Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.

Information: all in fat-italic is from Rowling's Tale of the Deathly Hallows.

The next two chapters are a bit influenced by the movie 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them'. I tried to minimize spoilers (only the next chapter will truly contain anything about the movie)!

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1913-1918 AD

Deals

sss

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight."

Sal looked at his men.

They were all gathered behind him, their faces determined and grim.

"This," Sal said. "Is our only chance. This will be the last time we might get information like the one we have right now. We are risking everything with this coop – including not only our lives but also the existence of the Resistance as a whole."

The men all nodded gravely.

"We will make it count," Allaric Moody told him grimly. "He won't escape again – not as long as I live."

And Sal couldn't help but look at the man – not a boy anymore but truly a man now – in bitter understanding.

He knew what the young man had been going through – and he was willing to support the boy, now man, just to ensure that he wouldn't lose himself to the revenge he wanted to take on those who had taken what he had needed the most in the world when he was still a child and not a war veteran who had seen too much…

"Yes," Sal thought grimly. "This will be our last march. Today will be the day of the final decision on who will win this war."

Still, even with the meagre knowledge of history Sal had brought back with him into the past, he couldn't stop wondering about one thing – just one thing.

Why wasn't Dumbledore with them right now?

After all, this was his history in making – even if it had started with Sal and his ability to stumble into situations he hadn't planned to stumble in at all…

sSs

23th May 1913

The world had changed again. Sal couldn't believe how fast the world changed these days. Just fourteen years ago he had been an apprentice at St. Mungo's after giving up his career in teaching and starting anew. Now he was one of the head healers of St. Mungo's – and yet, if his concerns were true, the one who contacted him would change that soon…

"Salvatio Malfoire," a voice said, startling Sal out of his musing. "Salvatio Malfoire, it's good to see you, though I'm surprised that you're still alive after all this time…"

Sal looked up from the table top he had been staring at, into the face of a man he hadn't seen in centuries.

"Hohenheim," he greeted the Elder Dragon hidden as a human.

The dragon smiled, showing teeth far too sharp to be human.

"It seems that you remember me, still," he said.

Sal snorted amused.

"I helped you and your wife to have a child," he said amused. "That's not something you forget that fast, my friend."

The Elder Dragon smiled at that.

"A good thing it isn't or I might have waited here for nothing," Hohenheim replied.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. "And tell me why you wanted to meet me in the Leaky Cauldron today."

The dragon sighed and sat.

"It's complicated," he said. "And I don't know the full extent of it."

When Sal raised an eyebrow at that, he elaborated.

"Something's happening all over the country. Dark elements are flocking together, creating havoc wherever they go. There are attacks all over Europe. We're just happy that it hasn't spilled into the muggle world right now, but…" The dragon stopped, closed his eyes and sighed. "The German and Italian ruling families have vanished or died unexpectedly within the last months. There's uncertainty and fear all over the countries. Something's happening, Salvatio – and we don't know what."

Sal frowned at that.

"The ruling families of Germany and Italy died or disappeared?" He repeated concerned. "As in: Their first born, land-bound families?"

"Yes," Hohenheim replied sighing. "I'm talking about those families that were as bound to the land and its people as the Pendragon family has been for Britain. With them lost, there's no one who can unite the people, like there's no one who can do if for Britain. The magicals of Europe might have looked down on Britain for the loss of its ruling family, but now they're facing the same problems – and unlike Britain they aren't used to deal without their princes and kings."

Sal sighed and rolled his eyes at that.

"Like I told you before, Hohenheim, don't look down on us British. We still swear ourselves to our ruling family, if they're gone or not, it doesn't matter," he said.

Hohenheim pressed his lips together at that.

"It might not politically for day to day life," he said. "But without a king, you'll have quite a lot trouble to unite a wizarding nation. We don't feel compelled to follow if it isn't the ruling family ordering it, you know?"

"And yet, the ruling family can only use their power if people believe in their ability to do the right thing for their people," Sal said sighing. "A king without the trust of his people is no king at all. The moment he is trusted by them, on the other hand, he will be able to guide them far more effectively than any other ruling body."

The dragon raised his eyebrow at that.

"You sound as if you know what you're talking about," he said amused.

"I do," Sal replied. "I remember the power of the one king who was more trusted by the British wizards than any other king before. His rule is still a legend – a legend far more known than just to us British wizards."

Hohenheim inclined his head at that.

"You're right," he said. "Your King Arthur was exceptional. His death was the greatest tragedy in the whole history of magical Britain."

"And it seems that the same tragedy is now occurring all over Europe," Sal said darkly.

Hohenheim's eyes darkened at that as well.

"Let's hope it's not going that far," he said. "Losing two ruling families is more than enough tragedy already."

Sal inclined his head, but said nothing else to that. Instead he returned to the previous discussion.

"Why did you contact me, Hohenheim?" He asked.

The Elder Dragon sighed.

"My baby boy married a human," he said. "Now the descendants of this bonding are in trouble thanks to those happenings."

Sal frowned at the Elder Dragon.

"What do you mean 'in trouble'?" He asked a bit concerned. He might not have kept up with his godson's family, but that didn't mean that he would sit by and do nothing if they were in danger…

Hohenheim sighed.

"The Head of the Family and his wife, my baby boy's great-great-granddaughter vanished without a trace after visiting Family in Germany," he said unhappily. "Now their son is out and about, looking for them. I fear for him. I'm sure my great-great-great-granddaughter's disappearance has something to do with the death of those ruling families – and I can't sit by and watch my baby's babies being harmed. But I can't do a lot as well, since I'm not human and can't keep my human features for more than a few hours any more. I needed someone who looks human to look into all that – and you are the one I know and trust. You are the one who gave me my baby boy, so I trust you to take a look at the happenings that threaten my baby boy's babies. Will you?"

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

He was one of the head healers of St. Mungo's. If he did that, he would have to shed his identity and create a new one, one that wasn't connected to anybody…

Sal closed his eyes.

He had been in Britain for quite some time now. Maybe it was time to wander again…

"What's their name?" He asked.

"Moody," Hohenheim replied. "The one I want you protect is named Moody, Allaric Moody."

And like a long forgotten memory, the vague image of a mangled old auror appeared in Sal's mind.

Moody – the wizard descendant of one of the Elder Dragons…

The descendant of Sal's godson – and the ancestor of one of Sal's former teachers…

"Alright," Sal said finally after a long bout of silence. "I'll take a look."

And with that promise he was sucked into a war that would last as long as two muggle world wars with just a short break in between. Grindelwald had started his way to power – and it would be Sal who would not only expose him but also match his doings step by step.

Of course, Sal had never planned to add other people to his fight against a man he had never planned to openly fight against.

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25thJuly 1913

To Sal's silent desperation, the first who actually joined him in fighting Grindelwald, was a boy he had known for the boy's whole life – one Garrick Ollivander.

"Garrick," Sal said with a sigh. "You just can't –"

"Father allowed it," the youth interrupted him. "Don't worry, Uncle. I'm only here to help you search for Allaric. I will return home the moment we find him."

"Garrick –"

"I know I'm not even seventeen yet, but it's not as if I propose to fight a dark lord," the young boy argued. "I just want to help you find my best friend!"

"You're not yet finished with Hogwarts," Sal countered.

"And you can teach me everything I need to know and even more," Garrick replied. "You and I know that my education won't be lacking even if I don't attend Hogwarts this year!"

And Sal couldn't argue with that at all…

Still, there was no way he would bring a minor somewhere were a war was starting to brew.

"Garrick," he repeated the name of his nephew. "You can't come. I'm not taking you somewhere where it's possibly dangerous for you!"

"But –"

"Even if it isn't a war – those criminals are dangerous and there's a huge chance that I will have to confront them in order to find Allaric," Sal pointed out. "There's no way that I will take a teenager with me when I have to confront murderers to find another teenager."

Garrick just looked at him stubbornly.

"I told my father what I'm planning and he allowed it," he said petulantly. "I'm not staying in Britain while Allaric is somewhere else in Europe and in danger."

The stubborn streak that Sal knew the Ollivander family was graced with, wouldn't allow the boy in front of him to beg down on this.

If Sal didn't accept Garrick Ollivander's company, the boy would find a way to search Allaric on his own – or to follow Sal without his knowledge. That was a given considering that the boy in front of him had Dewin ap Lleidr Ollivannder's blood in his veins – the one staffmaker who had wanted to leave Sal's father's house the day after his blood awakening to travel…

Sal pinched his nose and sighed.

It seemed like he would go to war with a teenager in tow…

"What did your father actually say when you told him you would join me?" he finally asked.

Garrick grinned.

"Promise me to come home before you go out and join a war, will you?" He repeated the words of his father smiling. "I promised him to, uncle."

In other words – at least the boy would be safe the moment Sal had found Allaric…

Sadly enough, in the end, Garrick's promise would just ensure that the boy would return home one last time before going to war…

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"And Death spoke to them."

Sal pulled himself out of his musing about the missing teacher and instead let his gaze travel over the men and women surrounding him.

"This time," he said. "We won't attack on a small scale. This attack will be all or nothing."

The others nodded grimly.

"I've already organized those who will work on the wards," Sirius Black spoke up.

"The knights are as ready as I could make them," Theseus Scamander added.

"And the dragon division is ready to show its true colours," his brother Newt said as grimly as the rest of the men and not nervous at all. Not a lot of people would have recognized the serious man in the awkward one he normally presented to the world.

"The surprises are fully stocked and ready to be used," Mad Marius added. "I've even dreamed up some extra for a bigger surprise than normal."

His brother Pollux padded him on the back at that and grinned.

"Well done," he told Mad Marius. "Very well done, brother dearest. Now we just have to take those babies with us!"

Sal couldn't help but notice the camaraderie that filled the room in the last hours before the end – somehow, it reminded him of easier times, back then, when everything was just starting…

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27th November 1913

"Allaric Moody?" Sal asked, his gaze meeting the blue eyes of a tired looking wizard with sandy-brown hair.

"Who wants to know that?" The man asked, distrust in his face.

Sal scrutinized the other man.

He was thin and looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks – and his eyes, his eyes were dead, as if he had lost every purpose in his life…

"My name is Salvazsahar Malfoire," Sal said coolly. "I've been looking for you."

The answer was a bitter laugh.

"So you're one of those bastards who killed my parents," the man scoffed. "Here to finish the job with me?"

With that the other man glared at Sal.

Sal just returned the glare with one of his own before leaning forward into the other man's personal space.

"I'm not," he said coolly. "I'm actually here to drag you home – kicking and screaming if I must."

Allaric snorted and then spat at Sal.

His spit stopped just an inch in front of Sal as if hitting something solid.

The man's eyebrows rose, then he scoffed again.

"As if I'd belief some stranger," he said with loathing in his eyes.

Sal just returned the other man's hate filled stare evenly.

"I don't care what or what not you believe in," he replied, disinterested. "With the death of your parents, it's my duty to look after you, so looking after you I will!"

Allaric sneered.

"I'm seventeen," he said unimpressed. "I'm all grown up. Whatever you plan to do or not to do doesn't matter – you have no say over me!"

Sal just looked back as unimpressed as the boy.

"I don't care," he said. "You're ancestor wanted me to look after you in the capability of a godfather, so I will do just that!"

Allaric raised an eyebrow at that, this time confusion in his face.

"My ancestor?" He repeated.

Sal inclined his head and then grabbed the other man. When Allaric tried to free himself, Sal simply stunned him and then proceeded to remove him from the bar he had found the other man in.

It was clear, that Allaric had been well on the way to being drunk, not for the first time after finding out what happened with his parents – but now that Sal had found him, he would not stand by and watch a young boy like Allaric succumbing to his grief and drowning it in alcohol… especially not with the happenings and assassinations all over Europe!

So Sal took the boy with him.

He was in the middle of a clearing in a near-by forest when he finally released the stun.

The boy stumbled to his feet, drawing his wand at Sal with unsure hands.

But before he could even think up one spell, a voice spoke up from behind him.

"If you cast just a spark with that stick of yours I'll take you over my knee and ensure that you will never even think about doing something foolish like that ever again!" The voice said.

Allaric flinched and turned slowly to the voice behind him.

Sal on the other hand raised an eyebrow at Hohenheim.

"Grandfather," the boy breathed in that moment, disbelief colouring his voice. "I thought you were gone as well!"

The Elder Dragon sighed and shook his head.

"Not yet," he said and sounded as tired as Sal's grandmother all those years ago. "But I don't have long anymore. Maybe a month or two, then I won't be anymore."

The boy hastily wiped his eyes after hearing those words.

"Then why did you ask him to drag me here?" He asked while gesturing at Sal accusingly. "It's not as if you'll stay!"

Hohenheim's eyes narrowed.

"Because I won't sit by and watch how my baby boy's babies kill themselves through grief!" He replied harshly.

Allaric looked at his ancestor in defiance.

"It's my decision what to do with my life!" He hissed furiously. "And if I wish to pursue the murderers of my parents – so be it!"

Hohenheim just sighed.

"I won't stop you, Allaric," he said in the end. "But I don't want to watch you kill yourself by fighting against something you can't fight alone!"

Sal mentally groaned.

Yes, he had agreed to help Hohenheim – but did that truly mean he would have to fight another war so soon after the last?!

When he looked in the defiant eyes of the boy, he mentally banged his head against the wall.

Obviously, it did.

"So what?" Allaric asked sneering. "You'll use the last months you have to help me kill those monsters?"

Hohenheim shook his head.

"No," he said and then gestured to Sal. "But I convinced your godfather to do so."

Allaric turned and looked at Sal in surprise before looking back at Hohenheim.

"So he's truly my godfather?" he asked surprised. "That wasn't a lie?"

Sal wanted to object and correct the boy that he had been the godfather of the boy's ancestor, but Hohenheim beat him to it.

"It wasn't," Hohenheim said. "And don't mind how he looks – like me, he's quite a bit older than his apparent age implies."

Sal sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Allaric on the other hand stared at Sal with a frown on his face.

"You will help me?" he asked, clearly not believing it. "You won't stop me?"

For a moment, Sal wished that he could change the boy's mind, but from the boy's eyes and determination he already knew that there were just two ways of handling this situation right now: saying 'no' and losing the boy to either alcohol or revenge or saying 'yes' and going to war with the boy while maybe soothing his hurt and keeping him safe.

"Yes," Sal said, his gaze locked on the boy's. "I will help you."

Sal had no idea that this simple promise would soon change into more. Under his guidance, the Resistance, a counter group to Grindelwald's men would come into being. Under his guidance, Allaric and others would assemble, fight and win.

And under his guidance, Allaric would finally fall – not to the enemies, but to the ones who should have been on their side from the start.

Sal would never forgive the man who killed his 'godson'.

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29th June 1914

"This is not good," Sal murmured while burying his head in his hands. "This is not good at all…"

The man in front of him nodded grimly.

"It isn't," he said unhappily. "I'm sorry that I basically came here with news as bad as those I brought."

Sal just shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he said tiredly. "And you're sure that it was those vigilances?"

The other man grimaced.

"One hundred percent, Godfather," he said unhappily while fingering the bandage Sal had wrapped around his left arm. "They noticed me even with me trying to hide within the crowd and… well, you see…"

He gestured towards the bandage before shaking his head in confusion.

"I've still no idea how they even recognized me as a wizard," he continued a bit baffled. "I mean – I didn't even have time to cast a shield or something like that! Before I knew it had already happened and then one of them looked at me and suddenly I was targeted as well…"

Sal grimaced at that revelation.

"The man must have been a Legilimens," he said and pinched his nose bridge. "You must have stood out to him in some way and he slipped into your mind and recognized you not only as a wizard but also as someone who understood that for all the muggle-like attack, magicals were involved."

Not for the first time, Sal cursed his more than shoddy history knowledge. He knew that before Voldemort, there had been another Dark Lord on the loose, but try as he might, he couldn't remember the name…

Cellar?

No.

Geyer?

No.

Greifer?

No.

But something with "G"… "Gr"…

Grendel?

That sounded somewhat familiar, but that didn't mean a lot, in the end.

Sal shook his head and concentrated on his godson in front of him.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Charlus," he said sighing. "I will go and tell it those who're out there, trying to stop them."

Charlus Potter just raised an eyebrow at Sal.

"Father and I both know you're more than just a messenger to those people," he said grimly. "You might have been able to hide it from the rest of the world, but both, Father and I know you better than that."

Charlus eyes were firm.

"You were the healer apprentice when Eloise died," he said. "The one who took me aside and held me in my grief – we're not sure how you do it, how you can look so young when you're as old as my father, but we both know that there's no way that you're just a messenger. You coordinate those counter attacks – Father and I are both sure about that!"

Sal sighed and rubbed his face.

It figured that his current best friend and godson would be able to figure him out…

In the end, Sal decided to go with the truth – at least in that regard.

"You're right, Charlus," he said. "I'm the one coordinating the counter measures."

Charlus crooked his head.

"So how do you manage to look so young when you're actually as old as Father?" He asked with interest in his eyes. "From what I know the one countering the attacks looks to be barely twenty years of age…"

Sal sighed again but then grinned just tiredly at his godson before shaking his head.

"Family secret," he said. "I fear I won't be able to tell you, Charlus."

Charlus pouted, but nodded his understanding.

He had been raised a pureblood and knew that family magic was considered secret and wasn't told to people outside the family…

"So what? You changed your identity and took on the leadership of those opposing those villains?"

Sal inclined his head.

"Something like that," he said truthfully. "It was an old friend of mine who asked me to take a look and well… I just couldn't sit by and watch the moment I found out what was going on out there…"

Charlus nodded slowly.

"I… think I can understand you, Godfather," he said thoughtfully. "After the assassination of Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand I witnessed yesterday in Sarajevo by those magicals – even if it was blamed onto a muggle – I'm not sure if I can continue to stand by and watch…"

Sal frowned at the man in front of him.

"Your father is currently head of the Wizengamot," he said slowly. "It won't look good at all if his son and heir is in any way or form involved with the vigilant group who decided to fight against those criminals who started terrorizing Europe."

Charlus frowned at Sal.

"So you'd forbid me to join your group just because Father is currently actually active in the Wizengamot?"

Sal sighed.

"It will have dire repercussions for him if this comes out," Sal pointed out to the other man unhappily. "You are his heir, Charlus – considering that the Wizengamot decided to sit by and watch for now, it wouldn't be good at all if the son of one of its members goes out and fights."

Charlus' eyes narrowed, but his face turned thoughtful.

"You're right," he finally said. "It wouldn't be good if it came out…"

Then he looked at Sal in defiance.

"But who says it has to come out, Godfather?"

When Sal raised an eyebrow, Charlus returned his inquisitive face with a stare.

"You obviously know how to establish a new persona without anybody noticing," he said, still staring at Sal. "You could help me to establish a cousin or some such…"

Sal raised his eyebrow.

"Your father is an only child," he pointed out and Charlus shrugged.

"But Grandfather had a sister who went missing nine years before Father went to Hogwarts," he countered. "For all we know she could have had a child out of wedlock and said boy could have had a child of his own."

Sal raised an eyebrow at his godson.

"And what would be the name of this elusive cousin?" He asked amused.

Charlus shrugged.

"Charlus," he replied. "Charlus Potter."

When Sal's second eyebrow joined the first, Charlus shrugged and grimaced.

"For the most of wizarding Britain I'm still Fleamont," he pointed out unhappily. "It's only been my friends and you who actually call me Charlus all the time. Everybody else, even my parents use Fleamont more often or always."

"In other words you want to make the name legal that you've been using for years for yourself," Sal said amused.

Charlus just shrugged.

"Charlus is a typical Potter name," he replied. "Even people who know that I tried to call myself 'Charlus' in the past wouldn't look twice if my cousin actually had that name…"

"And your new identity's second name?" Sal asked in inquiry.

Charlus shrugged.

"I don't know – what's yours?" He looked at Sal and Sal grimaced.

"Amethyst," he replied a bit unhappily.

Charlus snorted.

"Well – I guess that's not a name I will take," he said amused and Sal rolled his eyes, but in the end decided to offer the one name he knew he had been given by his mother Lily…

"My third name is Harryjames," he said – not lying, if you looked at the name his father Myrddin had given him all those centuries ago.

Charlus raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Harryjames," he repeated. "That's not a name I've heard before."

Sal smirked.

"It's traditionally still used in one specific family," Sal replied with a shrug. "But it was once a very common wizarding name."

Charlus looked thoughtful at Sal, considering the name.

"Charlus Harryjames Potter," he said thoughtfully, before frowning at Sal. "Who else knows that 'Harryjames' is your third name?"

Sal just shook his head.

"Nobody alive," he assured the other man. "There's nobody who could connect the name with me."

Charlus smirked.

"So be it," he said. "Charlus Harryjames Potter, that will be me – now, Godfather, can you make it happen?"

Sal sighed but in the end inclined his head.

"As long as we will talk to your father beforehand and he gives the go-ahead, I can," he said. "It also should keep down the repercussions if it's known that you've not grown up with the Potters and that Fleamont Potter is still part of the Unspeakables."

Charlus nodded.

"I'll talk to Father," he promised.

Not even a month later, Charlus Harryjames Potter, second cousin of Fleamont Charlus Potter was 'born'. He would later die in 1977 from 'dragon pox' – two years before his cousin Fleamont died in 1979…

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4th August, 1914

"Garrick," Sal said blankly and stared at the boy who had entered the tent Sal was currently using as a headquarters for his newly started Resistance. "What are you doing here?"

Garrick Ollivander smiled at him winningly.

"I'm here to help," he said.

Sal narrowed his eyes at the boy.

"You're barely seventeen," he pointed out. "There's no way I will let you go to war at that age."

Garrick pouted.

"But you went as well when you were my age!" He argued.

Sal's eyes just narrowed further.

"So you think you have the right to do so as well?" He asked pointedly.

Garrick shrugged.

"I'm not leaving Allaric," he replied. "He's my best friend and I will stand by him – even if that means to go to war with him!"

"You told me that you would return to Britain the moment we found Allaric," Sal pointed out coolly.

"I did and I was," Garrick replied and waved it off. "Britain is boring. I prefer to stay here with you and Allaric, Uncle."

"And what did your father say when you told him that you would go off to war?" Sal asked with a raised eyebrow, sure that the older Ollivander wouldn't have been happy hearing of his son's plans – if he had even heard about them until now!

Garrick straightened and before repeating his father's words verbally.

"Alright," he said, mimicking his father's tone and voice. "But no dying – or you will have to face great-grandfather's wrath, do you understand me?"

Sal stared at the insane boy in front of him for a second or longer.

Then he groaned.

Only an Ollivander could think words like that were the appropriate reply when it came to their son going off to war.

"Lovely," he said sarcastically, already resigned to an insane Ollivander joining his ranks. "Just lovely. Exactly what you want a father to say to their barely legal son when said son decides to go to war…"

Garrick grinned.

"I thought the said," he exclaimed happily. "So of course I promised to head his demands!"

Sal resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands at that.

"Garrick," he said slowly. "That all doesn't truly explain why you're here now! You shouldn't even know about the Resistance!"

The younger man shrugged.

"Father told me you're up and about wreaking havoc again, Uncle," he answered and waved it off. "Father's preoccupied now with the shop – unlike the last time you fought against that dark wizard Morgan and he stood by your side in Hogwarts."

Sal frowned at the boy.

"Your father is a grown man, Garrick," he pointed out, before repeating pointedly. "You're barely seventeen."

The boy looked unbothered by that.

"It's not as if Allaric is that much older than me," he pointed out reasonably. "And yet, he's still here."

Sal sighed.

"Allaric lost his parents to those criminals," he said. "He wouldn't sit by and do nothing even if I asked him to."

Garrick just looked at him disinterestedly.

"Father allowed me to go and fight," the boy pointed out. "He said that our family has an alliance with you – and if would be a shame if no Ollivander would partake in the fight you're fighting right now. Grandfather helped you in the alley. Father helped you in Hogwarts – not it is I who'll help you with those criminals!"

"This is a lot more dangerous than what your father and grandfather did for me," Sal pointed out and Garrick shrugged.

"So be it," he said stubbornly. "What can I do?"

Sal sighed, but before he could argue further, somebody else spoke up.

"You can help me with the creation of some of our new wards for our hide-out," Charlus Potter said. "And then you can help Allaric to find our enemies and to plan out our attack. Allaric said you've got a very good mind for strategic thinking, so I'm quite sure you'll be able to help him with that."

Sal turned and stared at his godson.

"Charlus," he said in warning, but the other man just shrugged.

"He's seventeen," he said. "And his father actually allowed him to be here – so why do you want to send him away? It's not as if he has to stay if he finds out he can't bear it!"

Sal sighed, but guessed that Charlus had a point.

"Alright," he said. "But I insist on an oath – do you understand, Garrick Ollivander?"

The boy nodded earnestly.

"I thought as much already," he said, determination on his face. "Don't worry, uncle. I won't disappoint you."

Sal just sighed.

"I never thought you would," he said while shaking his head slowly. "I never thought you would…"

Then he shook his head again, this time in contemplation.

"I still can't understand why you decided to return," Sal sighed.

Garrick grinned.

"That's easy, Uncle," he said reasonably. "Your cooking is better than father's."

Sal resisted the urge to bury his head into his hands and instead pointed at the door.

"Leave and bother Allaric," he told the boy. "I need a few minutes to contemplate where your lineage took a turn to insanity."

Garrick blinked a bit confused, but shrugged, lazily saluted and then heeded out to do as Sal had told him.

Sal meanwhile closed his eyes and started to wonder when children would stop to stop-by and stay to fight a war Sal couldn't remember them fighting from what he had learned in History of Magic…

If Sal didn't know better, he would have contemplated that he changed the time – but he was old enough to understand that it didn't matter what he did, the time in the future was already influenced by his current decision so in the end every decision he would make would have impacted the past of his future already…

"This is insane," Sal said to himself.

Sadly, over time it would just get even more insane instead of better…

From then on, Allaric and Ollivander would always be those who planned the attacks of Sal's counter-action-group.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"So Death crossed to an Elder Tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

And so Death took the first brother for his own."

"I have some concern about the political side of this operation," Pollux Black spoke up in that moment. "If it ever comes out who was working on the downfall of Grindelwald… well, let's say it won't be pretty."

The others in the room exchanged a glance, but most of the Blacks, the Scamanders and Charlus Potter nodded gravely.

"The world can't know that we worked together," Charlus said darkly. "I may have developed another identity, far more removed from the Potter inheritance line than I am – but if my involvement becomes even more public the secret of my second identity won't hold and there will be repercussions I fear I won't be able to deal with."

Lord Sirius Black sighed but nodded.

"Our family is known as dark," he said and pinched his nose. "People will ask why we helped to overthrow Grindelwald – and we can't tell them the reason."

Marius shrugged.

"Maah," he said. "I'd show 'em not to mess with me. You don't have to defend your helpless squib relative!"

The answer was a snort from most at the table.

"I believe they fear more for the wizarding world of Britain than for you," Theseus Scamander pointed out amused.

Newt nodded.

"I'm pretty sure that letting you loose on them counts as genocide," he agreed with his brother.

Marius raised an eyebrow at him and Newt shrugged.

"Not one of us has ever forgotten where you come from," he told Marius matter-of-factly. "Your relations are already insane – you on the other hand don't have any magic to counterbalance for your insanity. Just considering your toys shows that letting you loose anywhere will ensure that we bite of more than we can chew."

"There's also to consider that Garrick can't be known as a fighter because wandmaker don't fight," Sirius Black changed the topic instead of trying to defend his nephew. "The Delacours are far too involved with Britain politically so they can't be seen opposing them, the Black – well, obvious considering our inclination and the fact that we theoretically should be on Grindelwald's side but aren't and the Potters – well, it wouldn't be good if people would find out about Charlus' double life…"

"In other words," Cygnus added darkly. "We're as fucked politically as we have been right from the start of this war…"

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6th August 1914

"Oyez, oyez! This is the August meeting of this august body!" The Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot called out.

The chamber quietened until all of the members were looking at the Supreme Mugwump.

"I called you here together to talk about the criminals who are currently operating in Europe and the war they started," the Supreme Mugwump, one Henry Potter, said darkly. "The muggles are at war. Two days ago, Muggle Britain declared war on Muggle Germany – now it's on us to decide how we will act towards the threat of the muggle war and the wizards who started it!"

"This sounds as if you're proposing to join those vigilances who are fighting against these criminals, Mr Potter," Albus Dumbledore spoke up with a frown. "Considering that neither the vigilances nor the criminals have had their eyes on Britain right now, are you certain you want to draw us into a conflict we have no reason to join?"

Henry frowned at the younger man at that.

Albus Dumbledore had the unbecoming habit of leaving off the titles of other persons – and most let him be, considering that he was seen as the second coming of Merlin since his record breaking OWLs and NEWTs scores…

"I heard that someone of your family is already fighting with those vigilantes, Lord Potter," Lord Avery said with a frown. "Are you proposing a change of our neutrality because someone of your family is already out there and doing who knows what?"

Henry sighed.

"My great-nephew has neither asked nor told me that he's fighting with these vigilantes," he replied. "I actually didn't even know I had a great-nephew until hearing his name in connection to those people just a few short months ago."

This earned him a few raised eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon, Supreme Mugwump," one of the other Lords said frowning. "But this sounded just now as if you had no idea that you had other family members outside of Britain…"

"I didn't," Henry confirmed, lying through his teeth and at the same time not lying at all, considering that until his son created 'Charlus' he actually had had no idea that there was a 'great-nephew'. "My aunt went missing two years after I was born. I had no idea that she was still alive when I went to Hogwarts – and even less of an idea that she bore a child out of wedlock."

Other Lords looked at him in pity at that, and Henry couldn't decide if those looks were because his aunt had a child out of wedlock or because he hadn't known that his aunt had birthed a child – not that she actually had, as far as he knew, but that was the story they went by…

"And you don't want to organize us into going to war just so that you can meet and maybe rescue this unknown relative, Mr Potter?" Albus Dumbledore asked patronizingly.

Henry frowned at the man.

"I never said anything about us going to war," he pointed out. "I asked for your opinion how we should react to the threat that Europe has to fight with now – nothing more, nothing less."

Albus Dumbledore inclined his head.

"In this case, I apologize, Mr Potter," he said. "And let me propose that we do nothing about it. We're not involved – we shouldn't try to gain the attention of those criminals by trying to involve ourselves."

"Seconded!" One of the other Lords proclaimed.

In the end, Henry Potter had to watch in dismay while the Wizengamot voted to sit by and do nothing – not caring that the threat was real and would knock on their borders sooner than later if someone didn't step up and fight.

The rest of Europe was at war – no matter what Albus Dumbledore said – this wouldn't go away if you closed your eyes and pretended it didn't happen!

It was after the session and Henry was packing away his papers with a tired and unhappy sighed, when he was approached by a party he hadn't even thought about when talking to the Wizengamot.

"Lord Potter," the man said and Henry looked up into the stormy grey eyes of the other lord.

He inclined his head in greeting.

"Lord Black," he greeted the man. "What can I do for you?"

The other man looked at him, without any emotion on his face.

"This war," he said solemnly. "This fight between those criminals and the resistance – you fear it will spill all over Europe soon."

Henry sighed and closed his eyes.

He knew that the Blacks were known for their liberal use of the Dark Arts and he wondered how long to would take until they joined those criminals who killed muggles and muggle-borns alike, proclaiming their superiority to them and their rights to use magic in any way they saw fit.

"It already has," Henry said anyway, not bothering to lie. "It might not have spilled in the open right now, but it is a war – and it already has spilled all over Europe, if we acknowledge it or not."

The other lord inclined his head thoughtfully.

"I heard they proclaim the open use of all kinds of magic," Lord Black said impassively.

"They do," Henry replied tiredly.

"I heard they spoke of no restrictions, of no Statute, of no mud- … muggle-borns or half-bloods in our society," the other lord said.

Henry sighed.

"They might have," he said. "I haven't heard that yet, but for all I know it would fit their goals."

Lord Black frowned.

"Lord Avery and some others are in support of those criminals," he told Henry as if he was talking about the weather. "They and some others were approached by them in the name of 'Grindelwald' to follow their lead into a new world."

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Grindelwald?" He repeated. It was the first time he actually heard that name – something he would have to tell his son and his best friend the moment he managed to leave the Lord Black without making it obvious that he was actually against the ideas of the one man the Blacks might be supporting…

Henry was just too aware that the Black were a dark family, ore likely drawn in by promises like those instead of repulsed like Henry had been…

"That's the name that was given to me when my family was approached," the Lord Black replied before his impassive face darkened. "They also talked about the impureness that are squibs and their permanent removal from our family line."

Henry felt sick at that thought, not even having to wonder what was implied in that sentence. This 'Grindelwald' obviously didn't just proclaim the purge of everything muggle – but also the killing of squibs.

He didn't even have to ask if the Blacks were all for it. They were a dark family, so of course they were…

The Lord Black stared at Henry, his grey eyes icy and cold.

"I want to know where I can send my sons to fight against those criminals," he said coolly.

For a moment, Henry had to fight hard not to gawk at the other man.

Phineas Nigellus Black, Lord Black and current Headmaster of Hogwarts just sneered at Henry Potter.

"You didn't expect me to follow their disgusting beliefs, did you, Lord Potter?" He asked sneering.

Henry just raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"Considering your heavy-handedness as a Headmaster, I wouldn't have been surprised if you decided to follow these criminals into a war," he countered coolly.

Phineas Nigellus raised an eyebrow at him, but in the end inclined his head, slowly.

"I guess you might have a point, Lord Potter," he said slowly. "But then, you know nothing of my childhood."

Henry frowned at the other lord.

"Only the bare bones that everybody knows," he said. "You were raised as the heir of Black, the only son of your father."

At that, Phineas Nigellus eyes darkened.

"I wasn't his only son," he said. "At least not until I was six years old."

Henry raised an eyebrow at the other man and Phineas Nigellus pinned him with his stare.

"My father, may he suffer in hell, killed my older brother when he didn't show any signs of magic," Phineas Nigellus scoffed. "My older brother was brilliant. He was eight years old and spoke four languages fluently, could talk anybody around to his point of view and was the most gifted person in brewing potions – those without active magic use for him – in centuries in the Black family – the last being my many-times great-aunt Andromeda Malfoire! He would have been a rising star! A gift to this world – and my bastard of a father went and killed him because my brother didn't have magic!"

Henry felt sickened at that thought and Phineas Nigellus Black shook his head as if removing those memories from his thoughts.

"I was the one who found my brother after he had been murdered by my father," Phineas Nigellus said bitterly. "No! Criminals that condone – that actually propose something like that! – should be taken down, not supported!"

Henry, oddly enough couldn't even object to that position of the other man. Normally, he was always at odds with the head of house Black – to find out that they were suddenly on the same side was somehow… odd.

"Now, Lord Potter," Phineas Nigellus Black said, his eyes cornering Henry. "How do I contact the resistance?"

And Henry couldn't help but comply with the other man's wishes.

Barely two years later, Marius Black would be born – and while he was later blasted from the family tree by his own niece, his father, uncles and grandfather did everything in their power to give him a life he would love living.

1934 Marius Black would join the resistance. Barely a month later, every man in Grindelwald's army would quiver when just hearing the words 'Mad Marius' being uttered – because unlike Sirius Black, Phineas Nigellus older brother, Mad Marius had been allowed to live…

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August – September 1914

Sirius Black, the Heir of Black and Phineas Nigellus oldest son, stepped inside the tent they currently used as something akin to headquarters.

Inside, surrounding a table, were two of the men he was looking for.

"Ollivander," he said to one of them. The man in question was Garvain Ollivander's barely twenty-year-old grandson, Garrick Ollivander. "Moody," he said to the other. The man would one day father one Alastor Moody.

Both of them looked up from their planning.

"Black," they greeted the other man and Sirius Black frowned when he noticed the lack of one person he had been looking for.

"Where's Sal?" He asked.

The other two exchanged a look and then shrugged.

"He said something about being contacted by one Theseus Scamander," Allaric Moody said slowly while frowning before looking at Garrick Ollivander.

Said Ollivander just shrugged.

"I thought we needed some more people if we could get them," he said unapologetic. "I told Theseus about the whole mess – we are quite good friends, you know? We were at Hogwarts together, after all, and he decided that it might be a good idea to come by and find out what we're actually doing."

Sirius Black frowned at that.

"Isn't Theseus and his more than perfect looks, combined with the fact that he's an international quidditch player… well, a bit too famous for us?" He asked concern in his eyes. "We're trying to operate in secret, after all…"

"But we need an official face or two," Ollivander countered. "And Theseus with his good press and his ability to charm the press is the best thing we could get for that!"

Sirius Black couldn't object that argument.

They needed help – and working totally in secret didn't help if you tried to reach people… so maybe, Ollivander was right and Theseus Scamander could be a good thing for them.

"Alright," he finally settled on and sighed. "I guess my question has to wait then…"

Allaric Moody frowned at the other man before gesturing at him to join them at the table.

"What question?" He asked.

Sirius shrugged.

"I wanted to know if he knew somebody who knew something about warding," Sirius replied and rubbed his face. "I could asked everybody – but it's impractical to run around and do so when Sal knows the answer anyway…"

Now Garrick Ollivander and Allaric Moody exchanged a confused glance with each other.

"I thought you were a ward-master, Black," Allaric said with a frown. "Why do you need somebody else who knows about wards?"

Sirius sighed and waved it off.

"Because it's easier to work in tandem when you aren't the caster of the wards you try to break in," he said. "One to dispel the wards and one to give him strength. The one giving the strength would bear the brunt of a back-lash, if there is one, so the more experienced ward-master should do it. Normally, I work in tandem with my brother Cygnus – but Cyg is home for the birth of his baby girl Cassiopaia…"

Then he rolled his eyes fondly at his absent brother.

"And how I know him he will use the time at home to ensure that the next baby will be on the way before he leaves again," he said half-amused, half-exasperated.

Allaric and Garrick snorted in amusement.

"He can't be that bad," Allaric said.

Sirius' lips twitched.

"No," he said. "He's not that bad…"

Nine months later one Marius Black would be born.

"But that doesn't change the fact that he isn't here right now and I need someone who has the finess to dispel wards or someone who can give me the strength so that I can do the dispelling…" Sirius added sighing.

Allaric frowned.

"Why do you need someone who can work with you on wards so badly?" He asked interested.

Sirius' face turned mischievous.

"Because I found out where one of Grendel… Grindel – whatever's hideouts are," he said. "I basically stumbled upon it when I was out on recon tonight. I'm not sure how long it will stay where it is, because it's clearly temporary, so we have to strike now!"

The others exchanged a glance.

"And what exactly did you plan to do after taking down the wards?" Allaric asked.

Sirius shrugged.

"I planned to wreak some havoc," he said unrepentant. "I just need another ward-master and a small team to infiltrate the camp so that we can hinder the man inside or even ensure that they won't go back to Grindel-thingy ever again!"

Allaric and Garrick Ollivander exchanged a look at that.

"A team?" They asked interested.

Sirius Black shrugged.

"Well, it's not as if I can do both: take down the wards and attack – so I need at least a few people to work with me…" He replied.

Allaric looked at Ollivander.

Ollivander frowned.

"I believe," he said slowly. "That we might be able to convince Charlus…"

"Potter?" Sirius Black said, sounding quite unhappily. "Why do you want to add Potter anywhere near my team? We don't get along – and you well know it!"

Allaric shrugged.

"But he knows about wards," he argued. "He was an Unspeakable before joining the war, you know?"

"Potter?!" Sirius Black repeated unhappily.

Allaric and Garrick Ollivander exchanged another look and then shrugged simultaneously.

"I'm quite sure that he would be Sal's choice as well," Allaric dared to say. "He's the ward expert who drew up the wards surrounding our own camp, after all."

"Wait!" Sirius said, his voice filled with dread. "You want to tell me that my brother and I cast wards written by a Potter?! And nobody told us?!"

"I'm quite sure, the others had a reason for not telling you," Ollivander said comfortingly. "Even if the reason might just have been the peace of the camp…"

Sirius Black groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice muffled by his fingers and not lifting his head from where it rested. "Alright. I'll do it! Call him here. Let's work with a Potter on those wards!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August - September 1914

Never, in his whole life had Sirius Black seen wards being dismantled with such a beauty and unity. The whole operation went even more smoothly than he was used to with his own brother.

The moment the wards fell, the attack started.

Barely half an hour later, one of Grindelwald's camps was eradicated and his men either dead, scattered or imprisoned.

There was cheering all around them – with one exception.

On a hill, a bit further away from the camp stood some figures, staring down at the ashes of the tents of Grindelwald's men in dismay.

Their face was an expression of horror and utter sorrow and if the rest of the Resistance wouldn't have known them, they might have mistaken them for enemy soldiers who grieved for the camp.

But since the men were quite well known they were left alone in the hope that they would manage to set their world to right again without anybody else having to interfere…

Still – just to be sure, Garrick Ollivander had positioned himself near enough to the men to either catch them if one of them fainted from shock or stop them from killing each other.

Thankfully, both men didn't seem to plan anything like that at all right now. Instead they watched the tents burn with an intense look of grief in their eyes.

"You know," Charlus Potter said slowly while watching the world burn. "This might make us look as if we are a tad insane…"

Sirius Black frowned and looked at the chaos surrounding them as well.

"You… might be right there, Potter," he said slowly and unwillingly.

Ollivander next to them snorted in amusement.

"Oh, c'mon, you two!" He exclaimed. "Don't look like your cat just died! You should be happy!"

Charlus and Sirius Black stared at Ollivander with a look that clearly showed what they thought of that suggestion.

"Happy?" Charlus Potter repeated incredulous. "Happy?!"

Sirius Black looked at Ollivander in disgust.

"I doubt I'd ever feel happy again after what just happened!"

In that moment Allaric Moody left the burning camp in front of them to join them on the hills.

"Why all those long faces?" He asked a bit confused.

Ollivander snickered like a school girl and pointed at the unhappy looking men next to them.

"They're… unsatisfied… with the result," he told one of his best friends.

Allaric raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" He asked confused. "The camp is eradicated. The wards are in shambles. The enemy has lost some valuable intelligence and men today – and we managed all this with just four people!"

Charlus Potter and Sirius Black both stared unhappily at Allaric Moody while Ollivander had to hide another snicker with both of his hands.

"Exactly," Ollivander chocked out amused. "That's exactly the problem they're having right now!"

Allaric Moody frowned and then looked back at the destroyed hide-out of the enemy.

"I don't understand," he said confused. "It worked! Isn't that the most important thing?"

Charlus and Sirius grimaced while avoiding to look at each other.

"That it did," Ollivander pressed out while trying not to give into his laughing fit. "That it did!"

And when the faces of the other two men darkened, he added, nearly suffocating on his laughter.

"They didn't want it to work," he chocked out. "Because if it worked, that means that they could work together as ward-breakers – and they don't want to admit that they're compatible! They're a Potter and a Black! They're always on the opposite in a conflict! It's bad enough that they're on the same side – but working together as well?"

Ollivander snickered again – at least until he was elbowed into both of his sides at the same time.

He looked up and saw the Black-Heir and the Potter-Heir both glaring at him.

Ollivander raised his hands in defeat.

"It's not my fault!" He defended himself. "I just suggested another ward-master for Black! I had actually no idea that you two would actually work exceptionally good with each other!"

Sirius pouted and Charlus buried his head in his hands.

"This will be a catastrophe," he mumbled into his hands. "A total catastrophe! The Lords of the Wizengamot will die in masses from a heart-attack if this ever comes out!"

Ollivander snickered while Allaric hid a grin.

"Don't worry!" Allaric finally snorted. "We won't say a thing! We're taking it to our graves, I promise!"

Ollivander chocked on another laughter.

"I won't!" He forced out. "I won't! It's far too funny to tell and watch the world burn after!"

He was elbowed and glared at again from both sides again.

"Look at you two!" He snickered. "Not only one brain on the battlefield – but off it as well! Next thing we know, your children will be best friends forever more!"

"Only over my dead body!" Both Heirs exclaimed at the same time. "And we're nothing alike, Ollivander – so shut up!"

Their chorus just made Ollivander laugh even harder.

The two grown men pouted, looked at each other, grimaced and looked away again.

"They're going to think we've gone insane!" Charlus moaned.

"Don't remind me!" Sirius replied. "I'm still working out how to oblivate myself of those last four hours of my life!"

And while Allaric watched with a raised eyebrow, Garrick Ollivander toppled over in laughter.

It wouldn't take long after this first mission, until Charlus Potter and Sirius Black were a known warder team who actually insisted on working together…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August - September 1914

The entrance of Theseus Scamander into the resistance was something noteworthy in the eyes of Sirius Black and Charlus Potter.

"So… this is Theseus Scamander," Sirius Phineas Black said while watching the other man walk by with a frown. "I'm not sure if I should be impressed by his guts to come here or feel offended that he's used as the face of our Resistance."

Charlus Potter next to him rolled his eyes.

"Stop being so melodramatic, Black," he said half-amused, half-exasperated. "It's not as if either of us could be used as the 'face' of our organisation as you put it."

The man was charming, always smiling… and one of the meanest interrogation experts that the Resistance would ever have.

"Now, my dear," Theseus said and leaned back against the wall as if he had every time in the world. "Don't you think that it's time to talk to papa?"

The man on the other side of the room, not bound by anything and yet unable to move anyway, grinded his teeth at Theseus.

"You won't break me," he told the other man icily. "You might be a good fighter – but you're not scary enough to get me to talk! And as you've noticed – my master ensured that we're immune to any kind of truth serum!"

"Oh," Theseus said amiably. "We noticed. That's the reason why I decided to talk to you."

His smile broadened.

"Don't worry, just talk, papa will listen."

The other man looked at Theseus in disgust.

"You're insane," he declared finally. "Absolutely insane if you believe that I will tell you anything!"

Theses smile broadened.

"I sure as am are insane," he agreed and looked at his finger nails. "But then, I guessed you figured that already when I talked to you on the battle field. There aren't a lot of stronger indicators than that when it comes to the proof my state of mind, after all…"

"Wow! Careful with that stick! You could hurt someone if you swish it around like that!"

The answer were even more spells thrown at him by his enemies.

"Oh, c'mon!" He cried. "Can't we talk it out like normal people?!"

"You're an idiot if you think I would talk to someone like you!" One of his enemies replied disgusted.

"Oh, please, man – make peace, not war! We don't have to fight –"

Before he could end his sentence, he had to jump from one foot to the other to escape some vicious Unforgivables fired at him by some of the others.

"One against twenty – that's not fair!" He complained. "Can't you do the honourable thing and come at me all at once?"

That ensured him some disbelieving looks from the men he was fighting.

"You," one of his enemies said with an eye-roll before firing another spell at him. "Have an odd idea what it means to do the honourable thing."

Theseus shrugged and dodged another volley of spells.

"What can I say?" He said. "I'm an odd person."

The man on the chair scoffed.

"Yeah," he said. "That one time indicated your state of mind quite well, nutter!"

Theseus's smile broadened and then his eyes began to glow.

"Yes," he said. "I am a nutter. But you have forgotten one thing when it comes to me being a nutter. Do you know what it is?"

The man frowned and then shook his head slowly.

Theseus smile broadened.

"As a nutter I won't stop from anything to gain the information I want," he pointed out with an evil grin. With that, he removed a teddy bear out of his pocket and removed himself from the wall.

"Now, my dear fellow," he said with a malevolent glint in his eyes. "Let's talk to papa…"

Barley five minutes later the man in the chair broke and spilled everything – from Grindelwald's most secret plans he knew about 'till his theft of a chewing gum when he was in kindergarden…

Yes, as odd and as lovingly Theseus was, he definitely was the most dangerous interrogator within the Resistance – dangerous enough that Grindelwald would do just anything to get that man to stop participating in the war.

Sadly enough for Grindelwald his tries just resulted into even more dangerous ideas from 'papa'…

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1st September 1914

"You know, Sal – we might need to organize our group a bit better."

Sal looked up from the plans he had been working on into Theseus Scamander's face. The man had joined them nearly a month ago and had integrated himself into the group as if he had always belonged there.

"How exactly do you want to organize them?" Sal asked with a frown. "They are already organized –"

"They're not," Theseus said with a sigh. "We need a bit clearer division in the field. It's not good if everybody is oblivating muggles and nobody has our backs anymore or if everybody is fighting and nobody shielding the ones we defend…"

Sal couldn't actually object to that.

"So – what do you propose?" He asked.

Theseus shrugged.

"I propose to do what Allaric, Garrick, Sirius and Charlus already do: We build several attack teams and split the parts those within the teams to their abilities. It would also help with training people – we could simply stick them together in groups according to their main abilities or their place in the teams."

Sirius, who had just stepped inside the tent they were in looked at Theseus interestedly.

"That might be a good idea," he said. "Our team actually learned to work better with each other the moment we had determined which part the person in the team is responsible for. It would also help that we could send out some people of the same abilities together if we needed only them to act – like the Oblivators. Not everybody is good with that charm, so training those that are together while ensuring that there's one in every team can only help in the long run…"

Theseus nodded.

Sal frowned and thought it over.

In the end he sighed and nodded as well.

"If that's what you think is best," he said. "Then do it."

He could see the merit of that proposition. He had always had a hard time to ensure he had people working as oblivators for the muggles or as defenders. Maybe it would be good if everybody had a designed place within teams.

He turned to Sirius Black.

"How are you organized in your team?" He asked him, since Sirius and the rest of his people were the only true existing team right now in his group.

Sirius shrugged.

"We strategize together," he said. "In action, Allaric's position is the attack one, Ollivander is oblivating, healing and defending, Charlus and I take down the wards, then Charlus takes over defending and removing the hostages while I join Allaric. It works – so we've kept it."

Sal nodded thoughtfully.

"Would you be willing to train up others like that as well?" He asked. "We also should ensure that those in similar positions can work with each other."

Theseus grinned.

"Sounds good to me," he said. "I'll go and decide on my standard team!"

With that he left the tent.

Sal looked after him with a raised eyebrow, then he turned to Sirius.

The Black-Heir shrugged.

"The Scamanders were always an odd bunch," he said unconcerned. "Quidditch star or not – Theseus wasn't spared in that regard at all."

Sal snorted.

"I noticed," he said dryly and Sirius grinned wryly.

"I'll go and tell my team," he said. "Don't worry – we'll organize training for the others in different positions and ensure that there are small standard teams from now on."

Sal inclined his head.

"I'll write down the names and where they'd fit best," he said. "After all, I'm the one who has the best overview about our people's abilities and who works best with whom."

Sirius smirked and nodded.

"Of course you have," he said. "You are our leader and coordinator, after all!"

With that he sat down his report on the wards he had taken a look at and left to call together his team.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

When did he end up as the leader of this particular group and why was it on him to actually put together the facts and plan out the attacks to the last detail?!

He would never get an answer to that particular question, but he would soon at least have an easier time to find Oblivators. The people he had given Ollivander to train, would soon be the best Oblivators within Europe…

Of course, the Scamander's being the Scamanders, they took it a step further and instead of just organizing the Resistance they started to actively recruit people they thought would fit into the existing groups.

Of course, in the end it would come down to Sal to finish every deal they started…

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4th September 1914

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Delacour," Sal was standing on the doorstep of one of the Lords of France. They hadn't met until today, but Sal had gotten a letter from the man, asking him to come to the man's mansion.

The man in question raised an eyebrow at the greeting.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur…" he started, stopping in a hidden inquiry for Sal's name.

"I'm Salvazsahar Malfoire," Sal said, using his current name variation. "You contacted one of my people and asked for a meeting."

At that, understanding filled the other man's eyes.

"That I did, Monsieur Malfoire," he said. "I guess this is about the package I send you?"

There hadn't been a package, but safety questions were a good thing in dark times like currently.

"It is, Monsieur Delacour," Sal said. "I appreciated the wine and thought that I wouldn't be against meeting a connoisseur like you."

The other man inclined his head, his relief barely visible and then stepped aside so that Sal could enter into his house.

The moment they reached Delacour's study, Sal erected some runic wards and then turned to the other man.

"Why did you want to meet me, Monsieur?" He asked the other lord.

"I heard that you were forming a resistance against those people terrorising Europe," the Delacour lord said. "They've been able to kill off more than half of the magical ruling families of Europe by now and –"

"They also tried to do the same with the none-magical," Sal said darkly. "There's a reason why there's currently a war going on in mundane Europe as well as in magical."

The other lord's gaze darkened at that.

"Have you found out who's behind all those attacks?" He asked. "The ministries and ruling bodies of Europe are a mess right now. A lot of them have ceased to function within the last one and a half years. We might not be in a full-blown war right now but –"

"We are at war," Sal interrupted the other lord darkly. "If we call it a war or not, doesn't change the fact that it is a war. People go missing, people are dying and this dark wizard is taking over Europe in a frightening fast and efficient way…"

"And his name?" The Delacour lord asked Sal and Sal closed his eyes.

"There's a rumour that his name is Grindelwald," he said. "No known first name. No known origin. Nothing but that name."

"Grindelwald," the Delacour lord repeated. "Sounds German."

Sal just shrugged.

"I have no way of proving or disproving anything like that," he replied. "He has not gone to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang is refusing to cooperate by opening the list of names of past students for us to look at, nor are they willing to look up the name themselves."

"So… what do you do?" The Delacour lord asked.

Sal sighed at that.

"I'm building strike teams, designed to counter act the attacks. We've been successful –"

"I know," Delacour interrupted him. "I heard about Theseus Scamander."

Sal's lips twitched in amusement at that.

"Well, he's there to be known," he said amused at the disproving glance he was receiving from the Delacour lord. "He's one of our known fighters, after all; one of those who can be approached by anyone if people are looking for help."

The disapproving glance lessened.

"But there's more to you," the other lord guessed and Sal shrugged.

The Delacour's eyes narrowed.

"I want to be part of it," he said. "Whatever else you do – I want to be part of it."

Sal's eyes met the other lords, a slight legimens told the older-but-younger-looking man what he needed to know.

"So be it," he said. "Swear your oath and I will make you part of the resistance."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

And so Death took the second brother for his own.

After a thorough discussion of politics, Sal decided that it was time to return to the more important planning – because as important as politics was, there was no way it would help them to storm Nurmengard in the end…

And yet, it was politics that reminded him off one of the more important parts in their planning…

"What about the wards themselves?" Sal asked, looking at his warders and wardbreakers in a change of topic. "How will you know that you can break them? Grindelwald has been known for his surprises when it comes to his wards, after all…"

"Known to us, you mean," Pollux corrected his commander amused. "Nobody else has ever even tried to break one of his wards, after all."

Sal waved it off.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "We know it – more's not of any interest for us."

Sirius Black nodded slowly.

"It isn't," he agreed before looking at his brother, his son and some other members of his family. The last person he looked at was Charlus Potter.

"We're sure that we can curtail whatever he throws at us," he assured Sal. "Even if we can't – we're willing to sacrifice –"

"I don't condone any kind of sacrifice like that, and you know it, Sirius Black!" Sal interrupted the Lord of Black with narrowed eyes. "Either you have a way to pull down the wards safely while knowing what they'll contain or we won't strike now!"

The warders and wardbreakers looked at each other.

In the end, it was the head of the dragon devision, one Newt Scamander, who spoke up.

"I've got a Hungarian Horntail who might be able to find out at least the original planning of the warding of Numengard. This should be enough that we won't be unduly surprised while attacking the heart of Grindelwald's army."

Sal guessed that this was better then nothing. His men had worked with less information about the wards, after all – even if Sal had hated those circumstances with a passion. Things like that had lead to more death than Sal had liked in the past, after all…

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May 1915

Ollivander was standing in the middle of a massacre.

His shoulders were slumped and he was tired beyond relief.

A man stepped up next to him and clasped his shoulder.

"This shouldn't have happened," Cygnus Black, one Sirius Black's brother said with tears in his eyes.

Ollivander knew that half of Cygnus' team was lying in front of them, not moving and dead.

"It shouldn't have," Ollivander said tiredly. "But this is war – things like that happen."

The answer was a sniff.

"It still shouldn't have," Cygnus replied while fighting of his tears. "We're… we were good… we were a fabulous team! This shouldn't have happened to us! It shouldn't have!"

Ollivander sighed and then slowly wrapped his hands around the raging man.

"It's war," he said. "And even with our best planning… even with –"

"If Britain would just enter this war already!" Cygnus hissed while his grief turned into fury. "If those idiots from the Wizengamot would just acknowledge that the rest of Europe needs them! If they'd just get up their asses and fight!"

Ollivander sighed.

"You know that there're some who try to make them see reason," he told the other man and Cygnus sneered.

"Yes," he said. "And then wonder-boy says that they're exaggerating and they belief him! Second coming of Merlin – my ass!"

Ollivander shrugged.

"That's politics for you," he pointed out. "There will always be some people who will sit back and hope that the problem will just go away if they refuse to look."

Cygnus snorted.

"And because of them my team is dead," he said icily. "Politics! I hate them!"

With that he freed himself from Ollivander's grasp and stalked off.

The wandmaker just shook his head and looked back at the bodies of the dead.

He could understand Cygnus – but at the same time, he also knew that even without the support from Britain they would give everything to fight the evil that was currently tyrannizing magical Europe…

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May 1915

"We've lost twenty-five people to Grindelwald within the last fortnight," Cygnus Black said thirdly and quite bitterly, while entering the tent Sal was currently in.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"I know," he said before turning back to the wounded he was treating.

Cygnus frowned.

"We can't continue like that," he told Sal. "We don't have enough people to weather the storm if we continue like that."

Sal nodded gravely.

"I know," he repeated.

"So…" Cygnus said slowly. "What will we do?"

And Sal wished to bang his head against the wall.

He hated war.

He hated to fight, to battle, to plan – and yet, here he was, in the middle of a war. And he wasn't just part of it… no, to Sal's utter regret he was leading it.

He pinched his nose bridge.

"I don't know," he said tiredly while trying to think up a plan that would not only keep his people safe but also ensure that they somehow stopped Grindelwald before he took over Europe.

"Our main trouble is our missing intelligence," he finally confessed to Cygnus. "If we knew what Grindelwald and his men are doing, we would be able to counter it. The intelligence we have is for the most time simply not enough. With Grindelwald knowing that we're fighting back, he's gotten more and more cunning with each attack. He's winning because we simply can't predict his actions closely enough to not only stop him but to prevent him from destroying us as well."

Cygnus frowned.

"So you're saying that now that he knows we're there, he's ensuring that as much of our people die within each attack, as he can," he concluded darkly.

Sal inclined his head tiredly.

"Exactly," he said and turned back to the wounded. "Regretfully I haven't yet found a way to circumvent his advantages…"

"What about Garrick or Allaric?"

"They have the same trouble," Sal said. "Grindelwald has changed his pattern in favour to unpredictability. It's a clear advantage for him – and sadly enough an also clear disadvantage for us…"

With that he turned back to bandage the cut on his patient's face. While the cut wasn't the worst he had ever seen, it was infused with the dark magic that made it. Sal had cleared it from the spell, but even his abilities weren't enough to ensure that the cut wouldn't scar. At least, with Sal's abilities, the man wouldn't slowly die from the flesh-rotting curse that had imbedded the cut just minutes ago…

"I might have an idea," the man Sal was treating – one Theseus Scamander – spoke up hesitatingly in that moment.

Sal raised an eyebrow at his patient and Theseus shrugged.

"I didn't know about it until today," he elaborated.

Cygnus frowned.

"Know about what?" He asked and Theseus reached inside one of his pockets to remove a letter and hand it to Sal.

"Don't worry," he said. "The sender is as trustworthy as I am."

Cygnus snorted.

"That doesn't mean a lot," he teased.

Theseus grinned and Sal smacked him and admonished him for moving his face muscles while he was working on fixing them.

"Alright," Theseus amended, not even reacting to Sal's admonishment. "You might be onto something there, Cyg."

For a moment he thought about it, then he nodded what gained him another disapproving look from Sal.

"Then he must be trust worthier than I," he concluded. "That better, Cyg?"

The Black rolled his eyes at Theseus and then looked with interest at the letter in his hands.

"What's that letter about?" He asked interestedly.

Theseus grinned and Sal groaned when he destroyed Sal's stitches with that action.

"It's about a possible way to gain intelligence for the Resistance," he said excitedly. "Don't worry, the person who suggested it, has it all planned out. He's really good when it comes to something –"

That was the moment Sal's stupefy hit Theseus straight into his face and the man toppled over and onto the bed.

Cygnus snickered and Sal send him a threatening look.

"If you don't keep silent for the next ten minutes until I have fixed that idiot's face, I will do the same to you," he told the other man right-out and Cygnus Black raised both hands in defeat.

"I go and look for my brother," he said, still half-amused by Sal's reaction while also half-afraid of the other man's threat. "Don't worry! I'm gone!"

With that, he walked back-first out of the hospital tent, clearly not willing to remove his eyes from the annoyed healer inside it.

Sal rolled his eyes and removed his old stitches to begin again.

At least this time around, stunned Theseus Scamander didn't move a muscle at all…

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May 1915

Sal was sitting in a shabby pub in the middle of Germany, in a little town near a nice city called Würzburg. The city itself only had a small wizarding community and most people weren't even aware of the fact that some wizards were living in that city. Being in a town near the city meant that even fewer wizards were near there even if the pub was a wizarding one.

The table he had chosen was in the darkest corner of the room and he had surrounded it with a runic ward that would hide the conversations he chose to have from prying eyes.

He was waiting for a man he had never met, but had been contacted by just the day before. Of course it was a risk coming here, but he knew the man's brother and with the runic ward he had full control in that place of the room. The risk was reasonable for him. Sal had decided to take it.

"Have you been waiting for long?" The voice of a man suddenly asked, before the young man in question took a seat in front of Sal. The man spoke perfect German even if he wasn't German by birth. Nevertheless, he was known in Germany as Tristan Wolfram Henkelmann, a born and bred German wizard.

"Not too long," Sal answered while leaning back, also in German. "Tell me, mein Herr, why were you so desperate to contact me?"

The man in front of him blushed.

"Ah… well," he said, rubbing his neck embarrassed. "I didn't know who else I could talk to about my request, so I decided to go to the leader, directly."

"Your request?" Sal repeated, raising an eyebrow at that.

"Herr," the man said at that while leaning forward, his hands on the table. "I know of my reputation. I had to leave Hogwarts and I prefer creatures to humans – but that doesn't mean that I want to sit by and do nothing in a war against one of the evilest men of our current century. Bitte, Herr, I want to join you! I wish to help in any way I can!"

Sal sighed at that.

"Herr Scamander," he said slowly, but was already interrupted.

"My brother has already joined your ranks. He's a well-known hit wizard, a hero in the eyes of Europe," Scamander said. "I might not be like him, but I can do something, anything!"

Sal couldn't object to that.

He was the head of the resistance against Grindelwald, a newly emerging Dark Lord. They needed people, so everyone who decided to join was a blessing to them. It didn't matter if some of them were well known all over Europe for their deeds while others weren't known at all – as long as they were willing, Sal took them in and organized them into attack groups or other important jobs.

"Alright," he said. "What do you want to do?"

The man hesitated.

"Well," he said slowly. "I heard that you've got a dragon division, Herr."

Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Not truly," he said.

The other man just shrugged.

"Well, you should have one, Herr," he said. "Grindelwald does, after all."

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"The Resistance is working mostly undercover," he said. "We have some flashy parts like your brother's division, but all in all we're working in the shadows."

Scamander nodded at that.

"I already knew that, Herr," he said. "I still want to be part of the dragon division."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Explain," he finally said.

The answer was a feral grin, something that looked odd on the boyish face of the man in front of him. It wasn't an expression that was expected from a man like that and Sal was sure that not even his own brother knew that the man in front of Sal was able to do an expression like that.

"That's what I will tell everybody if they ever ask me after the war is over," Scamander said.

"And the truth…"

"I will be part of the dragon division, Herr," Scamander replied. "Grindelwald's dragon division."

Sal's eyebrows shot up at that.

"They are part of Grindelwald's elite," he said to the younger man.

"I know," Scamander said grinning. "I have a recognised German identity, Tristan W. Henkelmann, and I have been contacted by Grindelwald's men without them knowing that my identity is a forged one. They asked me to join. They know of my identity's competence with creatures – not that's a lie – so being part of the dragon division will be easy for me. Making the jump to the man's elite will be even easier."

"So… what exactly are you offering?" Sal finally asked, leaning forward as well.

The answer was another feral grin.

"I'm offering to spy for the Resistance," Scamander said. "Will you refuse my offer?"

Sal opened his mouth to stop the man in front of him from sacrificing himself, but Scamander was faster.

"If you refuse, I will go and do it anyway, Herr," Scamander said with hard eyes. "And then I will try to bring that bastard down myself."

Sal closed his mouth again.

He had gotten to know Scamander's older brother who had joined about a year ago and it seemed that as different as the brothers were as similar were they at the same time.

"If you join Grindelwald, Herr Henkelmann," Sal said finally. "How will you contact us?"

The answer was a grin and the man in front of him leaned even closer.

"Just like I did this time around," he said. "We will meet and we will talk, Herr. Mayhap we will even leave for some private time…"

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Private time?"

"It's well known in Grindelwald's ranks that he's not interested in women. I right-out told him when I met him that my lover was a male squib and that I wouldn't give him up even if I joined."

Sal looked at the other man in surprise.

"When did you plan all that?" He asked surprised.

Scamander shrugged.

"Yesterday," he said. "When I was offered a place in Grindelwald's dragon division."

Sal opened his mouth to comment about Gryffindors, but closed it again when Scamander leaned over the table to whisper in his ear.

"Now, Sal Sanctuary, will you refuse or accept my offer?" He whispered.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

He had looked into the other man's mind and seen his truthfulness and determination. If he refused, the man would try to do it alone, solely with the help of some of his creatures. Sal knew that the risk was even greater for the man in front of him if Sal refused the request.

"Alright," he said in the end. "We'll do it your way, Herr Scamander."

The man leaned back, sitting back down and giving Sal his space.

"I've got a room upstairs," he said. "You coming?"

Sal rolled his eyes but stood up and followed anyway, dissolving the runic ward while leaving the table.

The moment they reached the door to Scamander's room, the other man grabbed him, and pulled him into the room, looking for the world as if he planned some naughty things for the next hours.

The door closed and the man released Sal.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get over with it. I guess you want to have an oath, Herr?"

Sal sighed.

"It would be safer for you," he said and the other man nodded and then spoke the oath without any hesitation.

"I, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, hereby swear to spy for Sal Sanctuary's Resistance while keeping their secrets by all means without Sal Sanctuary's allowance to speak about them. So I swear, so mot it be," Scamander said.

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"And I thought that you were Albus Dumbledore's man through and through," Sal said amused. "I thought you would insist to at least leave you an out to be able to tell him."

Scamander looked at Sal in surprise at that.

"Why did you –?"

"It's something that people normally feel when Albus Dumbledore decides to help them in any way or form," Sal replied with a shrug. "He seems to be a genius, to get others feel indebted to him."

At that, Newt Scamander shrugged.

"He might be a genius at that," Scamander said. "But I was never like any other."

Sal laughed at that.

"That you aren't," he agreed. "That you aren't."

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22th June 1915

"Sal, we have a huge problem," Allaric said slowly while shielding himself from the incoming curse.

Sal looked around with darkness lurking behind his eyes.

"I can see that," he told the other man before turning to Ollivander.

"Garrick!" He called out and when he was sure that the other man was listening, he spoke up again. "We need a way to explain all those dead people away somehow!"

"It's war, people die!" Sirius Black called out while bringing down his last opponent. "Why do we need to explain it further?"

Sal gave him the evil eye.

"Because," he said slowly. "Normally people have wounds to explain how they died!"

Sirius Black opened his mouth to object, then closed it with a snap.

"Well, shit," he said while looking around the battlefield with all the dead being killed by the killing curse.

For a moment, there was silence between the defenders – a silence Sal used to bring down his own opponent.

He sighed and wiped the blood from his head-wound out of his eyes. It was just a scratch that wouldn't even scar if he used magic, but it bled worse than a lot of other wounds.

"How… 'bout… gas?" Allaric panted while dodging the curses of his opponent.

Sal used the opponent's distraction to curse him into the back. It wasn't honourable, but they were at war – and their enemies definitely would do the same to them if they had the chance to do so.

Allaric's opponent toppled over and didn't stand up again. Sal might've been a healer, but unlike others he was a guardian healer. If he thought another person had to die, he could kill them – not that he had killed the other man. They needed people to interrogate, after all…

"That's one for me, I guess?" Theseus asked and stepped up next to the man downed by Sal.

Sal shrugged.

"He's still alive, if that's what you mean," he answered and Theseus nodded.

"I'll see what I can get out of him," he said and then dropped a portkey onto the man that would bring him into one of the cells they had at their own hide-out.

While Theseus had started as their poster-boy, he had soon shown that he was quite ruthless when it came to gaining information. Within months of his recruitment, Theseus had taken over their interrogation rooms and made them his own.

Sal had to admit, that the man was a fearsome interrogator – even if his method was a bit… unusual

"Back to the obliviate," Allaric said. "What about using gas as an excuse?"

The others looked at each other and Allaric shrugged.

"They used it anyway," he pointed out, pointing not too far from them. "Poisonous gas. Let's just make it look as if they used it to a greater extent than they did."

The others looked at each other, then Sal inclined his head.

"Why not," he sighed while looking the way Allaric had pointed. "I guess we were lucky anyway that the wind was blowing that stuff away from us instead of towards us."

Allaric nodded darkly.

"Definitively," Sirius Black added. "I already feared I would never be able to see my first granddaughter myself."

"Granddaughter?" Allaric asked surprised and Sirius grinned.

"As of a week ago," he said proudly. "I got the letter yesterday. Her name's Lucretia. My son Arcturus is quite a proud daddy right now."

"Arcturus?" Sal repeated with a frown. "Your heir? Isn't the boy only fifteen?"

"That's the one," Sirius agreed and rolled his eyes. "Obviously he and his betrothed Melania couldn't wait."

Sal frowned at the other man.

"Do you need to go home to help him?" He asked, but Sirius waved it off.

"No," he said. "I asked and was told strongly to stay away. From what it sounded like, Arcturus feels already swamped with his mother and his grandparents looking over his shoulder. Anyway, my brother Cygnus has left for home yesterday to await the birth of his third child, so he will be there as well if there's trouble."

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"You could mean that you Blacks have nothing to do but have children and go to war from the way you talk," he said amused.

Sirius Black snorted.

"As if," he said haughtily. "My father is also well invested in politics."

Then he blinked.

"That reminds me," he said slowly. "Did I warn you that my other brother is coming tomorrow to help us?"

"Other brother? What other brother?" Charlus asked confused.

"My brother Arcturus," Sirius said.

Charlus looked at him in concern.

"Didn't you just say Arcturus was your son?" He asked concerned and raised a hand to measure Sirius' temperature.

The other man ducked away from the Potter heir's hand.

"He is," he said with an eye-roll. "But I was talking about my brother Arcturus Nigellus, not my son Arcturus Sirius. My brother's daughter is now two months old and he decided that now was the right time to join us."

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"And there's the proof that Blacks only think about fathering children and going to war," he said amused before pulling out his wand and starting to help obliviating.

Charlus snickered and did the same and with Sirius loudly complaining that the Blacks did more than father children and going to war, they changed the battlefield into something that fit to the story they had made up to explain the dead away.

Muggle history would only speak about the German's first use of poisonous gas in the second battle by Ypern.

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July 1917

Garrick Ollivander sat down next to Charlus Potter and Sirius Black who were looking at the flames of their little camp fire in front of them.

"You know," Garrick said. "I heard a rumour today… about Grindelwald…"

"What kind of rumour?" Allaric Moody asked while sitting down next to Garrick with some soup in his hands. He was followed by Theseus Scamander and a dark haired man with oddly piercing green eyes in the colour of the killing curse.

"Something hillarious, I hope," Theseus Scamander added. "I could use a good laugh."

The man next to him raised an eyebrow at the older Scamander.

"You always have a good laugh – if the enemy's upon us and all seems lost or if we're partying doesn't actually matter to you," he countered dryly.

Theseus turned to look at the man innocently.

"But Sal!" He mock-whined. "You can't just blurt out things like that! What will the girls say if you imply that I'm insane while I try to hook them up?!"

Sal just looked pointedly at the darkness of the forest around them.

"What girls?" He asked and Theseus pouted.

Allaric snorted, but Garrick just shook his head.

"Sadly it's nothing amusing," he said unhappily. "There's a rumour going around that Grindelwald managed to get his hands on a legendary wand."

Charlus looked up from the flames at that.

His eyes narrowed.

"What wand?" He asked sharply.

Garrick shrugged.

"It's called the Death Stick," he said. "There's a rumour that it's part of the Deathly Hallows, from the tale, you know?"

Sirius Black frowned.

"How reliable is that rumour?" He asked concerned.

Garrick shrugged.

"I can't say," he said. "All I can say is that he's gotten even more vicious than he already was…"

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"It's just a fairy tale," he said, clearly not believing it. "There's nothing like the Deathly Hallows."

Sal opened his mouth, clearly to object, when Charlus Potter spoke up again, his voice grave, but utterly convinced.

"There is," he said unhappily. "And they're damn dangerous in the wrong hands."

The others, except Sal, looked at each other, suddenly uneasy – especially when Sal just nodded and added "They are," his voice as sure as Charlus' when he finally spoke up.

For a moment, there was utter silent between the friends, then Allaric combed a shaking hand through his hair.

"Then we should ensure that he's not finding the other two pieces as well," he said, his voice shaking as much as his hand. "I don't fancy to fight the Master of Death."

The others nodded, suddenly ill-at-ease.

Charlus just shook his head.

"You would never fight the Master of Death," he said, his voice clear and strong. "My family has always known more about the Deathly Hallows than any other family – and I can guarantee you, you'd never fight the Master of Death."

Sirius frowned at that.

"Why not?" he asked. "If Grindelwald finds the other two –"

"Then he still wouldn't be the Master of Death," Charlus said and looked at his friends calmly. "The true Master accepts death as a part of life. He won't try to command it. The role of the Master is balance. He's there to fight and yet accept death – it's not an easy role. Death is natural – and yet, as the balance, the Master would have to fight it without going so far to try and rule it."

"Sounds like a difficult job," Theseus snorted. "Nothing I'd truly want to do."

"And lonely," Garrick added.

Charlus nodded.

"Considering that the Master would be unable to die until he'd give up his job as the balance or until every other life on Earth ended – it's definitely lonely," he agreed.

Sirius shuddered.

"Not a role I'd wanted to take," he said. "I'd hate to have to sit by and watch my family die – especially if I'd know I'd had the power to change it, but it would be unnatural to do so…"

Charlus nodded gravely.

"There's a legend in my family that one of my ancestors was the last Master of Death," he said. "He was also called 'The First Grim', because he wasn't human but a grim and the son of Death himself. According to legend, he gave up his position after thousands of years of loneliness by killing himself in front of his children."

The others shuddered and Sal's face had blanked into an unreadable mask.

For a moment, silence reigned, then Sal spoke up again.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "We should use the time tonight to talk about something happier than the discussion we had right now."

"But Grindelwald," Garrick spoke up in protest.

Sal just shook his head.

"If he truly has the Death Stick, it won't change a thing," he said, his voice strong and sure. "I will still fight him. Like Charlus said, there's no way that he can be the Master of Death – not while bringing more death than balancing it. We should keep it at that."

Charlus nodded.

The others exchanged a glance, but in the end, Sirius nodded as well.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "Death Stick or not. I won't back down now. Let him come – we will take him down, mythical weapon or not!"

"Damn true!" Theseus agreed grinning.

Allaric snorted and raised his soup as if he wanted to toast to someone.

"Hear! Hear!" He exclaimed and in the end, even Garrick Ollivander smiled, shook his head and changed the topic of their discussion to the plans they had for the attack on Grindelwald's men in the morning…

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October 1917

"You look like you've been trampled by a hippogriff," Newt Scamander commented the moment Sal and he had closed the door to their private room behind them.

Sal looked at Newt unhappily.

"Thanks for the compliment," he said then rubbed his eyes. "Now, what's Grindelwald planning now?"

Newt shrugged.

"Not too much, right now," he said. "He's content to sit by and watch the muggles slaughter each other for the moment. I'm sure, he's got something else planned, but right now, I have no idea what. He hasn't shared any of his future plans with us so far."

Sal sighed.

"So it's just the usual?" He asked unhappily.

Newt inclined his head.

"I've got a list with potential targets," he said and handed over the list. "Remember to destroy it the moment you've memorized it. It wouldn't do good to have evidence of my betrayal lying about, you know?"

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I'm quite aware what to do with lists like that," he said with amusement in his voice. "It's not the first time I work with you, you know?"

Newt shrugged.

"Better telling you again and again than you forgetting it once," he pointed out. "This list could get me killed if it ended up in the wrong hands."

Sal nodded seriously.

"I know," he said. "I'll destroy it the moment I've memorized it."

"Good."

With that Sal hid the list away.

"If you can," he told Newt, after hiding the list. "Tell Grindelwald that we had to make room after the Italian lost in Carporetto."

Newt raised an eyebrow at him and Sal shrugged.

"It would be best if you hand him the information through some other people," he said. "While we actually left our hide-out there, we left it mared with some… surprises for all those he sends. If you make it sound as if we left in a hurry and that we had to leave a lot of plans and maps, he will send some people to investigate."

Newt nodded.

"I know a woman or two who would be willing to spread the information in Grindelwald's ranks," he said. "Leave it to me. If I do it right, I might even be able to get rid of one or two people that are suspicious of me."

Sal frowned at the other man.

"If you're in danger to be found out, you should pull out and not –"

"Not yet," Newt said unconcerned. "But I promise you that if it gets worse, I'll try to pull out before they come at me."

Sal scrutinized the other man for a moment, then he nodded slowly.

"Alright," he gave in. "But take care, Newt. We still need you – you're far more faluable than just your position as a spy."

Newt snorted.

"You mean you need someone who knows all the spies in Grindelwald's rank?" He asked Sal amused, not the least bitter sounding.

Sal returned the other man's amused glance with one of his own.

"Don't forget that you're also head of our coffee supply," he said dryly. "Arcturus and Sirius Black would flay me alive if I got you killed before they find somebody else who has access to coffee like you do."

The answer was an amused laugh from Newt, then they parted ways – one of them going back to the enemy after 'a fling in the hay with his lover', the other one returning to the Resistance to inform them of the information he had gotten from the other man.

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December 1917

Of course, over time, Grindelwald started to change his strategy – and sadly, not everything could always reported in time to stop catastrophes or near-catastrophes from happening…

"Damn," Allaric cursed while looking at the ward Arcturus Nigellus Black was ringing with. "If that thing comes down uncontrolled, he'll be dead in an instance."

Ollivander nodded darkly.

"Damn Grindelwald and his damn tricks!" Allaric cursed.

It was then that Charlus Potter's eyes hardened.

"Garrick," he said, his voice booking no argument. "Bring those hostages to safety. Allaric – defend them. Black –"

Thankfully, there were a lot of times when those catastrophes could be circumvented by the abilities of those in the Resistance anyway. Sal couldn't be prouder of the people he worked with when it came to their ingenuity and their determination and will to learn and to get better to defeat Grindelwald in the end…

"Damn it, Arcturus! Be a bit more careful next time!" Sirius Black ranted at his brother. "I don't want to explain to my sister-in-law why she will be a widow in the next ten years, you hear me?"

Arcturus Nigellus Black rolled his eyes at his brother in amusement.

"You worry too much, Siph," he said amused. "I was perfectly safe!"

Before Sal could even think about admonishing the other man for his lie, the other man's brother smacked him.

"I'm a ward's master, Archie!" Sirius reminded his younger brother. "You and I both know that those wards were just seconds away to backlash on you!"

Sal couldn't object to that. Wards were part of the ritual magic – and every ritual gone wrong had consequences. A backlashing ward could kill or severly shorten another man's life.

"Yeah well, everything went well in the end, didn't it?" Arcturus countered. "So stop fretting, Siph. I'm alright!"

"Yes – because of dumb luck!" The other man replied angrily. "And don't call me Siph!"

Arcturus rolled his eyes.

"Sirius Phineas," he said. "Si-Ph – it's your name, so don't complain."

"Not my name, Archie!"

"Well, then don't call me Archie!"

"I'm the older one. I'm allowed to call you whatever –"

"Gentlemen – could we return to the discussion, please?" Cygnus interfered.

The two older brothers turned and looked at the younger one.

"Then you're alright with Archie nearly blowing himself up?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"I bet he's just less of a mother hen than you, Siph!" Arcturus replied.

Sal rolled his eyes at the discussion of the brothers.

"Hold still," he interfered when Arcturus tried to sit up when the debate heated. "I'm still not done bandaging you."

In that moment, Allaric Moody, Garrick Ollivander and Charlus Potter entered and stopped dead in the entrance to the tent.

"Are they still debating?" Charlus asked tiredly.

He had dark rings beneath his eyes and his clothes looked half-burned. He had been the one who had stabilized the ward so that Arcturus Black came away with a scare and not a death-sentence.

The moment, Sirius heard Charlus voice, he turned to the door, looked at Charlus for another second or two before making two steps towards the Potter and enveloping him in a hug.

Charlus startled and nearly everybody else's jaws hit the floor.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Sirius breathed. "Thank you so much, Potter!"

Charlus looked at the limped that was once one Sirius Black uncomfortably.

"You're welcome," he said and patted the other man's back awkwardly.

While those two men had learned to work together, this was the first time, they actually interacted as anything else but reluctant team-mates.

Allaric snickered.

"Seems like the idea of friendship between the next generation of Black and Potter might be true, after all," he said amused.

Sirius Black snorted – it sounded a bit watery – before telling them with a muffled voice: "Well, I for once wouldn't mind."

Then he finally released the Potter-heir again.

Said man looked at the other man with clear embarrassment on his face, before finally shrugging.

"If there's ever a Black named after you, Black, then I will think about letting my son be his best friend if that's what you want," with that, he patted the other man another time awkwardly on the shoulder before fleeing from the tent.

Ollivander snickered.

"Now you just need to get your children to name their next child after you," he said amused.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"As if that will happen," he said and waved it off. "I already forbid my children from naming their children after me – and Potter knows this. I bet he worded it like that to ensure that it won't happen even in the future."

Sirius Black would never know that his as of yet unborn grandson would name his sons in honour of those fighting against Grindelwald.

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February 1918

"Lord Potter," Henry stopped. He had been about to leave the halls of the Wizengamot. He was still Supreme Mugwump and had again pleaded for the British to send some help to the war-ridden countries on the mainland. Again, it had been one Albus Dumbledore who had led the opposition, arguing that there was nothing the British wizards could do, that the wizards of the rest of Europe weren't already doing.

Henry couldn't even object to that reasoning. There was nothing that the British wizards could do better than the ones who were already fighting – but unlike those who were already in the middle of the fight, the British wizards would be less worn out and could help them when it came down to numbers.

Yet, the rest of the Wizengamot, as much as they respected Henry, listened to the young charismatic wizard that was called the 'next coming of Merlin' by many. And while Henry couldn't object that the other man definitely had a lot more power than the average wizard, he couldn't see 'Merlin' in the laid-back approach of Albus Dumbledore.

Henry shook off his thoughts and turned to the man approaching him.

"Lord Black," he greeted the man and saw from the corner of the eye Albus Dumbledore stopping and frowning at Henry and Phineas Nigellus.

"Lord Potter, I'd like to talk to you in private, please," the other man said. Henry stared at the other Lord in shock. After the initial approach all those years ago when Phineas Nigellus had rebelled against the decision of the Wizengamot and given his sons the right to decide if they wanted to fight or not, they hadn't spoken even two words with each other.

For a moment, Henry hesitated.

The other Lord hadn't changed his stance in the Wizengamot at all since back then. He was still a proud part of the dark side with no inclination to embrace anything muggle – and therefore a total opposite of Henry.

Yet, when Henry looked into the other man's eyes, he saw nothing but determination in there – a determination obviously aimed at speaking with Henry at all costs.

"Tomorrow, ten o'clock in the Leaky," Henry finally said. "I'll book us a private room."

Phineas Nigellus, the worst remembered Headmaster that ever graced the halls of Hogwarts, nodded.

"Thank you, Lord Potter," he said and with that he walked off.

Not a minute later, Albus Dumbledore was at Henry's side.

"You should be careful with him, Mr Potter," the young Dumbledore warned Henry with a frown. "He can be quite… dangerous when he wants something."

Henry looked at the younger man with a raised eyebrow.

"This is not my first year in politics, Lord Dumbledore," he pointed out coolly. "Don't worry, I can look after myself."

The younger man just frowned.

"This might not be," he replied. "But unlike you, I work closely with Mr Black at Hogwarts. I know his character far better than you who just interacts with him within this chamber – so for your safety, I hope that you will take my warning to heart."

Henry looked at the younger man a bit unhappily. He didn't like it at all, that the other man had even thought about butting into Henry's business, but Henry was far too well raised to admonish the other man openly where everybody else could hear it.

"I believe I know whom I can trust and whom I can't," he finally settled on, before bowing stiffly. "Lord Dumbledore."

With that he turned away and left the young lord standing – hoping against hope that the other man would see his stiff behaviour as the admonishment it was meant to.

A day later Henry met Phineas Nigellus Black in the Leaky Cauldron. They entered the private room Phineas Nigellus rented and then sat down together for breakfast.

It was after they had eaten, that Phineas Nigellus finally decided to speak up.

"Lord Potter," he said formally. "I apologize for calling you here today when I don't even know if you can help me."

Henry looked at the other man in surprise.

"Help you?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and Phineas Nigellus inclined his head.

"I came here in my function as Head of the House Black," he said. "And I came here to ask for advice from the Head of House Potter – a House known for its toleration of muggleborn and muggles."

Henry frowned.

"What does House of Black need that you have to ask me for help regarding either of that," he said, a bit confused. He knew that the House of Black was against everything muggle – so approaching House of Potter because of its tolerance was not something Henry had thought of first when he had been approached.

Phineas Nigellus sighed.

"I…" he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable enough with the theme that it even broke his normally stoic countenance. For a moment, the other man quietened to gather his courage, then he looked Henry into the eye.

"This is about my grandson," he said and Henry looked at the other man in surprise. But before he could say something, Phineas Nigellus already continued.

"The boy is two years old, going on three," he said. "And while it's definitively too early to truly say…"

Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath.

"My daughter-in-law noticed that Marius hasn't shown any signs of accidental magic as of yet," he pressed out. "And while that isn't too unusual for other families at that age, the most of the Black children had their first bout of accidental magic between nine and fifteen months."

Henry's eyes narrowed.

"You play with the thought that the boy might be a squib," he said with a frown.

Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath, then he nodded.

"We don't give up hope yet," he told Henry before the Lord Potter could admonish him. "But it's just another year and a half until the child needs to start training and if he's truly a squib… if he's truly…"

The serious eyes of the Black Lord locked with those of Lord Potter.

"If Marius truly has no magic, then I don't want him not to be able to live in the muggle world after he's grown," Phineas Nigellus grimaced at those words, but the serious expression never left his eyes. "I don't want my grandson to suffer as my brother did – and if that means to ensure that he gets a… muggle-education that he might not need on top of his wizarding one, so be it!"

Henry looked at the other Lord in surprise.

"So," he said slowly, needing time to come to terms with what he just heard. "You approached me to ensure your grandson will be able to navigate the muggle world if he's truly a squib."

The Black Lord nodded and Henry shook his head at the other man.

"Aren't you at odds with one of your sons because he's supporting muggle rights?" He asked confused.

The Black Lord waved it off.

"That has nothing to do with Marius need to learn how to live without magic," he said. "Phineas wants that muggles are made… part of our culture – the only thing I want is for my grandson to have every opportunity he can get even if he might not have magic."

Henry shook his head at the other man. In his eyes, it was still too early to actually say if the child was a squib or not – but he definitely wouldn't stop the man if that's what he wanted.

"Alright," he said. "And what do you want me to do?"

Phineas Nigellus leaned forward as if to share a secret.

"My son Cygnus – little Marius father – and I talked," he said with a grave expression on his face. "We need information about that institution called 'primary' by muggles. As far as I've heard it's something akin to Hogwarts. Since Marius will start his education in a year's time, we need that information now."

Henry stared at the Black Lord.

Primary.

A school.

Well – that definitely wasn't a request he would have ever predicted that the proud Black Lord would make.

"Of course, we will pay you handsomely either in favours or in gold for all the information you will gather," Phineas Nigellus added.

Henry wondered how Phineas Nigellus would react if Henry's memory was right and the Black Lord had to be told that the primary was starting at five and not at four like wizarding education in the House of Black…

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October 1918

"Sal!" Sal looked up from his planning and into the eyes of Charlus Potter. "There's an Iron Belly waiting for you!"

Sal sat down his charts and rubbed his eyes.

"An Iron Belly?" He repeated. "Which one?"

"Ukrainian," Charlus replied. "He said he's covering the Eastern Front."

Sal snorted inwardly at that. What had started as an unusual request had soon turned into a new division of Sal's troops. The dragon division Newt Scamander had requested had gained some more members over the last year. They were all called "Iron Bellies" after the dragon race. They weren't a dragon division, per say, but actually their spy division, now consisting of more members than just one person.

"Dragon Division is a fitting description of them," Theseus Scamander had said when he had found out about his younger brother's insistence that he would tell everyone that he was part of the dragon division. "But maybe we should be more specific. 'Iron Bellies', maybe – you have to be able to stomach a lot when you're part of that division, after all." The name had stuck – like every other name Theseus and Newt Scamander had come up with over the years – if Sal liked them or not.

"Send him in," Sal said and Newt Scamander, or "The Ukrainian Iron Belly" as he was known to friends and foes alike, entered.

"You've finally been found out by Grindelwald?" Sal asked amused. Newt waved it off.

"Naw," he said. "He's still clueless."

"And yet you're here in the middle of our camp," Sal said while raising an eyebrow. "I thought it was far too dangerous for you to be anywhere near the camp, Newt?"

Newt waved that off as well.

"Normally, yes," he said. "But after tonight it won't matter anyway."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"How so?" He asked.

"I've gotten some information that might end all this if we do it right," Newt replied. "Unfortunately it will also expose me as a spy, so I fear I will have to retire from my doings if we succeed or not."

Sal looked at him in interest at that.

"Alright," he said. "What did you find out?"

"He's planning to assassinate Heinrich Eberstadt, one of the most important wizards of Switzerland," Newt said. "I've got the time and date of the attempt as well as the names of the people who will come with him."

Sal frowned.

"You don't think that he will notice you're missing –"

"He would have, I think," Newt said while waving if off. "But he and the most of his people left to Switzerland already. I'm officially in charge of the rest of his people, but I told my second that I promised to see my hubby tonight and that I had to go. Since we've just been told to wait, nobody will think anything of that – at least until Grindelwald and his people a caught or until they return after being swatted."

Sal nodded.

"Alright," he said. "How long do we have?"

Newt looked at him darkly.

"Barely tonight," he said. "Grindelwald will attack at dawn."

Sal nodded. It wasn't the first time that they had barely time to act, but normally the attacks they prevented had been known to more of Grindelwald's men and not just his elite.

"Alright," he said. "Then I guess we'll have barely time to get into position."

In the end, Newt had been right. Grindelwald attacked at dawn, coming at the Head of Law Enforcement of Switzerland, one Heinrich Eberstadt.

Luckily, Sal and his men had been prepared. At the same time Grindelwald attacked, his own men, the one he left behind were attacked as well. A lot of them died, a lot of them were captured and given to the aurors.

But not only Grindelwald's men were attacked. His own attack was stopped by Sal's people as well.

The following fight was legendary. It was a blood bath and a lot of men got hurt or killed, but in the end, Sal's men won and Grindelwald was given to Eberstadt at the Swiz's request.

Barely a day later, Grindelwald had fled and Sal cursed the man they had rescued for his inability to see the threat Grindelwald portrayed until it was too late and the wizard was gone again.

In the end, Sal and his men could do nothing but curse Eberstadt.

"So, what will we do now?" Theseus Scamander asked darkly. "He's gone and I doubt that we will hear from him until he's got back his strength."

Sal sighed at that.

"I guess we will have to live our lives until then," he said. "We will do everything we want to while keeping an eye out for him. The moment he returns, we will return as well – if you want to, that is. You have fought him already; I won't force you to return if you don't want to anymore."

"But you will return, won't you, Sal?" Theseus said. "You are the one providing the sanctuary for all others, after all…"

Sal just snorted and then sighed.

"I will," he said. "I can't leave others to suffer by this man's hands."

Newt laughed at that.

"Well," he said. "I guess I will return to my cover job as a real one if this ends here for now."

Officially, Newt Scamander was working at the Ministry of Magic in Britain, after all.

"And I will have to think about writing that book Augustus wants me to," he added amused. "That should keep me busy for a while, I guess."

Sal rolled his eyes in amusement.

Augustus Worme was also part of the resistance while at the same time managing a publishing house in Britain. Sal had no idea how Augustus did it, but he knew that he did. When Augustus and Newt met in the resistance – both of them were Iron Bellies, spies, that is, after all – he started to pester the other man about writing a book for his publishing house. It seemed that Augustus had finally won that battle after nearly one and a half years of whining.

"You will keep in touch, won't you, Sal Sanctuary?" Newt added in that moment and Sal's head snapped up.

"What did you call me?" He asked incredulously. Oh, he had heard the name before, but until now he had always thought it as a code name, solely used when he was up and about elsewhere, but never used when he was at the camp. To hear it used there was somehow more frightening...

Newt grinned.

"Well, it was my brother who actually said that you're providing sanctuary," he said. "I just shortened it to an acceptable length."

"But I'm not a place!" Sal protested and Newt just shrugged.

"If you say so," he said, before waving good-bye. "Well, I'm off now. I've got to hunt down Augustus, after all. I'll write the moment I find a trace of that mad man I spied on. Until then, folks!"

They would have something akin to peace for the next eight years.

sSs

"Alright," Sal said, looking at his men. "Let the storm begin. May we survive this night and may we win this fight for the sake of the world!"

And yet, while he said this, there was still unease in Sal's mind – an unease, he couldn't put to rest.

This was Dumbledore's story.

This was Dumbledore's history…

So where was the man who had fought and won against Grindelwald if the stories Sal remembered from the future were right?!

Sal shook his head to get rid of that thoughts.

It didn't matter.

Not today.

Today they would go to war.

Today they would fight.

Dumbledore or no Dumbledore.

This was their hour.

Grindelwald would rue the day he killed Allaric Moody's parents…

And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.

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That's it for today. I hope you liked it.

'Till next time,

Ebenbild