Jul 17

When the

Roses Bloom

Again - The

Gauntlet Gellert,

In your absence, the Ukraine has fallen to the ICW forces.

W

The simple note had caused Gellert's stomach to sink. He knew

that the situation in the Ukraine had become quite desperate,

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that Evans and his men had become a scourge to his men in the

region.

This was not welcome news.

His hold over the Ukraine gave him a direct corridor to attack

Russia should he choose to, but more importantly, it served as a

deterrent to other countries that believed themselves safe from

dedicating their own men to the ICW cause.

Now, the gate had been opened to other alliances being formed.

Without the presence of Gellert's followers, coupled with the

success of his enemies, those that had maintained neutrality or

had been cowed would grow bold.

"Bad news I take it," Cassiopeia commented.

Gellert released a deep breath as he handed her the note from

Weber.

He had expected defeat would eventually come in the Ukraine,

but not so soon, and not before he had recruited enough

additional followers that such an outcome could have been

avoided.

The country, however, was lost to him, and attempting to take

back control of it would cost him more men than he was able to

sacrifice.

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He frowned irritably.

How?

How had the ICW forces managed to breach to city in such a

way that they had achieved a great victory there?

As much as he appreciated being informed of the development,

the missive was lacking in detail.

It irked Gellert so, but being halfway across the world in Peru,

there was little he could do about it.

For the time being, he needed to focus on recruitment, and thus

far, he was having success with his efforts.

In Chile, he had secured a further eight hundred men, around the

same number he had lost in the Ukraine.

The realisation made Gellert frown deeply.

At this point, he had merely replaced the men he had lost.

It wasn't enough.

He would need to increase his efforts here to make up for the

shortfall and see that his followers in Europe were reinforced

sufficiently.

"You seem unperturbed by what has happened," Cassiopeia

pointed out.

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"On the contrary, my dear, it concerns me greatly," Gellert

sighed, "but it is merely a setback that will be corrected in due

course. When our work is done, we will reclaim all that has been

lost to us."

Cassiopeia nodded, her belief in him as unwavering as ever.

Gellert had not discussed his conversation with Gregorovitch

with anyone.

In his moments of solitude, he'd been studying the Elder Wand

extensively and his bond with it.

The relationship was as strong as ever, and he was certain that

despite his belief that Evans did perhaps have Peverell blood

flowing through his veins, the wand would recognise his

superiority.

He had long given up any hope of discovering the man's origins.

If Weber with all of his contacts and experience in such matters

had drawn a blank, Gellert doubted that any would find success

in that venture.

No, unless Evans himself revealed that information, all would

remain woefully ignorant of his parentage.

Still, Gellert was not one to leave anything to chance.

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It was all but inevitable that he and Evans would meet on the

battlefield once more, and with that in mind, he'd been re-

establishing his bond with his original wand.

He would be ready for Evans when they next met, and he would

not be caught off guard by an impromptu display of magic he'd

not expected.

As deadly as a parselmouth could be, it was still a form of magic,

and if nothing else, Gellert had proven there was none who

understood the nature of such things as much as him.

(Break)

Berlin was a different city to the one he had visited on his

previous excursions here. There were no cheering crowds of men

and women lining the streets as they hailed their leaders, and no

flags of other countries displayed to symbolise the important

alliances that had been made.

The city had been devastated by bombings, and those that did

venture out of their homes were tense, their eyes downcast until

their gaze flickered towards the sky as though they were

expecting another bombardment at any moment.

How things had changed for the people here in the last couple of

years since Harry had visited.

Still, he was not here to scout for his own purposes.

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He had no doubt that his campaign would eventually lead him

here, but today his purpose was to learn what Eleanor

Summerbee had discovered throughout her subterfuge.

He spotted the woman seated outside of a café a short distance

from another building that had been cordoned off after it had

recently been bombed, and Harry took the seat opposite her.

Eleanor visibly relaxed as he did so, offering him a tired smile.

She looked exhausted, and much thinner than Harry

remembered, and he sighed as he took in her appearance.

"You look like shit."

Eleanor snorted.

"You really do have a way with words, don't you?"

Harry shrugged, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"I don't see any point in lying."

Eleanor conceded the point with a nod.

"It's been a difficult year," she murmured. "I've spent most of it as

a spider. It's not so good for your health."

"No, I don't suppose it is," Harry conceded. "Regardless of what

happens here, you'll be leaving Germany."

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"To where?" Eleanor asked with a frown.

"Home."

Her eyes lit up at his declaration.

"Have you…?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, but soon," he explained. "I would have you there to see what

you can learn before we arrive. Now, what do you have to tell

me?"

Eleanor released a deep breath as she informed him of her

findings, or lack thereof for the most part.

Harry listened intently as she explained how dedicated she had

been, the sacrifices she had made to discover the identity of

Weber, and when she was done, he knew he couldn't have asked

anything more from her.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

Eleanor offered him a weak smile.

"I'm just doing what I can."

Harry nodded.

"These fights, do you know how to get in?"

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"The guests each hand a token over to security. I don't know

where they get it from."

Harry frowned thoughtfully.

"What about the competitors?"

"They are recommended or brought in by people close to the

organisers."

"So, the token thing would be best. Maybe I can take one from a

guest before they get there."

"Or you could find a way to sneak in," Eleanor pointed out.

"That shouldn't be difficult for you."

Harry snorted amusedly.

He hadn't put his cloak to use for some time.

"What happens when I'm inside?" he questioned.

Eleanor shrugged.

"The bets are taken before each fight," Eleanor sighed. "After the

fights are done, the crowd is escorted out and then the bald man

will count the gold before taking it to the bank. I can't be certain

about additional security, but I think it is safe to assume he is well

protected."

Harry nodded his agreement.

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"What about the fighters?"

"They drink," Eleanor explained. "Sometimes the bald man will

drink with them before he leaves."

To Harry, it seemed the best way to get to the bald man without

arousing suspicion or alerting Weber to what he had done would

be to earn his trust somewhat, but he didn't have time to do that.

"There is one other thing that happens on a Friday," Eleanor

broke into his thoughts. "They ask for anyone willing to run a

gauntlet for a special prize."

"A gauntlet?"

Eleanor nodded.

"A series of one-on-one fights with various creatures, but no one

has survived it yet."

"But if I managed it then I could immediately make a name for

myself," Harry mused aloud.

"It's risky, Harry," Eleanor said worriedly.

"I survived a basilisk when I was twelve," Harry pointed out. "I

should be able to manage whatever he could throw at me. What's

the reward?"

"Two hundred galleons."

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"And the curiosity of the organisers," Harry added. "It might be

less risky than trying to ambush him, especially not knowing

what security measures he has in place."

Eleanor huffed irritably.

"You're not going to change your mind, are you?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Not one that would be any quicker."

"Then it's settled," Harry declared.

Eleanor shook her head.

"Do you have a compulsion to risk your life?"

Harry shrugged.

"I sometimes ask myself that, but right now, I just want this war

over with so I can be at home with my child."

"Your child?"

"Well, baby," Harry corrected. "It will be here in a matter of

weeks."

Eleanor smiled sadly.

"So, you managed to figure things out with Minerva?"

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Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I think so," he murmured.

"Is anything ever easy for you, Evans?"

"Not really," Harry chuckled.

Eleanor grinned amusedly.

"Congratulations," she offered sincerely. "Now, about your latest

stupid idea…"

(Break)

Charlus hadn't stood here since he had been a young boy during a

holiday with his parents, long before war had been on the

horizon. He'd forgotten how simply beautiful the Caribbean Sea

was, or how the hot sand felt beneath his feet, and the scent of

the salty air.

He had paused as he'd arrived in Santo Domingo, the memories

his family had made here coming to the forefront of his mind.

He'd been around ten years old, and he vividly remembered

building sandcastles with his father, both competing to see who

could create the best one whilst Angelica had taken refuge under

a large parasol to shield herself from the sun.

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She always burned, her pale skin not accustomed to the climate

here.

Charlus smiled at the thought of happier times before his father

had been taken from him, before Charlus had followed in his

footsteps to fight a war, when his life was as innocent as it was

complete.

He wiped away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek,

knowing that those days were long-passed, and that the

memories were all he had left.

Releasing a deep breath, he turned away from his vigil over the

sea and sought out the holiday home that one of his ancestors

had purchased. He didn't know whom or how long it had been in

the family, but it was here that his mother was now residing.

It had been almost a year since he had last seen her, his life

consumed with fighting and traipsing across Europe to put an

end to the man that had killed his father.

His mother had made no secret of her disapproval, but Charlus

was stubborn, and his mind wouldn't be changed.

It was not only his duty to fight, he was also compelled to.

He would never rest easy knowing that he did nothing, that

Grindelwald had killed William Potter without facing justice.

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No, that could never have been allowed, and though Angelica

wouldn't be pleased about Charlus's choices, he knew that she at

least understood them.

Still, a sense of nervousness washed over him as he approached

the house.

He and his mother had not parted on the best of terms.

They had exchanged letters in the intervening months, but his

last memory was of the woman crying, begging him not to fight.

Bracing himself, Charlus pushed the door open and walked

through the familiar entrance hall, past the living area and to the

kitchen where the smell of food was wafting from.

Evidently lost in her own thoughts, his mother was chopping

vegetables, unaware of his presence as she frowned deeply.

The woman was stressed, the circles around her eyes darker than

Charlus remembered them, and her frame much thinner.

It pained him to see her this way, and he rushed forward and

wrapped his arms around her.

"Charlus?" she choked into his chest, trembling.

"It's me," Charlus whispered.

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Angelica merely sobbed as she clung to him, her nails digging

into his back painfully, but Charlus didn't care.

All that mattered to him was that he was here, that he was with

his mother who had spent the past year isolated and alone.

Charlus simply held her as she unleashed what it was she was

feeling, and he didn't know how long they stood, but it was the

smell of burning that caused Angelica to curse before releasing

him.

"I've burnt the food," she sniffed as she held up the frying pan,

showing what was now a blackened fish.

Charlus snorted as he shook his head, and his mother laughed,

the smile tugging at her lips the first genuine one he'd seen from

her since before his father had died.

He returned it before wrapping her in his arms once more,

unashamed that all he wanted in this moment was a hug from his

mother.

Angelica was happy to oblige as she squeezed him tightly.

"You look so different," she whispered. "Your father would be so

proud of you, just as I am."

"He'd probably kick my arse," Charlus snorted.

Angelica nodded her agreement.

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"He would, but he'd still be proud."

Charlus chuckled at the thought of his father chastising him.

"Would it be to hopeful to think that the war is over?"

"It's not over," Charlus sighed. "Harry gave me a week of leave

and insisted I visit."

"Harry?"

"Do you not get the news here?" Charlus asked with a frown.

Angelica shook her head as she swallowed deeply.

"I left Britain to get away from it all. I lost your father to it, and I

can't bear thinking about you fighting in it too."

Charlus nodded his understanding.

"Then I suppose there is so much I have to tell you. Come on, I'll

take you somewhere for dinner since you burned yours."

"That was your fault!" Angelica huffed but smiled as Charlus

took her by the arm and led her from the house.

(Break)

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Reg was

returning home. For hours since he'd arrived back in Britain, he

had wandered through Diagon Alley, and even the streets of

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muggle London as he prepared himself to face his father once

more.

When war was declared and it had officially been recognised by

the Wizengamot, Reg's father, the Lord Yaxley had all but forced

him to volunteer himself to the cause or face being financially cut

off.

At the time, Reg had been furious, had not wished to risk his life

for people that meant nothing to him, but things had certainly

changed since.

If anything, he was grateful for what his father had done for him,

and though he suspected it was unintentional, the man had

provided his son with a purpose, and a sense of perspective of

how cruel and unforgiving the world could be.

Before the war, Reg lacked any purpose, any ambition to call his

own. He was a second son, and his family was rich enough that

he'd never find himself in need of work to support himself. He

had thought that he might just spends his years living off the

family wealth and doing whatever he wished to from day to day.

He grimaced at the thought of the man he had been.

He had despised his father for forcing him into war, but now he

was grateful for it.

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For the first time in his life, he had achieved something from his

own efforts, and though things had not been easy, Reg yet lived.

"Master Reginald has returned home," Crispin, the family elf

croaked after Reg had summoned the courage to cross the

threshold into his home.

"Hello, Crispin," he greeted the elf fondly.

It was strange to think that he'd never paid much attention to the

creature that had done almost everything for him since he'd been

a boy but having discussed elves with Harry when he'd asked

about acquiring one, he'd gained a newfound respect for the

beings.

"Let Crispin take your bag, sir," the elf requested.

Reg shook his head.

"No, I'll carry my own bag," he insisted. "Could you tell me

where the others are?"

"They are in the dining room, sir," the elf explained, a frown

creasing his brow.

He seemed put out by Reg refusing to hand over his bag but

didn't comment on it.

"Thank you," Reg offered warmly as he made his way through

the large home he had grown up in.

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It was strange being back, not unpleasant, but he'd already been

considering what his life would be like when the war was over.

He wouldn't go back to how he had once lived, and he'd

considered finding a home of his own, and perhaps a wife.

He'd like to have his own family.

"Reg!" his mother greeted as he entered the dining.

Before Reg could respond, the woman had knocked the wind out

of him in her rush to hug him.

"Bloody hell, I need to breathe," he wheezed, chuckling as his

mother released him.

It was odd to see so much emotion from her. She had never been

a cold woman, but she was a pureblood through and through, and

didn't let on to how she was feeling.

His father shot his wife a look of disapproval, but he knew better

than to provoke her ire.

As much as he wished to believe, the Lord Yaxley was no match

for the Rosier woman he'd married.

"My boy, is it really you?" his mother asked, cupping his cheeks,

and inspecting him, an expression of horror forming as she took

in his appearance; his unkempt beard, and the scar he'd obtained

on his temple from a cutting curse.

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If she could see the others, Reg would find it hard to believe that

she wouldn't faint.

"It's me, mother," he confirmed with a smile, pleased to see the

woman again.

He staggered backwards as her hand collided with his cheek and

tears spilled from her eyes.

"You haven't written! We've only heard snippets of information

from others, you stupid boy. What were you thinking?"

Reg swallowed deeply.

A part of him wished to remind her of the terms they had parted

on before he went to war, to point out that he'd only left because

his father had made him, but he didn't wish to argue with his

mother, nor any other member of his family.

He had grown beyond such pettiness, and he merely wished to

enjoy the short respite he'd been given from fighting, and maybe

sleep in a comfortable bed.

Instead of allowing the irritation he felt to create an unpleasant

atmosphere, he released a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he replied sincerely.

His mother smiled sadly at him.

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"Take a seat, son," his father instructed.

Reg did so and found himself under the scrutinising gaze of the

man, his older brother, and two younger sisters who had yet to be

married off.

"How did you get the scar?" Anna, the youngest of the four

siblings asked.

"This one was from a cutting curse," Reg snorted. "You didn't

think we're out there hosting dinner parties, did you?"

The woman shook her head.

She was the same age as Harry, Charlus, and Arcturus and had

all the naivety one would expect in a young woman who had not

experienced the world.

"No, I just didn't think it was so bad," Anna admitted.

Reg smiled at her, though there was no humour in it.

"It's worse than you can imagine," he muttered.

The other members of the family fell silent for some time, and

Reg helped himself to some food.

It was much better fare than what they got on the continent,

something he wouldn't have appreciated before he'd left.

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"Oh, Reg, I do hope you will shave off that monstrosity," Melissa,

the older of his sisters huffed.

Reg ran his hand through the tangled mess that was his beard.

Shaving was not a priority when most days were spent fighting

for your life, but he nodded his agreement.

"I will," he assured her. "We don't get much time for it."

His father grunted and nodded towards the stripes and insignia

of the ICW that adorned his sleeve.

"You seem to be doing well for yourself," he commented.

His tone was curious, and not without a hint of pride.

Reg nodded.

"I am the second in command of the British forces," he

explained.

His father, a usually reserved and quite stoic man smiled, a

genuine gesture that Reg had not seen from the man since he'd

received his brother's NEWT results so many years prior.

"Second in command?" Titus, his father's heir, and Reg's older

brother pressed appreciatively.

The relationship between the two had never been one of

closeness.

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They hadn't truly been at odds, but Titus was ten years Reg's

senior, so they'd had little to do with each other outside of formal

functions or family dinners.

He'd been married before Reg had even left for Hogwarts and

had four children of his own.

"Only behind Harry and Charlus," Reg elaborated.

"Charlus Potter?" Titus questioned. "My, you have made some

connections if you're on a first name basis with the Potter lord."

Reg frowned.

He'd not considered any political benefit to the friendships he'd

forged. He'd acknowledged them, of course, but such things were

of no use to him.

"Connections don't mean anything out there," he pointed out.

"Charlus is a friend, as are Arcturus, and Harry. What blood runs

through your veins doesn't matter to anyone."

Titus frowned before shrugging and turning his attention back to

his meal.

"This Harry would be Evans, would it not?" his father enquired.

"He spoke highly of you when he attended the Wizengamot

meeting to discuss his ascension."

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"It would be," Reg confirmed fondly. "We wouldn't be where we

are without him. He's saved my life more than once."

"Then I would like for you to express my gratitude," his father

requested. "He has certainly carved quite the reputation for

himself. I suspect we may have a future Minister of Magic in the

making."

Reg chuckled amusedly as he shook his head.

"No one would ever convince Harry to take the post," he

explained. "I suspect when the war is over, he will do whatever he

can to avoid the public."

"Impossible," his father said dismissively. "Whether he likes it or

not, he will not be allowed to hide in the shadows. The world

will not leave him be."

As much as Reg wished to argue, he found himself in agreement

with his father.

Harry may manage to avoid it for a while, but eventually, he'd

somehow be roped into something.

Besides, Harry was not one to remain idle. He would grow bored

of a life in isolation and would be compelled to seek other

ventures, just like Reg was already considering if he survived the

war until its conclusion.

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"Maybe you're right," he sighed, "but we have to win the war

first," he pointed out.

"Is that likely?"

Reg nodded.

"With Harry leading us, Grindelwald doesn't stand a chance."

His tone was perhaps a little more impassioned than he'd

intended, but Reg believed in Harry Evans.

Where the ICW had proven themselves to be quite incompetent,

it had been Harry that had made up the shortfall, Harry who was

leading them to victory upon victory, and Reg had no doubt that

it would be Harry who would defeat Grindelwald.

He would have the help of Reg and the rest of the men who

Harry insisted were more important than himself, but Harry

Evans would be the one to stand before the Dark Lord and put

an end to the madness that had gripped the world.

(Break)

"What is it?" Charlus asked when his mother had been staring at

him for several moments from across the dinner table.

"I'm just wondering when it was that you became a man,"

Angelica sighed. "It's like you were my little boy one moment,

going off to Hogwarts, and now you're here."

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"I had to grow up," Charlus murmured.

"All too soon," Angelica said sadly.

Charlus chuckled humourlessly.

"Too soon," he agreed, "but Harry even sooner."

Angelica nodded.

"Your father knew who he was. He found out after what

happened in Warsaw."

Charlus's eyes widened in surprise.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"It wasn't his secret to tell," Angelica pointed out. "Until he died,

your father was convinced that Harry is a relative of ours. I don't

see how, but your father maintained that certainty."

Charlus shrugged indifferently having long given up trying to

unravel the mystery that was Harry Evans.

"Harry is my brother, despite whatever blood flows through his

veins," Charlus declared. "After everything we have been

through, that is all I can see him as. I still find it hard to believe

he's going to be a father. I don't think I will until I see Minerva."

"I didn't know they had married," Angelica replied with a frown,

evidently put out that she hadn't been invited.

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"They aren't," Charlus snorted.

His mother appeared scandalised, her upbringing and ideals on

marriage leaving her unable to comprehend a pregnancy without

it.

"But they will be looked down on," she gasped.

"They're not purebloods," Charlus reminded her. "Bloody hell, at

this point, Harry could probably piss on Merlin's grave and be

hailed for it."

Angelica shot him a look of disapproval before shaking her head.

"I do hope that you will not be following that example."

"Not me," he promised. "I will wait until I'm married."

"To a nice girl," Angelica said firmly. "I did have quite the

enlightening conversation with Miss Black before I came here."

Charlus felt his cheeks redden.

"That's not good," he muttered.

"She's a wonderful young lady, and rather fond of you."

"She is?"

Angelica nodded, grinning at her clueless son.

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"Very much so. Despite what has happened between our families

recently, I was impressed by her."

Charlus shook his head as he released a deep breath.

"I can't think about marriage until after the war."

"I know, but I think you would be a fool to discount her among

potential matches, if she is still unmarried, of course. Just because

Lord Black is away, it doesn't mean that he is not considering her

future."

Charlus frowned at the thought.

Would Arcturus look to marry his sister off whilst he was away?

The thought was not a welcome one.

Not a welcome one at all.

(Break)

The security measures in place appeared to be rather simple at

first glance, but as Harry drew nearer to the pub concealed

beneath his cloak, he realised that they were in fact some of the

most complex protections he had come across.

Getting in or out would not be an issue if all went to plan, but if

things did not run smoothly, the potential for considerable fallout

was not negligible.

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Evidently, the man that oversaw the running of these events was

either paranoid, or almost as vigilant as Harry remembered

Alastor Moody to be, and in a matter of seconds, if he felt

threatened, the pub would be swarming with guards to intervene

against any threat, whether that be man or beast.

Harry had his doubts of the latter, not unless something of

exceptional power were to run rampant.

The protections in place would prevent such, and at worst, would

be needed only to subdue a creature with whatever concoction

was stored beneath the vents in the floor.

No, the man in charge here was no fool, and only a fool would

attempt to attack him within these walls.

Which left only the bar itself above, the protections in place there

lesser, but still posing a problem.

Harry would need to use all his cunning to ensure he was not

ensnared by the magic, and that what he was attempting was at

all possible.

His best approach would be to somehow earn an audience with

the organiser, or even turn the defences the man had created

upon him without triggering an alert to those lying-in wait.

It would not be easy, but nothing had been ever since he had

taken up the mantle of Hit-Wizard.

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For two days he had scouted the pub, the basement, and the

streets that led to Gringotts, and with Grindelwald firmly in

control here, he was not surprised to find that the route between

the pub and the bank was also as well protected.

According to Summerbee, who he had grilled several times,

when the man entered the bank, he did not leave the building,

likely apparating from within or using a portkey to transport him

elsewhere.

It was frustrating to say the least, but it seemed that the closer he

was to danger, the more chance of success Harry would have.

The two previous evenings he had attended had been quite busy

considering they were weeknights and that there was a war on,

but tonight, the numbers had tripled, making it easy for Harry to

slip past the burly men acting as security for the event.

As ever, it was an odd assortment of men and women that had

gathered for the macabre display, an assortment of languages

being spoken as he made his way through the basement so that

he could get the optimal view.

When he was certain no one was looking his way, Harry slipped

off his cloak and pocketed before leaning against a nearby wall to

wait for the proceedings to begin.

Thus far, he had not witnessed the horror that Summerbee had,

the prisoners that had been forced to fight for their lives without

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their wand to do so, but with the large cellar come fighting pit

almost at full capacity, anything could happen.

Tonight was a different night, after all.

"Are you betting?" a voice growled in German, pulling Harry from

his reverie.

"What am I betting on?"

The squat man offered him a grin and a sheet of parchment, his

tobacco-stained teeth a darker shade of yellow than the latter.

Poring over the programme, Harry nodded.

"Fifty Galleons on the gauntlet," he declared.

"Fifty Galleons on the beasts," the man grunted.

Harry shook his head and placed a hand on his shoulder to

prevent him walking away.

"On the competitor," he corrected.

The man's grin widened.

"I will require the gold up front," he demanded.

Harry shrugged as he handed a sizable bag over and the man

counted it, inspecting each coin, his piggy eyes bulging greedily.

"What are the odds?" Harry questioned curiously.

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The man hurriedly pocketed the Galleons.

"Two hundred to one," he guffawed as he took a step back. "All bets

are f inal," he added handing Harry a slip of parchment with the

details of his bet written upon it.

Harry merely nodded appreciatively.

This could prove to be a lucrative venture.

The man frowned at him before taking his leave, and Harry

checked his reflection in a nearby mirror to ensure that his

disguise was in place.

Much to his chagrin, his features had become recognisable, so he

had resorted to his former habits of being a Hit-Wizard.

In many ways, this undertaking felt similar to those somewhat

simpler days, but there was more at stake here than a pay check.

Eliminating Weber would be a significant blow against

Grindelwald and would remove one of the man's greatest assets.

Harry paid rapt attention as the announcer stepped into the

middle of the duelling area, ignoring the staring duo of the squat

man that had taken his bet and the bald organiser as they eyed

him from the opposite side of the room.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer called. "As always, we

welcome you to a night of entertainment, courtesy of our many

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benefactors, some of whom are with us tonight."

Harry joined the rest of the crowd in their applause.

"Without further delay, let us begin with our f irst bout of the

evening," the announcer continued.

Harry watched as a wizard clad in purple robes entered the pit, a

fan favourite judging by the reaction he received from the crowd.

He waved cockily to them, offering a bow as a large crate was

wheeled in.

Once the lid was removed, a single acromantula scuttled out,

rearing up in fury as its pincers clicked together loudly.

The wizard did not even flinch as he readied himself, though

Harry felt his leg itch from where he had been bitten by one of

the creatures during the third task of the Triwizard tournament.

The fight was over before it had barely begun, the remains of the

arachnid amounting to little more than a burn husk from where it

had been scorched.

A team of men removed it as the announcer introduced the next

wizard that wished to test their mettle against a magical creature,

a rather diminutive man garbed in leather.

This competitor didn't fare as well as the last, the large griffin he

had been drawn against using its talons to gouge through the

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jacket like it was wet parchment and disembowelling the man.

Harry shook his head.

The fool had tried to use a flame whip to keep the creature at bay

and had only angered it further.

Had he lived, it may have been a lesson learned, but it was not to

be.

The fighting continued with a scantily clad woman squaring off

with a female centaur.

The witch emerged victorious, but not unscathed.

She had a deep cut to her shoulder and had several of her bones

broken when the centaur had landed a vicious kick to her

midsection.

To the woman's credit, she had gotten back up before snagging

the centaur with a chain around its neck that choked the life out

of the majestic beast.

Next up had been a duo of wizards who fought and killed a

mountain troll in a one-sided affair, the dim creature having been

torn on whom it would attack, its indecision seeing it killed

quickly.

It was then that the announcer stepped into the pit once more,

and the crowd grew excited.

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The scheduled bouts had come to an end, and it was time for the

main event, the show that most had come to witness.

"Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the time for one of you to run the

gauntlet," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Who

among will be brave enough to risk it all for gold and glory."

The excited crowd fell silent immediately at the question, none

wishing to garner any attention to themselves.

"I'll do it," Harry called.

The announcer frowned as he looked for the source of the voice,

his eyes lighting up as Harry stepped forward with his wand in

hand.

"Then join me, young man," the announcer requested.

The crowd murmured as he did so, many visibly relieved that

someone was willing to step up to provide the final piece of

entertainment for the evening.

"This man will face four rounds, if he makes it that far," the

announcer explained with an amused chuckle. "Are you ready for

this?"

Harry nodded, and though he didn't know what to expect, he

braced himself for whatever would be unleashed upon him, his

grip on his wand tightening.

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Nothing could be worse than a dragon, could it?

The first crate was wheeled in and when the door was released, it

thudded to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

At first sight, Harry believed he had been pitted against a trio of

dementors when three shadowy beings emerged from within the

depths of the crate and began to float around him, but with the

absence of the cold and sense of despair they brought, he quickly

realised these were lethifolds.

Dangerous creatures in their own right, but they did not have the

ability to feast on his soul. His body on the other hand, was

certainly not safe from them.

The difficulty lay in facing three at once.

They were known to be violent and aggressive creatures, but they

still paled in comparison to their soul-sucking counterparts.

It was with a sudden ferocity that one unleashed a screech and

lunged towards him, but Harry was ready, the bolt of brilliant

white lightning careening from the tip of his wand stopping it in

its tracks.

The screech quickly became a pained scream, though another of

the former followed from somewhere behind Harry.

Instinctively, he used his free hand to grasp some of the lightning

and redirected it to the new attacker, his hand tingling, but the

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creature suffered the same agony as the first instead of the

discomfort Harry felt.

The third continued to float around him, seemingly looking for

an opening to exploit, but before it could do so, the screaming

ceased as the first two lethifolds died.

With only one more requiring his focus, Harry went on the

offensive, his attacks crackling off the surrounding protections

until the creature could no longer avoid them.

This one too died in the same manner as its companions, with

lightning coursing through its very essence until it was snuffed

completely.

Harry took a breath as the crowd clapped enthusiastically and

another, larger crate was wheeled in, this one held together with

thick chains.

The crowd whispered excitedly as a low growl was heard from

whatever was in the crate, and once more, Harry readied himself.

"Now it is time for round two," the announcer declared, though he

didn't enter the pit this time. "Unleash the beast!"

What emerged this time did so much more cautiously than the

lethifolds, its glowing yellow eyes narrowed at Harry as it slinked

its way out of the crate and began to circle him, crouched low to

the ground and ready to pounce.

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It was a cat of sorts, but not one that Harry was familiar with.

It was grey, striped similarly to a tiger, but its two, large incisors

protruded out of its mouth.

The creature was a predator, of that Harry had no doubt, but he

knew not of what other powers it may possess.

The cat roared, and the crowded gasped as it bounded forward

and launched itself in the air in an attempt to lock its jaw around

Harry's throat.

He rolled to his side, narrowly avoiding a flailing paw, and put as

much distance between himself and the feline whilst it righted

itself, pondering what he could do.

With a frown, he fired a blasting curse that merely bounced off

the skin of the cat, eliciting no response nor any

acknowledgement of what he'd done, proving that it was resistant

to magic.

Harry nodded appreciatively and had to take evasive action once

more as the cat again bounded towards him and took to the air.

It would be difficult to harm it with spells, and risky to himself to

attempt it without knowing what it was he faced and the

limitations of the creature, but there was something he could do,

something he had read whilst perusing the tome lent to him by

Charlus Potter.

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Nodding to himself, he waited for another attack, though when it

came, he didn't move.

Instead, he swept his wand in an upwards motion at just the right

moment, and the cat found itself speared through the guts by the

stone spike that had shot up from the ground, catching the

creature cleanly in mid-air.

The cat thrashed around for a moment, eying Harry malevolently

until there was little fight left and it groaned defeatedly.

After only a moment, it fell limp, its yellow eyes dulling as the

final vestiges of life left them.

Again, the crowd clapped, and Harry gritted his teeth as he

ignored the sound.

This wasn't sport that any should be celebrating.

This was nothing more than a slaughterhouse where those with

such curiosity and morbid inclinations gathered to indulge in

their more carnal desire for blood and violence.

Not that Harry was given much time to dwell on such things.

For the third round, there was no crate introduced, but a figure

entered the pit from the crowd, its deathly pale skin leaving

Harry in no doubt of what it was he faced next.

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Nonetheless, the creature felt it prudent to smile at him, its

elongated fangs glinting as the light in the cellar reflected off

them.

A Vampire.

Harry had never met one, the creatures choosing to live in

isolation for the most part, but he had read about them, of their

legendary speed and strength, and of how impossibly quickly they

healed when wounded.

A drawn-out battle with a vampire would only favour the

creature, and in this instance, Harry was not inclined to give any

advantage away.

With that in mind, he conjured several wooden stakes and sent

them spinning in all directions around the pit.

The vampire eyed them warily, hissing in anger as it shot towards

him with a speed that left Harry taken aback, and he grunted as

he was slammed into the barrier with the wind knocked out of

him.

The taste of blood filled his mouth from where he had bitten his

tongue, and he spat a mouthful onto the floor below, something

that only excited his foe.

Not wanting to experience that physical power again, and sensing

that the vampire was converging on him once more, Harry hastily

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sent a banishing charm towards it.

It granted him enough of a respite to push himself back to his

feet, but the creature was relentless and came at him again,

grabbing hold of the front of his robes and his wrist in a vicelike

grip.

Without thought and unable to angle his wand in a way that he

could use it effectively, Harry sunk his teeth into the hand that

held him, and the vampire recoiled with a hiss, and an expression

of shock mingled with pain as it clutched its now smoking hand

that was steadily turning black.

His blood!

Harry didn't know what immunity or tolerance vampires had to

magical venoms, but his blood contained it, and it was evidently

quite agonising for the vampire.

Not that it mattered truly, not when Harry waved his wand and

half a dozen of the spikes he had conjured thudded into the back

of the unexpecting vampire.

There was no death rattle nor prolonged passing. The creature

simply collapsed to the ground, unmoving and Harry breathed a

sigh of relief and hoped that Grindelwald didn't somehow

manage to convince a coven to support his cause.

They would wreak havoc on the battlefield.

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By now, the bald man and the other that had so happily taken his

bet at the start of the night were glaring at him, and Harry shot

them a grin as the announcer introduced the final fight of the

evening.

"What a show!" he gushed happily, "but it is now time for the f inal

round of the gauntlet."

Harry frowned as the floor he stood upon began to sink.

"This young man has done well to survive up until now, but he must

face his ultimate challenge to be declared our victor. Unleash the beast!"

Harry turned to see an enormous iron gate had been installed in

the wall of the basement he found himself in, a gate that was

blasted outwards by a forceful blow that made the one he'd

sustained at the hands of the vampire seem like a playful nudge in

comparison.

The remnants of the gate came to a stop at his feet and his eyes

widened as the behemoth stepped out of whatever had been

confining it.

Harry had always been sceptical when Hagrid had told him, Ron,

and Hermione that Grawp had been on the small side for a giant

but seeing the monster before him now made him realise how

very wrong he'd been.

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The giant he faced stood around twenty feet tall, it's body thick

with muscle and littered with scars from where it had likely spent

its life fighting with its own kind.

How it ended up here, Harry could only guess, but a bellowing

roar pushed those thoughts from his mind as the giant charged

towards him, swinging a club that appeared to have been carved

from a tree trunk and had nails the size of Harry hammered into

it.

"Bollocks," he cursed as he narrowly avoided a blow.

There would be no getting up from one of those if the giant

managed to connect.

Harry had to be careful, but he couldn't just run in circles hoping

the creature would tire. No, he needed to find a way to take the

fight to it, and for the first time in his life, he was pleased for

Hagrid's proclivity towards adopting dangerous creatures.

Meeting Grawp had compelled him to learn more about his kind,

more so that he could defend himself from Hagrid's brother if

needed.

Giants were almost immune to magical attacks, their thick skin

able to repel most, and the few spells it couldn't were too

dangerous to wield in here.

They were also not as dim as trolls, so were not easy to trick.

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However, Harry did know how one could be defeated, and

though the book he had consulted had warned against doing so,

he had little choice in the matter.

It was no wonder that none had survived the gauntlet thus far.

Cursing under his breath as he was forced to avoid another swing

of the club, Harry turned his attention to the broken gate and set

to work, continuing to evade the monstrosity that was

determined to put an end to him.

With a few waves of his wand, he had torn the gate into sections

and transfigured them into javelin-like projectiles, the first being

quickly embedded in the knee of his assailant, much to the

delight of the crowd.

The giant was dangerous, more so than anything else he'd faced

this evening, but it was slow, its movements lumbering, and even

more so with the rod of metal rammed into its leg.

It roared in fury as it swung and missed Harry who ran between

its legs, this time summoning one of the projectiles, and stepping

aside as it careened towards him.

Another bellow of anger sounded as it stuck in the back of the

calf on the opposite leg, and for the first time, the giant

staggered, though it managed to stay upright.

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Harry's jaw clenched, but he set to work once more, nonetheless,

the crowd cheering him on.

After several moments of avoiding being pulverised by the club,

and puncturing his foe with more projectiles, its legs finally gave

out, but it yet lived.

As much as the giant had wished to kill him, Harry was here for

a purpose beyond testing himself and for monetary gain.

He hadn't wished harm upon the beasts he had fought, and he

did not wish to see the giant suffer.

Its legs were mangled and were it to return to its own kind, it

would become pray.

With a sigh, he pulled one of the projectiles free and transfigured

it into a large and enormous blade.

To the giant, it would be the size of a knife, but it would be

sufficient for what Harry intended to do.

Releasing a deep breath, he banished it into his foe's skull, and it

stopped twitching, the groans of pain ceasing immediately.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have a winner!" the announcer

declared, words that Harry barely heard as the floor began to rise

once more and he was returned to the upper level of the

basement.

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(Break)

Eleanor could only look on in shock as the evening had unfolded

around her.

She had known that Harry was a gifted wizard, and a dangerous

one at that, but what she had witnessed left her speechless, and

even as the crowd were escorted off the premises, she remained in

her stupor.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the bald man as he

ascended the staircase into the bar above and she followed, his

expression likely mirroring what hers would have been were she

not in her spider form.

(Break)

The sound of something thudding on the bar next to him pulled

Harry from his thoughts, and he was met by the curious

expression of the bald man that seemingly organised the events

that took place here.

"I must say, I am impressed," the man grunted. "This is the f irst time

that I have been out of pocket," he added, gesturing to the sizable

sack of coins.

"Then the least I can do is buy you a drink," Harry replied with a

smirk.

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Comments (15)

Thanks for another entertaining chapter and enjoyable fights

The man deflated as he nodded and took the seat next to him

whilst Harry poured him a measure of whiskey from the bottle he

had purchased.

"It is your f irst time here?" the organiser questioned before

draining his glass.

"It is," Harry confirmed, "but I will be asking the questions. You can

begin my telling me everything you know about a certain Herr Weber."

The bald man's eyes had glazed over as the Veritaserum took

effect, and Harry cheered internally, pleased that his efforts had

not been in vain.

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AvidReader2425 2 weeks ago · 0 Likes

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Lol no one forced you to read

"who had yet to be married off "

So sick of your terrible head canon that heads of families can just

marry people off. You've got a hard on for an even worse version

of pure blood culture than is found in the books.

And that fight was ass. Harry fights like a 7th year when fighting

animals and like Dumbledore when standing against Gellert.

Though to be clear, your fights at that level suck too due to lack

of first person description and "everyone looked on in awe" being

your go to way of saying harry is doing something cool.

Fights are where you are weakest as an author, but the pureblood

nonsense and adulation of arcturus black (basically your self insert

OC) really hurts your writing as well.

At least nobody "threw themselves into [insert name here]'s

arms" this chapter.

Lord help me but i just can't figure out why i keep reading this.

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Lol no one forced you to read

Great chapter again, very good story.

Great chapter. I enjoy the author's action scenes.

By the way, it's 'prey' not 'pray', if your looking to fix typos.

Dramatic and strategic as well as those nice moments back with

family.

I don't think Veritaserum works that way, but I guess it's close

enough, and though quite likely to have played out this way, the

bald man has to have been more cautious than this, right?

Perhaps Weber has a back up plan as well? His loss would be the

second to last thing before Grindelwald's fall, I think.

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Other than that, it was a great chapter, and I eagerly await more.

very clever harry

Clever, well done Harry. Excited to see what comes of him

hunting Weber.

Thank you very much for posting this chapter so promptly

You know it has been mentioned that Harry has a good chance to

be Minister of Magic. I would love to see the Baron write a fic

either a continuation of this one or another where does indeed

become Minister and has to deal with all the tribulations that

come with that.

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Yeah, that would be an interesting fit, especially with this Harry.

He gets his hands dirty and doesn't letter other do his work, so

when Death eaters arise(assuming they do) would he play

vigilante

I'm enjoying the increased pace over the last couple of chapters.

The taking Ukraine time skip was a relief and Harry going

undercover (insane as it is for him to do as the leader of the

troops) feels like it could finally lead to some real progress.

Killing Webber would leave G with a serious lack of competent

underlings.

I sorta don't get why the two don't just use a binding contract

(like when they Co-operated) to arrange a duel to the death.

Given they both want to fight each other I think it would save a

lot of their troops lives.

There's a reason the story exists, you know... And though I

haven't come upon a drawback to the plan you mentioned, in

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Author/Site Owner: Lee : TheBlack'sResurgence

Email: (For all enquiries)

When the Roses Bloom Again - Respite for Some

When the Roses Bloom

Again - Closing the

Corridor

my admittedly brief wondering, there might be some.

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