Hyy! I know I said I wouldn't publish for a while due to work, but you see, I'm that type of bad student... well anyway. It's snowing here in Paris and the Seine if flooding everywhere, so I'm just going to enjoy hot coco and write fics, because apparently my city is under some sort of bad curse and it's not good to tempt the devil ^^

I'm really happy to al of your review - albeit the homophobic ones, of course, which only made me want to hit people :)
Anyway, thanks a lot to you guys! I really enjoy writing this fic and I have SO MUCH ideas! I hope you will like it!

Love!

Thanks to my beta, adlertypewriter!

Warning: death (lol)

CHAPTER 7: The Night Of The Deads

He had never seen so many people enjoying a wizarding party before. Before the war, muggle holidays and celebrations prevailed. And even after the end of the Second Wizarding War, they had tried to unite under their ancestral rites, but it had been bittersweet: too many dead, too many mourning for it to be really joyful.

What Grindelwald had created here was different.

Everybody was outside, dancing to the rhythm of the drums, eating pumpkin, juicy meat, laughing in small groups. Fireworks were thrown into the air and colorful candles lightened the area joyfully. People were running in all directions and dancing around large wooden fires to the rhythm of the drums while others - the oldest, the most drunk or the ones who were visiting the buffets that had been made available here and there, struck their hands to accentuate the cadence. The air was saturated with spray, magic, sweat, and grease, and it seemed as if the floor itself were vibrating under the blows as if the whole camp had begun to live to the sound of one and the same beat.

So, that was the famous inalienable right to party. Harry had trouble holding on to participating with others; it seemed to him that his magic pulsed in his veins, he has too much energy in him. He had to use it for something. He had to jump on the spot, to fly, to do anything to quench the pressure that rose in his legs, in his arms, and against his chest.

The drive.

It was the night of the dead, yes, but also the night of the wizards.

Harry decided not to dwell on the significance of this peculiar fact.

Pursing his lips, Harry passed an arm around Grave's waist to steady him, and quickly look around to assure himself that everybody was ready to move. Graves throw him a weary look, but Harry couldn't blame him for that. Not everybody was able to kill someone with an overpowered Expelliarmus. Harry was actually pretty sure that his magic was flowing around him like oppressive waves, but he didn't have the time or the strength to do something about it.

As quickly as he dared, Harry started to cross the crowd. At first, nobody noticed him, or the others. On a first look, they look like drunkards that maybe had a fight too many. Most of the guards were drunk themselves, or on other substances - the wizarding drugs tended to be quite effective, or sometimes just too preoccupied to avoid an accident and joking with their friends.

But then, someone noticed him. It wasn't hard; he had been an object of curiosity for weeks, often seen with Grindelwald himself in a very casual manner, and the legend of his monstrous Patronus had apparently run in Nurenguard with the same facility as it would have done in Hogwarts.

Harry wondered if it was the wizards, the number of them concentrated together or the fortress in which they did that provoked such phenomenons.

In any case, it took about ten minutes for someone to throw themselves at Harry.

It was a little group of wizards, they exclaimed things in what Harry recognized as German, and he thought to himself that he would really have to learn that language at one point.

However, he felt Graves tense against his side when one of the men finally decided to come closer, shaking his hand and bowing a little, repeatedly. The others too. They stopped behind them, and he could feel their stare on his neck. But that type of attention, he was used to.

He didn't know when Grindelwald would wake up, but he had to be quick.

"I only speak English… I have to go," he said urgently. The man seemed to understand the problem, nodded and let go, leaving his place to other people.

He smiled, nodded, shook hands and made a sign that he had to move on. Luckily, people here were more… educated. Maybe more aware of personal space and privacy, which didn't surprise him considering that they were living with Grindelwald.

Harry felt a shiver running down his back and straightened his posture.

"Harry, on the right..." whispered Graves, and Harry nodded.

"I saw him," Harry confirmed.

The guards were apparently another business. Some of them had start to look a the small troupe funnily, brow furrowed, hand on their wands. They were three, but they were quite far. Another one, more threatening, was slowly coming closer. He stayed relaxed and passed the civilians as if only patrolling, but his gaze stayed fixed on the soon-to-be-ex-prisoners.

Harry pondered his choices, continuing to greet random people. He concentrated.

"Let's walk, slowly. I'm taking care of him. Nobody saw him." He said as casually as he could. He felt Graves tense again, but this time to put himself in a position where he could actually draw out his wand.

As they moved forward, Harry kept his attention fixed on the man looming closer. With a smooth move of his finger, a pile of boxes fell in front of the man just in time for the crowd to close in front of him and hide Harry and the others from his view for a few seconds.

Taking the cue, Graves and Krum pushed the others to move quicker, but the commotion had attracted the eyes of other guards behind them.

Some started to follow them from afar, but one or two quick wandless spells made them trip, fall, and become confused. It was actually quite fun to see and stole a few chuckles from his new teammates. Not from Graves, of course, but after all the torture Harry knew it would take him a lot of time to laugh again- if ever.

Harry knew not to use a direct spell unless he wanted to cause more death. He could feel the power, the wand just begging to be used, and he had to keep control.

They hustled a bit but mostly managed to get to the other side of the camp without much trouble.

But it wasn't the camp the had worried Harry. Grindelwald wouldn't start a duel in the camp itself if only to keep his men's loyalty. Grindelwald wasn't a good man by any mean, but for all his flaws, he wouldn't attack his own people. He wouldn't hurt the very magical children he was trying to protect.

Of that, Harry was sure.

No, it was when there would be no civilians around that the real danger would appear. When there would be no witness, no casualties to handle.

But Grindelwald was powerful - very powerful. The memory of the raw power he had felt on the wards he had risen during the dementor attack made him shiver. He didn't want to imagine what the man was capable of with the Elder Wand.

He had no idea how Dumbledore had won the duel the first time around - considering. If he hadn't known Grindelwald, he could have imagined that the Dark Lord had let his ex-lover win for whatever reason, but no. It would have been too disgraceful for someone as proud as Gellert.

On the whole, he was in big trouble and would be quite lucky to get out without injuries.

But it was Halloween. The night of the dead, of the fable, the legend, and the story. Harry didn't care about the masks and tales. He was the bloody tale.

He felt Graves stumble and strengthened his hold on the man's waist - it would probably bruise, but he couldn't let go. The older man pinched his lips and frowned painfully, but nodded in wordless thanks.

The area was darker now that they had passed the camps, and Harry could feel the buzzing of the timeless wards a few meters away from them. The wards magic was strengthened by the night, and they were shining softly.

"Here we are," Harry whispered, breathless. They all stopped a few meters in front of the wards- passing them would mean triggering every alarm in the fortress. They had to be careful, quick, and successful. Everything Harry was not.

He let Graves go and the man sat on the bare ground, wincing slightly.

"So, do we apparate?" he asked to no one, in particular, looking around to check that no guards had managed to follow them.

"No. I have a portkey, but it doesn't work inside the wards. Damn strong wards they are." said Graves, his hand in front of his eyes as if trying to stop a headache.

"Good. Less dangerous, quicker, harder to trace." He agreed, earning himself a approbating look from the Aurors around him.

He sighed. He hadn't thought about the fact that he would have to prove himself now. As much as he hated the persona of "The-Boy-Who-Lived", at least he had influence, and nobody dared to question him after Voldemort's death.

Well, maybe this time around he would manage to live quietly, even if he sincerely doubted so.

There was something in the corner of his eye.

A flash of lightning and then he felt a sharp pain as his back hit a tree. His breath caught in his throat. He head pounded and his ears whistled. He heard shouts, and in a moment he was back on his feets, ignoring the ache on his back. Harryquickly pressed a hand where the pain was burning. When he looked at it, it was red.

Covered in blood.

He swore and tightened his grip on his wand.

"Are you ok?"

Krum looked at him, then at his bloody wand worriedly, while the other had their wands out and pointed towards the threat. Graves could barely stand on his legs, but his wand arm was steady and his gaze determined.

Harry followed his gaze. On the valley, between the camps and them, Grindelwald was walking towards them like the Lord he was, each step claiming back the land that had been soiled by the feet of his enemies.

Screams, shouts, and laughter were echoing behind him in the night, barely faded under the deep pulsation of the drums that cadenced his steps…

...Or was it the beat of Harry's heart sinking to the beat of the citadel- the power rushing in his body, tightening around his mind, enticing his hand, his wand…?

Grindelwald's deep red cloak was billowing behind him, and Harry could feel his anger. In the way, his fist was clenched around his wand, in the way his shoulders were squared.

Gellert's - and when had Harry started to call the man Gellert he didn't know- wild blond lock were disheveled, flowing around his head and stuck to the blood that was flowing on his right temple, and cheek, drawing the shape of his jaw and smearing his shirt. He was walking quickly, projecting droplets of blood that were banished even before touching the ground around him.

His eyes, clear, and cold, were fixed on Harry.

But he didn't cast any other curse.

Harry ignored the pain in his back and walked back to Graves. "I do hope your portkey can be used like, right now." He whispered low and urgent, even if there was no need for discretion.

"Yes." Whispered back the Auror without leaving Grindelwald out of his sight, "But we can't turn our backs to him…"

Harry nodded, frowning. The Dark Lord was coming closer and they didn't have much time left. Adrenaline was running through his mind, blowing away any possibilities for strategy.

"Pass the wards." He ordered, " Activate the portkey, I'll hold him back."

"You can't fight him alone!" protested Graves. He was about to add something else, but Harry's glare shut him up.

"I can."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"Go. Call me when the portkey is ready. I'll slow him for a while; but... don't be too long, ok? I don't want a bloodbath."

Harry was bluffing- of course, he was. Unhurt and well, alone even, he could- almost easily- take on Grindelwald on his own, but he was still drained from the Dementors attack and the curse he had taken earlier. His shirt was soaked in blood and started to stick painfully to his back. He ignored it.

It was his duty.

The others - no matter how gifted- didn't stand a chance. No matter what it was in this timeline; in Harry's original life, Grindelwald had possessed the Elder Wand for something like twenty years. Which meant that he had remained undefeated and deserving of it for all these years. The Wand wasn't known to choose weak masters.

Harry placed himself in battle stance, completely ignoring the other's protestations, but watching their moves carefully from the corner of his eye. He had to focus on the very, very angry Grindelwald marching towards him.

Well, his robes didn't quite billow as threateningly as Snape's.

Harry heard the others pass the wards and the alarms started to ring in the citadel, screaming in the night, barely covering the ritual's music.

Grindelwald wordlessly cast the first spell. A white light surged towards Harry, who dodged it by stepping aside. They were still too far for a single blow to surprise its target. The ground Harry had been on a second before exploded.

Harry winced at the mental image of what that spell could have done to his body.

He didn't, however, stop staring at Grindelwald.

He blocked the second spell with a powerful shield that sent it back to its owner. For the first time, Grindelwald had to step out of his course to avoid the blow.

"Harry, Three minutes!" shouted Krum behind him, trying to cover with her voice the roar of the unresting sea.

Unfortunately, Grindelwald heard her too. They lock gazes for a second, and Grindelwald attacked. A flash of red light, quickly followed by a blue one. Harry blocked them with a movement of his wand so quick that his arm seemed to disappear. Lights flashed around them, cutting, blowing, whistling. They fought as people who knew every step, every surprising change of the hand holding the wand, twirling, dancing almost. Harry's first spell had made Grindelwald stumble under the blow, but he quickly caught on by overpowering his own shields.

Harry lifted his arm, catching the sparks of a burning curse and annihilating its energy with a metallic clank, while shamming a move for his next shield.

Harry never attacked really; his only goal was to attract the attention on him to allow the others to activate to portkey and to retreat - no, not retreat it was a strategic move to get out of here, nuance. He still had some pride to save. But the fight was starting to take its toll on him and he was panting.

Harry saw guards and Reapers appeared next to their master, but he made the sign for them not to attack.

Some were, however, too enthusiastic to obey and Harry began having to block spells from several places at the same time. Passing his shield onto his left hand, wandlessly blocking as best as he could, he raised his wand and hissed. The moist air mingled with the spray and the sea to form a tremendous snake made of furious water that opened his mouth, threatening to swallow the wizards.

Grindelwald jumped behind a towering dolmen, immediately casting a spell to reinforce the protective rock. Runes lit up along the megalithic stone as the Dark Lord tightened his hold on his want, trying in vain to cast spells to protects his men.

The rumbling water column rushed over the wizards, sweeping a dozen of them in one swoop. Their cries were swallowed by the black water as the curtain of water fell again, and again, beating the earth furiously.

Grindelwald jumped onto his feet as soon as the wave passed him to go against the men on the other side, wand already raised and fury written across his face. His usually beautifully ordained hair was falling across his face, slightly trembling against his heavy breathing as if itself trembling with fury.

60s.

A cutting curse directed at his right arm distracted Harry and he didn't see the next blow. The Cruciatus hit him directly in the chest and made him fly over a few meters.

50s.

All his nerves burst into flames as he trashed on the ground. His muscles spasmed under the pain shock and the air was knocked out of his lungs. He clenched his teeth painfully, refusing to scream, to give Grindelwald this pleasure. His hand compulsively gripped the grass around him in an unconscious attempt to ease off the pain, and all his body clamped…

40s

The curse was lifted and Harry immediately - if shakily- raised his wand. He had to protect the others, for f-

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry turned his head to see that Krum had passed the wards and was standing, wand in hand. Her spell didn't even make Grindelwald's wand twitch. Harry didn't have to look to know it; the magical impulse had been quite weak and she was barely standing as it was. Everything seemed to slow down.

He wanted to shout at her to get down as he felt the magical rush behind his back…

"AVADA-"

To tell her that she shouldn't have pressed the ward back, putting herself in a target position, that it was useful, that he could have taken down Grindelwald but they needed time…

"KEDAVRA!"

The disgusting syllable fell heavily from Grindelwald's lips, cracking and twisting their foreign music into the land of the living. Green colored the ground around him, lightening the night with its horrid glow, and then Krum's face as it got closer, already tainting her body before even ripping her soul away.

30s

Harry tore his eyes away and didn't wait to hear the sick sound of Krum's lifeless body falling on the ground to raise his wand.

"Sectumsepra!" he shouted.

The spell flew and broke Grindelwald's wards like they were only paper. The shock sent the Dark Lord a few meters back.

Silence.

Long lacerations appeared on his throat, across his clavicle and chest, spraying blood everywhere. The man put his hand at his wound with a gasp, his face twisted with blinding pain and panic. Blood splashed out of his wound, tainting the blue cloak and falling on the soft grass.

But the Wand didn't want to stop there. It had felt dark magic.

And oh- it was happy.

Grindelwald fell to his knees, searching for air, but Harry didn't linger; as every Reaper present ran towards their master, he stood and sent the strongest stunner he had.

20s

Concentrating everything he had to keep his magic in check, Harry blindly threw a bunch of stunners behind him, pretty sure that the heavy sounds he was hearing behind him was Grindelwald's men flying around under the blow of his spells.

Harry had lost the time count but he knew he didn't have the time for the subtlety of mercy. His vision was starting to blur, but his body was acting on instinct and adrenaline. His legs were moving on their own.

The urgency of it all hit him and gave his body the strength of despair - they had to go, they had to-

They had to go to avoid a battle they weren't ready to fight.

Harry felt the wards wash over him like a curtain of thick rain. He brushed the feeling off and continued to go forward to the others. The Aurors had had the reflex to hide the civilians behind the tree line, to avoid getting caught in the crossfire and give them a better chance to run if things went south- well more south than they already were. Harry didn't fool himself; he knew that without the portkey, only one or two - who didn't have heavy wounds and had been caught later on- could run for their lives.

The portkey was shining and activating.

Graves sent him a panicked look, but the man couldn't do anything but hold the portkey - what Harry could recognize as a big tooth or something alike- in one hand and a heavily wounded woman under the other arm.

Harry's seeker reflexes kicked in and he jumped on the portkey.

He felt the familiar tug in his stomach before his body was compressed into a tube. He held as tight as he could.

He felt brutally on the ground, air once again kicked out of his lungs. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, staring at the sky.

Dawn was softly rising in the pale blue sky, painting the puffy clouds in pale pink, gold, and purple. The air was cold, but still warmer than Nurmengard, even if that wasn't really difficult. Young rays of light warmed the damp skin of Harry's cheeks and arms, drying the still fresh blood and helping him to control his own erratic breathing. The hints of salt and spray and spume had disappeared, replaced by concrete, oil, burning wood, air that peculiar scent of the fresh morning wind before a sunny day. He could hear the distant echoes of human activities, of engines and the frenetic construction of new buildings.

A city, Harry's mind provided.

And a big one at that, if the cacophony was any indication.

"Are you ok?" asked Graves, kneeling beside him.

He wasn't. The sticky feeling of the killing curse still lingered on his skin -

( a woman scream piercing the night and the soul ripped apart and it hurt so bad) -

- his back was probably a mess, he really didn't want to see the damages, his ears were ringing from after shock and exhaustion-

(Dementors, towering over him and fear, so much fear in him)-

but more, so much more, his guilt was eating him alive because he should have done something to save Krum -

(She had to look at him and he had seen the last light of her soul)-

because her death was on him, and he shouldn't have used a dark spell and hurt someone with it (Draco, bleeding on the floor, so, so much blood) even Grindelwald, and -

"Yup. Don't worry about me. I'll just er… just sleep here a little and come back to reality later, ok? Yeah, good idea that." Harry answered fatigued, his eyelids closing against his will. He was just very, very tired right now, and maybe if he could just stay here, sunbathing for a while…

… When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by Aurors.

Harry may have swore a bit, but he didn't move a finger. He was far too familiar with the shout-before-questions Aurors could use and was particularly wary as he didn't know where he was. It seemed to be sort some of pattern since he had arrived here.

"Sir? Do you understand English?"

Ah- an English- speaking country, then. America, maybe? Well, he hoped for England but, well, everything but Australia and Nurmengard would be good. There were an equal number of beings actively trying to murder Harry in those two places.

A healer knelt beside him. He looked very professional and wore a cuirass at the level of the torso that indicated he was specialized in violent situations - euphemism for the battlefields. Harry shook his head in assent and then tilt it to the side curiously.

"We are going to transfer you to a hospital." declared the Auror cautiously.

"Are you asking or telling me, Sir?" asked Harry with a small grin. He really didn't like the healer's attitude; if anything, his associations with the authorities pointed that Harry would be in trouble at some point.

But again, when was he not in trouble?

"I am telling you, Sir. Are you capable of walking?"

"I indeed acquired this competence around my second birthday." cheekily answered Harry, earning himself a huff from the healer. He probed his own ribs to assess if he was indeed, able to sit up and try to walk. His hand returned red and sticky.

Ah. He may have slightly underestimated the state he was in.

Badly holding in a wince, he leaned on his elbows to get up. His back was itching like hell, but he ignored it in order to rise in the most dignified way possible. It didn't work, but a few seconds later, he was on his feet and didn't lurch that badly.

Perfectly fine.

The healer gave him a dubious look but made no move to try to approach him. Harry noticed that most of the survivors had already been taken to the hospital - or some other place.

In front of him, in the distance, he could finally see the high buildings that darted upward - not yet quite like his time, but with the same ambition, the same hubris. The golden light of dawn was deposited on the metal and concrete pits, piercing the gray fog of pollution and smoke stagnating in the slums of the city. An American city then - probably New York.

Harry had never seen New York, but he decided that he quite liked the 1926's version - aesthetically of course.

He still remembered the name of Al Capone being spoken - and had thus a fair idea of what may be hidden behind the majestic constructions.

He was interrupted in his musing by an Auror, getting his wand out of his sleeve. More by reflex than anything, Harry drew his wand as well, forcing his body into a position suitable for a fight. He may have hissed under his breath, but if he did, the Auror didn't notice.

For a second, he wondered where was Graves - but he must have gone a long time ago to the hospital.

Harry didn't want to fight but he wasn't quite in the mood for ministry- bullshit right now. He has managed to avoid Azkaban in his first life, it wouldn't do to start this one in jail.

Surprised, the Auror raised both hands in the air as a sign of peace, eyes narrowed. Gently, Harry lowered his wand, whose call was much sweeter since jet lag had prematurely ended the night of the dead.

Thank Merlin for small mercies.

"I do not wish harm, Sir. But I need a wand to apparate us to the hospital." He said professionally. Although his tone was reassuring, Harry did not fail to notice that the other Aurors around him had their hands on their wands, with more or less success in their attempt to be discreet.

Sighing, Harry lowered his wand.

"You ought to warn a man before raising you wand, dear. That could provoke some undesirable accident, you know!" he taunted with a pleasant smile.

The Auror - a woman in her thirties- smiled tightly. "I apologize," she said, "please take my arm and we will arrive at the hospital, Sir."

Harry nodded, and slide took her arm without hesitation. "I must warn you that I often get sick after apparition." He taunted a second before feeling the usual tug in his navel.

When his feet met the ground once again, and to the Auror greatest dismay, he was indeed sick