing his face.

"Hello there, good Sir." He said, ignoring the noise of distress Newt made, and the way Graves was looking at him like he was pondering on the good of murder in this particular case.

The elf answered after a moment, obviously not used to being addressed in such a way. He looked at Harry with weariness, narrowing his globulous eyes at the wizard.

"I am no Sir, Sir. I'm but a house elf."

It was really strange how the little creature was managing to snarl and look self-deprecating at the same time. He was also a bit taller than the elves Harry was used to- and properly dressed. American elves were as strange as Americans.

"True, you're an elf," his said conspiratorially, " A wizard' slave. But, see, muggles consider Black People as slaves, in this very country. Yet here, a black woman is President of the M.A.C.U.S.A. You'll find that what people deem worthy of being human differ grandly dépending on the point of view."

"You are a strange Wizard, Sir."

"I am, but wizards are often stupid."

The elf snorted but kept his eyes on the elevator's door. Harry had the distinct impression that the elevator was moving more slowly than it ought.

"Hey, friend, wanna help us?" Harry asked lightly, " There is a man following us. I think we took him out, but one can never be too careful. He's one of Grindelwald's… a traitor, you see?"

Harry stubbornly ignored the stares that he felt on his neck, and concentrated only on the elf.

"I'm not asking you to put yourself in danger, of course. But...Will you slow him? Make him do little tours of that pretty elevator of yours."

The elf didn't look at him. He gave a little nod at the wall.

"Thank you." whispered Harry before going back under his cloak.

The elevator finally stopped after a sharp ring. The doors opened on the Hall, where the sun shone through the immense windows and freedom was only a few meters away.

"Give them hell, Sir," said the elf.

As they stepped out, Harry wondered about the eventual success of the S.A.L.E in America. He wondered too when exactly would Graves burst. He was very clearly boiling with questions, poor man.

Harry felt a pang of guilt - Graves shouldn't have had to put everything at risk like that. It wasn't worth it - he wasn't worth it. He wished he could have stopped the Director - but he knew fairly well what was pushing the man to such length. He was a soldier - he had made the War (The World War One, considering the time). He was acting like a soldier - doing everything to get a teammate out of trouble. Because, when Harry had freed him, Graves had immediately put the young man in the 'his people' part of his mind.

Harry understood. He had done the same, and would probably do it again.

Graves was the head of the MLE. He couldn't afford to lose control; yet, Grindelwald had stripped him of it.

He was tacking the control back.

"Director Graves!"

"Isolt."

Isolt, as it turned out, was a man who was larger than he was tall, with short greyish hair cut very neatly, in a suit that was probably worth more than any house Harry ever possessed in his life.

"It is good to see you!" exclaimed the small man.

"I was on my way out." Graves deadpanned.

It turned out too that Graves really didn't like Isolt.

"Oh yes, yes of course. And who is your young friend?"

Newt made a little painful noise when it was obvious that he had been noticed. Graves frowned in a way that was suggesting an impending headache caused by the little man.

"This is Newton Scamander-"

"Scamander? The one that fought Grindelwald?"

Newt turned an interesting shade of red and - oh, Harry hadn't noticed the freckles. His eyes were stubbornly fixed on the ground, and his shoulder stooping. Harry knew this position very well; he was trying to make himself small.

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" Exclaimed the man, holding his hand out to shake.

Scamander held his hand for a half shake, before withdrawing it just as quickly. He inclined his head as a salute.

" Tituba's bones why isn't this bloody elevator working?" Someone grumbled behind them.

Harry's head snapped in the direction of the elevator, which was, for all intent and purposes, blocked. It could only mean one thing.

He caught Graves sleeve and pulled it. He had to warn them. They had to be quick or else. Harry wasn't sure what his legal status was here and now, but he was pretty certain that if it was his word against an Unspeakable, he wouldn't win.

There were no words needed. Graves felt his sleeve being pulled, looked at the still-closed elevator and narrowed his eyes. The smallest tilt of his head indicated to Harry that he had understood. "We really have to go, Isolt," Graves said sharply, making the small man wince.

"Of course, of course, I understand." It was said in such a tone that was saying Isolt clearly didn't understand and took it as a great offense. Graves' face, however, indicated that he didn't give a rat's tail about what Isolt considered or not as a great offense. An opinion on which Harry immediately agreed.

They strode rapidly into the lobby, sneaked the morethey went down the stairs, nodding vaguely at all those who were greeting them (they were quite few in number, and here most of the staff just dropped their eyes when they perceived Graves). Harry struggled to keep pace and keep the Cape tight on his shoulders. He knew that since his First Death, the Cape seemed to fit his needs, and never one of his spies had been seen beneath the hem of the legendary fabric, but school habits were very much anchored.

Graves finally pushed the door open, is long coat billowing imperiously behind him, and the building immediately changed to what it looked like for muggles. The effect was a little disorienting, but they did not have the time to linger.

The noise of the street assaulted him. Harry took note of not lingering in the big cities more than necessary. All these people passing by, the cars that were backfiring, was hard on the nerves.

He knew enough about himself to know that being so stressed was not good at all.

A bright red car stopped right in front of the Ministry steps with a tire squeal. The bodywork was sparkling and white - a kind of strange mixture of style and ostentation. It looked like the cars Harry had seen in Gangster movies, with it's convertible roof and leather seats. Harry realized that he had seen only half of many movies, hidden behind the cupboard door under the stairs.

Harry also realized that he was now living in said gangster's times.

In the car, Harry saw a big purple hat, under which was shoulder-length curvy hair, a shade redder than copper.

His heart stopped in his chest.

Severus, please…

Bound, unable to act, unable to scream.

The car's door emitted a click and opened on its own, revealing a man in ample blue and silver robes. Harry got the glint of a hand, smooth, with long, elegant fingers sprinkled with rings, a bracelet, and jewels.

Falling falling falling and -

Like a puppet without string, at the feet of the astronomy tower, a leg in the wrong direction, eyes unblinking, staring at the newly-cleared sky-

Laughing at the funerals because - oh God - because death is but the next great adventure isn't it?

"Professor!" exclaimed Newt, beaming.

Like a lamb to slaughter-

and then, all white, all white, and the bittersweet taste of forgiveness somewhere in his throat.

and the years, the long years of longing, missing, alone, in shoes he wasn't ready to wear-

Twinkling blue eyes caught his over small round sunglasses. His eyebrows shot up in amusement, a grin appearing in his braided beard. He leaned in the passenger seat to get closer to the men that were still in shock.

"Going somewhere, my boys?" asked Albus Dumbledore innocently.

Gellert was looking around him, watching over the repairs.

Smoke was coming out of the camps, too black, too thick to be the one that usually rose from ovens and campfires. Stretchers were passed here and there, sometimes empty, sometimes full of wounded wailing.

20, 21…

There were very few casualties on Halloween night. Only a few soldiers had been able to attack the civilian population of the camps, the others had to stay inside the fortress while Gellert had gone outside. Without orders from their leaders, they had not dared to act.

Their actions did not matter. Gellert knew who they were.

And Gellert knew, well, and despite himself, that if Harry had not drugged all the generals, he would have suffered a real coup. He knew that if Harry had not left the door of his cell open, despite everything, despite his other actions, there would have been hundreds of deaths; as it was traditional to proceed in these cases.

So, while the smoke stung his nose and the pain of his own wounds made him want to strangle the young man with green eyes himself, to put him on his dissection table to finally see what was in this strange being, to eliminate the threat once and for all, yet Gellert found himself grateful.

He had passed very close to death on Halloween night.

Yes, Gellert had strong feelings for the boy. Very strong. He just hadn't decided yet if they leaned more towards murder or something else. Curiosity. Excitement, maybe, with some grumpy admiration.

It didn't really matter. The outcome would be the same- for the Greater Good.

25, 26...

Harry had had something strange about him, even the first time Gellert had seen him. An aura of power, something of a promise in his moves. A raw delicious rumbling of danger, of power in the very way he breathed - like he didn't even need to. Gellert had wanted - something. Maybe to try what he had failed with Albus - after all, the young man didn't have any family to hold petty anger with.

The girl was weak and suffering, it was mercy what happened.

It wasn't even his fault.

Wasted, wasted-

Maybe to keep him as a general, maybe to make him reproduce with a woman of trust - Anny had very clearly set her eyes on him, even if the young man hadn't noticed.

He wouldn't notice someone's interest if they were naked in his bed.

He doesn't think about flesh.

Warrior - … Child. Too young to have known, to have tasted-

The child would have been powerful - and Grindelwald's to raise.

Maybe he had wanted to prove that he could have what Albus refused to give him.

Everything.

Not a replacement of course.

Because Albus was more, Albus was the Everything, and Gellert wanted, wanted, wanted so much it hurt day and night and -

A lock a splendid red hair, like a flame, like a phoenix. His. Only His.

But -

All of it for a stupid child - so much power, wasted, wasted wasted-

But now… Now he wanted to rip the child- for he was barely a man, wasn't it? - alive. To skin him, to crush him and to look deep, so deep that he would find the origin of his power. The origin of that something.

Was it possible that Harry was truly a Peverell? Had Gellert fought teeth on teeth with a true possessor of a Hollow?

He remembered the cold - the shadow he had seen in Harry's cell.

The stone.

Never before had Gellert imagined that the stone could be used offensively. No, he had thought about it, but nothing more than inference.

It hadn't been an inference in the cell.

Black cold - some sort of plasma? More real than a ghost, less than a living person. Couldn't touch any object. Intention clearly hostile.

The possibilities made his head spin and his heart jump in excitement.

He had sent a man to the young man. An unspeakable. A spy - not very gifted, but there was no need of much gift one you were in the M.A.C.U.S.A. when you were one of the 'lower' people.

Of course, he knew that the man couldn't win - if survive. Gellert was a vain man, but he had reasons to. His power - if not unprecedented ( Albus had always played too close during their duels), was extraordinary. He had joined it with his other talents - and a sharp mind and, of course, the Sight. If Harry had managed to beat him, no matter how close to a draw it had been, a poor little Unspeakable couldn't succeed. He didn't needed to See it to know it would happen.

No, the man would lose, and Gellert wouldn't even remember his name. But the important thing was: how would Harry win?

The answer to this precise question was very important.

Because even considering the Hollows… even considering the power, the knowledge Harry had, there was one thing that made Grindelwald shiver in anxiety, with this peculiar vertigo one felt while looking in a starless sky, while considering the Abysses, while acknowledging his Own End.

Grindelwald couldn't See Harry.

Yet he remembered Seeing himself tall and proud and the Wand in the hand - but the child had the Wand -

The vision was formed before Harry had come. He never had a vision of Harry. None of his predictions, none of the webs of the future had Harry in them.

None.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He needed to See, to taste the possibilities. He needed-

Albus at his side, immortals, the phoenix between them-

A building falling, and screams, screams-

He was in the great M.A.C.U.S.A tribunal, standing proud-

A strange bald man- barely a man, pointing his wand at him, the eyes burning like Hell-

None.

"Sir, we found her."

27.

On the ground, in front of him laid the young woman. She was still pretty, even in death. The only civilian victim dead by Harry's hand.

He wondered if the young man felt guilt for it. He hoped he did. He hoped he felt pain and cried for what he had done to Gellert.

They had put her on a barrow. Her eyes had already turned white, barely human. Too much humidity in the air. Her hair was stuck on her cold forehead.

The last of the Romanovs.

Gellert caressed her skin almost tenderly. She had been so fierce. So angry, and naïve. He had hoped to make a general out of her. Maybe a spy- she was - had been- pretty enough to seduce men to gain information, and strong enough not to let it destroy her.

She had always obeyed him. From when she had come looking for help after Rasputin's worst… woes. He had talked, she had listened. From her royal decree to nothing more than his servant, he had destroyed everything and built her back up, and all of that for nothing.

What a waste.

"What shall we do with her, Sir?"

Gellert looked at the soldier, who was staring nervously somewhere above his right shoulder.

He wished he could give er a proper burial, but-

The Stone.

"Throw her corpse in the sea."