Hy! A new chapter, a bit early because I'm that type of good writer (no). I may have a hard time to publish the next one as quickly: My exams are coming and trust me, they are as terrifying as winter.

I'm quite proud of this chapter, and I hope you will like it! Enjoy!

Thanks for all the comments (I don't answer to them all, but I read everything I assure you) and all the kudos! Also, thanks to my beta, Adlertywriter, for the amazing job. Without it, my poor grammar would burn all of your brains out ^^

Warning!: One of the scenes in this chapter contain an undertone rape threat. It isn't explicit but may incommode/ creep some of you

Chapter 6: Out

Gellert was observing from the citadel's battlements. Actually, most of his soldiers were looking. Grindelwald was angry. No, he was in a raging fury, his hands trembling with the need to just take out his frustration on someone.

But at least his men were around him, ready to protect the citadel. Of course, they would defend everyone they could. Who did Harry think he was? But he couldn't evacuate the camps- because it would cause a panic, and the crowd that it would create would kill more people than the dementors. It would weaken their defences. Some must be sacrificed - for the Greater Good. It was common sense.

Around him, his Snatchers were looking at Harry's frame expectantly. The man that had dared defied their master would be kissed tonight - a fate worse than death surely. But he was doing it to defend them, not because Grindelwald had sent him there. They didn't know if they had to cheer for him or to boo him, so they just watched, wand at the ready.

Then, Harr- Potter cut the prisoner's ties. All the prisoners. With one single spell. It was a stunning display of careless power. He saw the tiny frame of the young man bow down to collect Graves, and talk to him. Why did he want to talk in this situation? Did he know Graves?

Was he a spy after all?

But then he simply dismissed these thoughts. The boy was going to die for his foolishness anyway. Nobody could hold down an army of Death Eaters alone. So much wasted potential. Maybe, it was what truly angered Grindelwald.

He hadn't even thought about erasing the bruise that was slowly forming on his cheek. His hair was beaten by the frozen and sick wind, sticking to his skull. His clothes clung to his skin as they were soggy. But Grindelwald did not move. He had to protect the citadel. He had to protect wizards at all costs. But it was the realization that made him stay.

Harry was dangerous. More so than he had expected. Gellert could almost see his green eyes flashing from where he was.

Suddenly, he was hit by a wave. He actually had to hold on the wall to avoid falling backward. At first, he thought of an explosion.

It was magic.

Pure, raw and untamed - too much power to be controlled.

It saturated the air.

All the prisoners had fallen on their knees. The rain slid on the force's waves, twirling, absorbing the dementor's fog and Numengard became a lighthouse in the middle of the sea.

Grindelwald rose his hand and cast the most powerful protective spell he knew. Slowly, a translucent shield fell from the sky around the citadel. Its light cut through the fog, flowing on an invisible bubble. Many rose their wands to add their spells to his. Rays of light rose from everywhere in the citadel, and even outside. They were silent.

A flash of lightning tore the air slowly as a crack extending over the ice

And then everything went white.

Percival Graves had thought he would die in his cell. Nobody got captured twice by Gellert Grindelwald and lived to tell the tale - surviving once was already a miracle. Then, a guard had come to take him, and he had thought that he would die at last in the fresh air, kissed by a dementor of all things. He hadn't screamed nor kicked all the way from the jails to where they had been attached, alike some of his co-prisoners. No, he had walked with false poise.

He hadn't revealed anything.

When the magic chains - similar to those he himself used to capture black mages - had wrapped around his wrists, he had to hold back tears. His heart had gone up in his throat. God, he did not feel like dying. Not now. He was scared, so scared. His breathing quickened dangerously, and he felt the cold freeze his limbs. The dementors arrived. He was going to die the same way as the worst criminals, while the criminals were hiding behind the ramparts.

Irony.

Chuckles pierced through his sobs, and he didn't even bothered to ask himself at what point he had started to sob. He couldn't even feel his tears in the middle of the rain. His cheeks were numb with the cold.

But he kept repeating it in his mind. He hadn't said a word.

Suddenly he saw the boy. He was standing in front of him, and crouched to put himself at his level. He was calm, oddly calm. His eyes were bright and he smiled warmly at Perceval.

What an odd kid.

The man's breath caught in his throat. The kid had put his hand on his shoulder, and it was like he was force-feeding him with hope.

For a second, Perceval felt like he was back in the security of his New York office. No suffering, just duty, and work. Piles of files on his desk, and the shy smiles of Miss Goldstein, with whom he had developed some sort of strange polite friendship made of small attentions and half-finished sentences. His worries about the Barebone boy that he had crossed in the street many times in front of the ministry, with his hateful flyers and frightful looks. A blink later, his chains fell around him. The boy was still looking at him with that warm smile, anchoring him to the here and now.

Then, the boy - or was he a man? rose onto his feet. He had an odd shaped wand in his hand, but it wasn't surprising. He was an odd-shaped boy after all.

He waved his hand in the air as if commending an invisible orchestra and a force knocked Percival to the ground. Drops of mud splashed across his face.

He saw them, gliding above the ground. Looming always closer. He heard the screams behind him losing themselves in the wind. There was an exploding sound, and everything went white.

It was too much magic. Many men had wanted to become master of Death before him, but none knew what it really entailed. Because the power didn't come with the knowledge, and Harry had never been the one to control himself. His magic was raging in his veins, waiting to be unleashed, calling for him, calling for the dead and the living and it was utterly frightening. He felt like he would explode.

The pressure was unsustainable, but he had to hold until all the dementors were in front of him. He was alone, and he couldn't fight on two fronts at the same time.

Despair crashed on him. Memories flashed before his eyes. Things he didn't want to remember. Luna, rising from the dead as an inferi. No… The look on Ginny's face when they took her. No…

He felt the shield rose behind him. The now familiar and wild (warm) magic of Grindelwald was circling the citadel.

He had to find a good memory. Was he even still able to produce a Patronus? Doubt crashed on him. What if he wasn't able to do it? What if he was kissed while being the master of death? Fear. He hadn't felt that kind of fear for many years. There was a reason he had destroyed Azkaban in his own time.

He closed his eyes. A good memory. An untainted memory.

A lightning bolt exploded next to him. There was screaming. He had to find it!.

A little toddler laughing while Harry was making him fly, his hair, black from worry a few minutes before, turning bring yellow with excitement. Something warm spread in his chest and his lips curved in a smile. He opened his eyes to stare at the abominations that were now only a few meters away from him.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery stag appeared. Harry blinked. It was the first time he used that spell after his… first death. It was far brighter and bigger than before. It was fascinating. He could actually feel the waves of happiness coming from the beautiful creature. The stag was different, other than in its sensation, from the one the young man had produced before. Its branches were larger and numerous, forming tiers of white lines that seemed to want to melt into the stars, its neck was wider and majestic, its legs slenderer. In short, he looked more ... adult.

Celestial would be the word, but Harry didn't want to think about that.

"Protect us." Harry whispered, stretching his hand towards the apparition. Before he could touch it, the stag ran. The sound of his hooves clacking like the roll of thunder against the tempestuous air.

Harry waved his wand and the spell made a half circle around the citadel. The earth was vibrating under his feet. His breath quickened. The dementors were being pushed away, pushing and making disgusting shrills as they were thrown back in the woods. But Harry was tired. He was so, so tired. His legs were painful under the aftershock of the spell, and his own magic was so warm and comfortable. His hair was flying around his face under the raw magic's push, tickling him slightly.

It took all his will not to let the spell slip. Keep thinking about the memory, occluding every bad feeling it may convey.

He heard shouts behind him, but he couldn't turn his head. How many dementors were here?

Too many was the only answer he could provide.

He felt a dozen of silvery forms pass next to him. He didn't know when his wand had become so heavy in his hand. He concentrated on keeping his feet on the ground, his arm steady.

But his own mind wasn't doing the trick. It was flying in places it shouldn't be. There had been so much mud too, the last time. The bombs flying over his head. The screams, the horrendous sound that the buildings made when they fell, when the metallic structure bent. The ashes gluing themselves into his lungs.

Harry took a deep shaking breath. No. He had to hold on, to stop it from happening again -or at all. His presence was luring the dementors his way, at least they wouldn't scatter around. A dozen of other Patronuses were running around, keeping them in the same area and pushing them always further back.

Harry gave a final push, and the dementors were gone. The wind was whispering among the trees, and the rain fell softly on the ground.

Harry was trembling all over. What was this? What was this coldness?

Run Lily, run!

The horror grew in him, but this time somehow mixed with a pang of guilt. They died for him, they all died and yet he was here, saving a Dark Lord's army, oh but what if he failed, how many innocents would die today because of him?

Please spare him!

Please!

He felt a pair of arms catching him as he fell.

"They can't burn!"

The mob was screaming, like an informal mass of anger and hatred directed at them. A poor woman was screaming in pain in the middle, but nobody cared, really.

"They can't burn!"

Harry couldn't really see anything, everyone was moving too fast. But he knew what it meant and the dread was shutting his mind blank, as the crowd screamed "They can't burn! Witches! They can't burn!"

The sheets were warm around him. Soft on his skin. He could stay here forever, couldn't he? It was ok.

But he was incomplete. Something was missing, something, something was-

Harry opened his eyes. above him, the ceiling was white and sterile and -

Oh.

Well, that was bound to happen. So much for staying low, good one Harry.

Harry sighed and tried to find his glasses. Apparently being the master of death didn't give you the right to see three feet in front of you. Of course, he could use a spell on his eyes - with the Elder Wand it would be permanent, but he didn't know such a spell.

Someone finally put his glasses on his nose. Ah! not to be blind! Harry muttered a 'thanks'.

He was in a cell. A pretty cell, apparently, less cold the the one of Mr. Graves, and with a bed (that now seemed to be much less comfortable), but still a cell.

The locks on the door may have given it away.

He was dressed in a simple brown shirt and pants. The ring was still on his finger, luckily, and he could see the cape had fallen from his clothes next to the door - still invisible to all but him, except for one corner that was touching another part of the fabric.

But the Wand wasn't here.

Of course, the wand wasn't there.

Grindelwald was sitting legs crossed at the end of the bed. He was eating the end of a chocolate frog, and smiling at him. His smile was just a little too sharp. Harry couldn't help but stop to wonder if he had smiled at people like that while killing them.

Who was he kidding, of course, he had.

Harry didn't know why but the situation felt particularly wrong. It made all his body tense and cringe with the only need to kick the man on the floor. Unconsciously, he looked for his wand. He felt naked and weak without it. Even if he was still it's master, he hated, hated hated for it to be away from them. Without the wand, it was harder to ignore the longing of the stone. It was harder not to hide himself constantly under the cloak.

As if reading his mind, Grindelwald chuckled.

"You do look adorable when you're lost! Want some?." He taunted, waving the last bits of chocolate frog.

Harry shot him a very unimpressed look. The cute word seemed insulting and condescending in his mouth. He mustn't play Grindelwald's game. Suddenly, Nikolov's warning came back in his mind and he felt sick. Grindelwald was just so disgustingly patronizing, it made Harry's skin crawl.

"How long was I out?" He asked with only a small tremor in his voice.

Grindelwald smiled at the young man's stubbornness and ate the last chocolate's leg, shrugging. "An entire day. Dare I say that you were quite tired. But that's quite natural after such a magical miracle. They are all impressed with you, my boy."

Harry's glare deepened, and if he didn't know better he would be certain that Grindelwald had stilled by reflex.

There was no sound in here. No way for Harry to know where exactly he was. And now he could feel it. The dark aura around Grindelwald. He could smell the blood, feel the screams. He was probably doing one of his famous experiments. Now his playful and friendly behaviour became cruel and deceiving. The man just reeked the Dark Arts.

It wasn't good. He just hoped he wasn't underwater.

"I would probably award you if some complications hadn't happened."

Ah, there it was. Harry knew perfectly where this was going, and he really needed to escape before something bad happened, and something bad was about to happen, clearly.

The day he would get rid of the 'saving everyone' thing, his life would be so much easier…

Discreetly, in a move that could look like a nervous gesture, he turned the stone on the metallic structure of the ring. He cut his thumb on one of the sharpened edges, and let the artifact drink the drop of blood.

"You see, not only did you hit me - a disrespect I could eventually put on the account of your youth and fiery temper - but you were also in possession of something that was mine… Oh no, don't look for it, it's hidden somewhere safe. Now, boy, I wonder…"

Harry was half listening to whatever Grindelwald could say with a barely masked anger about how he was the owner of the wand. A shadow was growing behind the man, completely obvious to what was really happening.

The night had risen and was moving towards them on two feet.

"...How did you steal it from me? Did you enter here by breaking in? You're certainly very powerful, but I doubt that you would be able to break in to that type a fortress. It's very ancient, you see."

Harry scoffed. "I wouldn't bet on that Sir. I broke into Gringotts. Twice." He said absentmindedly, before realizing his mistake and shutting his mouth shut.

Grindelwald slid closer on the bed faster than Harry thought it possible. Harry wanted to keep his attention away from the dead he was more or less summoning behind his back. It needed time to grow and stabilize.

"How is it that I can't See you?" The Dark Lord whispered, and Harry knew he wasn't talking about normal seeing. That was… interesting. Well, Harry would have thought that if he wasn't internally panicking. Grindelwald was simply far too close, the glint in his eyes far too wild and the whole situation really atrocious.

He rose his hand and brushed a single fingertip against Harry's cheekbone. He was pinning the young man with his gaze as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"You are really a surprising boy, Harry." Growled the Dark Lord. He pressed his hand on Harry's neck in a firm grip. Possessive. Harry felt himself pale. He needed to escape. "I wonder why you would want to go?"

You're lucky it's not the hands yet…

Harry clenched his teeth.

"Don't worry, boy, you're a hero now. Shame that you were… hurt during the attack, you will not be able to attend Samhain tonight - in a few hours actually. Don't worry, I'm sure that your hospital bed will be covered in flowers in no time. I must confess however that you might never see these flower, not if you keep that attitude anyway." Grindelwald all but purred while gripping his hand around the young man's neck. His grip was firm and bruises would probably form themselves where the fingertips touched the delicate skin of his neck.

It was too much. The man was too close. Harry felt himself tense against his will and his heart beat quicker from the adrenaline rush. He could feel the tug of subtle legilimency surrounding him, and Grindelwald's breath on his skin. He wanted to scream.

"Schuh, child, it's ok. I can understand the lure, after all, I did steal the wand myself. I think that everyone that dabbles in the dark arts should court death, at least once.

"The hallows don't belong to you." Harry hissed, barely stopping himself from slipping into parcel. "You don't know anything about death."

How my dear, but what do you know about the Dark Arts?

Apparently, the Grindelwald he had seen with Voldemort's eyes had made a good use of all his years in prison. Pity he wasn't wiser right now.

Harry stared at him and Grindelwald quickly withdrew his hand. Being stared at by an angry Harry was like being held at wand point. His eyes had lost all of their humble warmth. They were cold, merciless.

They were the eyes of someone that had seen far too much.

"Who's Voldemort? Who- Who are you?" He breathed, pulling back and reaching for his - no Harry's - wand.

One step back.

Another.

There he was, stepping on the disfigured half-ghost that had risen behind him. Its cold bluish hands went to touch Grindelwald, who bolted back to avoid the threat.

Of course, a simple ghost couldn't cause much harm, but the distraction was enough for Harry to jump and hit Grindelwald in the throat. He put his hand on his bruised neck and started coughing - Harry was right to think that Grindelwald would be unprepared for a muggle type of attack. They all were, in the end. Lazy wizards.

"I'm Peverell." Whispered the Master of Death, half hoping Grindelwald would hear him, before grabbing the other man's head and knocking him out on the bed table. A satisfying 'crack' assured him that the tyrant would be out for a while, but Harry knew that the wound wasn't life threatening.

He didn't know why he was so reluctant at the idea of killing Grindelwald - albeit his disgust with the idea of killing in general. Maybe it was because he knew how the man had died in his time before really knowing of his crimes. Maybe because he had seen it like he had done it himself and felt strangely guilty about it.

A few months after the final battle, he still had had to repeat to himself that he wasn't Voldemort - that he was his own person. But the eerily creeping feeling that it wasn't really the truth kept grinning at the back of his mind and kept him awake at night.

He knew it would bite him in the back afterwards, but right now, he simply couldn't. He couldn't finish off an unconscious man.

Quickly, Harry got out of his bed, thanked the ghost and allowed it to wander around for the rest of the night, and went for the cloak. Complete. All was fine, now.

Well, not quite.

Harry covered himself with the cloak and let the familiar weight on his shoulder calm him. He cut his mind from its terrified rambling. Nothing had almost happened, and for sure, nothing had happened. He didn't have to feel dirty. Nothing, really...

Nothing.

The drums are beating the rhythm of his heart.

Samhain.

Samhain has started. Harry ran silently in the corridor. The wand is almost too light and hot and beautiful in his hand and all he wants is to use it - but he can't, he knew it. Using the ring earlier was already far too risky.

He can feel the adrenalin make his hands move faster and his legs stronger. Pure, raw power fueled his every move.

In the woofers, Grindelwald's voice was speaking German with passion. They must have recorded it. It gave him the impression to be in one of these WW2 movies - and it struck him suddenly that he will live through the second world war at one point.

He finally arrived at the prison part of the citadel. Four guards were sitting on the chairs regularly put between the cells. Harry's first reflex was to hide, but then he remembered. They didn't know he had been arrested. The last time anyone but Grindelwald had seen him was when he had cast the enormous patronus outside to protect the citadel.

So Harry put his shoulders back, elongated his neck and looked right in front of him. He smiled at the guards. When he entered the room, they looked at him with admiration. Playing his part, he wanted to shake each and every hand with a little bow of his head. He really didn't like that type of consideration, but he wasn't here to do what he liked. His newfound popularity could make them all get out of here, so be it.

"Does one of you speak English?" He asked with a big smile.

One of the men stepped forward. "Yes, Sir!" He said with a big German accent.

"Very well. Gellert," He suppressed a shiver at the idea of calling Grindelwald by his first name "sent me to keep an eye on the prisoners for an hour or two. You're all allowed upstairs and have fun! Just don't let me rot in here, will you?" He winked at the man.

The soldier translated with excitement and after a big cheer, the four men ran upstairs to stuff themselves with whatever delicious food they might find.

Harry's smile dropped as soon as the men were out of sight. He would free the prisoners, but first, he had to find the wands of the wizards. Like every detention place, it had an administrative room, where the prisoners's belongings were safely kept, along with files and such. He didn't know the details - he was more used to escaping prisons than to studying their internal operations.

He finally found said room and the back of the corridor.

After casting an alarming number of spells to detect and disarm any traps around the door, room, and the box in which the wands were hidden, he transfigured a chair into a bag and doubled back his tracks. He may have blown off the door, but it didn't really matter.

He put himself in the middle of the corridor and consciously cast an alohomora on each lock. The sweet sound of metal against metal when the doors unlocked was very satisfying.

Of course, Mr. Graves was the first one to get out. Harry handed him a proper and clean prisoner's uniform. He knew fairly well how unclean he must feel.

The older wizard seemed tired but ready.

"How many people are there?" asked Harry.

"About ten are able to walk." Whispered the head-auror. "How much time do we have?"

Harry quickly cast a tempus, and a clock of every time zone appeared ( he really had to train to control this power). "It's eleven. At midnight, Grindelwald will have to do a speech outside, so I'd say an hour before they notice that he's missing."

Graves looked at him like he had grown another head. "He's… missing?"

"He had an accident. He might be out for an hour or two. More if I hit well." Simply explained the green-eyed boy with a little smirk.

Graves merely shook his head before helping the other to change. Harry waved the questions away before everyone was more or less able to listen.

"Ok people! I hope everyone understands English, and that if not you'll be able to follow the move. It's...11. 15 pm, so we have about forty-five minutes to get our asses out of here. Does anybody have any military experience here? Auror or something?" One or two people raised their hands, plus Mr. Graves. "Ok, so you're in charge. One or two civilians for each auror, I'd say. We will walk quietly until the hospital wing. If necessary, let me do the talking. This…" He waved the wand-full box " are your wands, take them and keep them at the ready, but do not shout unless it is the last resort. Always follow me and try to act as if everything was normal. No matter what's to happen, stay calm. If we get separated, try to get out of the wards and go into the trees. Do be careful, it's Samhain, the place is stuck with Dark objects and Merlin knows what may happen in the woods."

"Who are you?" asked a little woman - one of the aurors- with short dark hair and a strangely very straight nose. She had a soft if not really pretty face, but something sharp in her eyes indicated quick smarts.

"I'm Harry. You?"

She tilted her head to the side at the lack of information but answered nonetheless. "Eleanor Krum. I'm from Bulgaria, head auror there." She said.

"It's a pleasure, even if I would hope to meet you in other circumstances." He politely answered to avoid the idea that he knew this woman - and how she would die. His eyes must have let on something (they always did somehow) because Graves got closer and asked "Is something the matter?"

Harry shook his head. "A… thought, nothing more." He answered.

He should be more careful with cryptical answers or he'll start to give people lemon drops. However, Graves would have none of that and he motioned Harry to follow him a bit further in the corridor.

"So you're a Seer, aren't you? You saw something?" he asked professionally.

Even if he really didn't want to answer, Harry understood the man's worries. Graves epitomized self-confidence and authority. He was clearly used to leading, and thus not to be left in the dark, and certainly not by someone younger than him.

But Harry didn't like to obey authority.

"We don't have time for this."

"We do, especially if the information might save lives." The man answered sternly.

Harry sighed, but there was no short cut out of this.

"Er...It's not that simple." He explained hesitantly. "There's too many possibilities, otherwise I'd let you know, but… She's in more danger than us I think. Keep an eye on her."

That half-explanation seemed to satisfied Graves who only nodded and went to help organize the escape. The wounded were healed at best as they could on the spot - enough to be able to walk (they hoped).

After a minute or so, Harry motioned for the group to follow him. The way to the hospital wing was clear. Harry had sent all the guards to eat the kitchen's food, so they'll be out for a while. If Harry had done everything right, a very long while.

They entered the Hospital wing at last. A few patients were still laying on the beds, softly snoring, most of them placed on that horrendous Sleeping Draught that seemed to have more the effect of a brick on the head than the one of a normal sleeping pill. Quickly, while the others had a look in the potion's stocks, Harry went to the kid's bed.

He had a bad feeling.

The kid was there, sleeping peacefully like always, but Harry wasn't fooled. Somehow, he already knew, so when he put his hand on the child's wrist and the glamour that was around it faded a bit he wasn't surprised.

The skin was cold, the body was still and the kid was dead.

Since a very long time, probably since they arrived here considering that Harry couldn't even feel the last traces of his little soul on him. Harry just felt utterly sad. He should have checked, he should have found another way. There wasn't, of course, but still. It had been his responsibility, and he had failed.

He wasn't sad because of death anymore, and he couldn't mourn someone he hadn't known. He just felt empty and frustrated.

He turned his heels and went to get out of there, quickly followed by the others. "The kid?" asked Graves lowly.

"Dead." Answered the young man without any trace of emotion in his voice

His eyes, as always, were telling another story.

They were moving quite fast, the rhythm of the drums giving them the tempo. It was exhilarating, but also a bit maddening. Even when they stopped to give the wounded a bit of a reprieve, the drums kept on their steady beating, effectively deafening them from any footsteps sounds that might actually save them.

They actually met with one or two suspicious people, but after a look at Harry's scar (apparently his only physical trait that had spread along with his newfound legend), they let him pass with a smile, a handshake, or simply another suspicious glance.

None of the prisoners understood how the young man that had freed them wasn't more scared about the whole situation. The finally stopped in front of the big hall's doors. Harry cast a tempus.

It was 11. 35 pm.

Good.

"So, the big door is right ahead of us. We just have to pass the big hall full of the intelligentsia." He said with mirth.

"Are you insane?" Shot Krum. "Or do you actually have a plan?"

"My plans tends to go to hell, so I'd say that you'll just find out." Answered the boy before putting both of his palms against each part of the door and pushing.

Gasps.

The room was decorated grandiose. Six large tables were aligned between the towering pillars of stone, raw and unsculpted, decorated with great red and black banderoles in Grindelwald's honor, and painted with the traditional red runes for the Samhain blessing. The atmosphere didn't look like the muggle-inspired Halloween at Hogwarts, but some sort of violent pagan party. Golden and delicately painted dishes were deposited in front of each chair. All of them were overfilled with delicious - now cold - food, and the plates in the center offered promises of the best meat, vegetables or fishes one may have ever eaten. Harry sneered at the hypocrisies of eating meat during Samhain, of eating such luxurious plates when all the citadel was working on rations, of wearing the finest clothes when you pretended not to have a pyramidal organization. And indeed, each and every general was wearing silk and satin robes with fine details and embroidery.

And all these beautiful people were snoring contently with their heads on their plates.

"Holy fuck!" whispered Graves, quickly imitated (even if with less flourish) by the others.

"Yes, I must say I rather outdid myself on this one." Proudly announced the young man, hand on his hips as he contemplated his very well done potion (fuck you now-unborn-Snape!).

"Remind me not to mess with you, later on, young man!" Said Krump with an appreciative smile.

"Are… are they dead?" asked someone.

"No, merely asleep. Some might have drowned in their mash, though. Thus, I disassociate myself with any potato-related murder." answered Harry, fighting hard to keep a straight face as the others gaped at him.

He walked quickly to the place where Nikolov, like his comrades, had fallen asleep in his plate. A wave of anger crash on him. The man had surely helped Grindelwald to keep him here! He was part of it, of all that thing. Maybe he had killed the child?

Harry was about to at least leave him here, knowing perfectly well that he might not survive this. But did he knew? Did he knew for sure that the man was guilty? What if he wasn't ? What did it make of Harry if he wasn't and he left him to survive here?

He lifted the man gently and cleaned it with a simple Scourify. It was strange to see him like that. He had almost the same expression as when shooting himself with morphine. The always- ready doctor looked vulnerable.

"Why are you helping him?" shouted Graves from the other side of the room, where he was checking a few names among the dozing people.

"He helped me. I pay my debts." Answered Harry with a serene smile. "Now, let's go."

Graves made an approving noise and they gathered again to pass the door. They could hear the laugh, the tappings, the drums like the citadel had grown an enormous heart for the night. And the song, sang in many languages but coming together with the same power, the same melody, the same intent. Letters and syllables merging with other word's, creating a new language of pure magic. It was foreign to any human ear, misplaced in any human mouth.

"Ok, now the key here is to act like we belong here. In Rome act like a roman, and stuff." Harry declared with his usual eloquence.

"What's happening here?"

So this was the moment where his plan went to hell.

He quickly turned on his heels. "I can explain, Anastasia, it's ju-"

He was cut by a very nasty hex that sends him flying around the room before he had the time to react. He barely managed to land on his feet thanks to a table which was amiable enough to stop his fall. He barely had the time to cast a shield that sent the next curse crashing into the wall behind Anastasia.

He was angry. At Anastasia for attacking him in the back, at himself for having been weak enough to let it happen.

"I knew it! I told Grindelwald to give you veritaserum! I knew it!" She screamed throwing curse after curse. Harry kept his shield up, trying to avoid a catastrophe. These things had to happen to him, of course. But he wasn't weak, he had the Wand.

"Don't use your wands!" he shouted to the others "We don't need an explosion or mixed spells in here!"

The young woman was starting to cast frantically spell after spell, not even bothering to do them wordless, and giving Harry a clear advantage.

Do it do it do it

"Calm down!" he shouted, "I don't want to hurt you!"

It wasn't quite the truth, but close enough.

She only answered with a spell that he barely dodged. He didn't have any choice, he had to get out before-

Do it

He finally sent a Stupefy that the young woman dodged before casting a Crucio. That was Harry's limit. He cut the spell with a move of his hand and started casting a flourish of little useful spells to put Anastasia where he wanted her. He cast a Serpent Sortia, careful not to put too much magic in the wand (he really didn't want in invoke a basilisk). The little snake made the woman shriek and stumble a bit.

Now.

He sent a single but powerful Expelliarmus. The frail woman flew in the air and crashed with a sick sound against the back wall. Her unconscious body slid down the stone and left a trail of blood behind it.

The silence lingered for a moment, only the sound of the celebration passing the wooden doors echoing through the hall. Without a second glance, Harry passed all the prisoners that were looking at him strangely and opened the doors.

It was midnight, and he had done his sacrifice to the dead.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered to himself.

I'm sorry! I just love cliffhangers and suspens. Can't stop myself

Don't hesitate to comment! I just love to see your ideas and points on my stories! Also, you can follow me on Tumbr at LadyBraken ( For everything that's in progress- or asking stuff if you want, it's easier to debate there than here) and Deviantart at Ladyzombiedraws ( I post a lot of fanarts, even if it's just a hobby)

Bye!