Chapter 22: On Hostile Ground
Harry would never profess to be an expert on the workings of the criminal mind but in his limited experience of dealing with these people, it appeared that they preferred a colder climate. Each of his targets thus far had hidden themselves in such countries, and as he rammed his hands into his coat pocket, he promised himself that his next venture would be somewhere warmer.
Prague was just as cold as Minsk had been, and the week spent here had born little fruit from his efforts.
Upon his arrival in the Czechoslovakian capitol, he had opted to remain within the muggle population, and though the mood amongst the people here was sombre, there was no sign that Grindelwald had attempted to impose himself on the country at large.
Seemingly, he was content with focusing his attention on the magical folk for the time being.
Having established this, Harry too turned his attention towards the magical community, and that was where he encountered his first problem.
London had Diagon Alley, accessible only from the muggle world via The Leaky Cauldron, and he quickly found that making his way into the magical streets here was just as tricky.
Only by a stroke of fortune did he figure out that to gain entry, he needed to do so through the sewer system.
It was an ingenious if unpleasant means of flitting between the two worlds, and it wasn't until he spotted a group of oddly dressed people doing just this near the city where he had been watching the changing of the guard.
Having followed suit, however, a part of him wished he had never found it.
If the mood of the muggles was sombre, that of the witches and wizards was one of fear.
The streets themselves were empty enough, and those that had ventured out did so with their eyes on the ground, doing their utmost to ignore whom Harry deduced to be aurors in their white robes.
These were not friendly men and women.
At every chance, they would harass the members of the public, goading them, and demanding they proclaim their loyalty to the new establishment.
Those that had a sense of self-preservation did so without hesitation, and those that were too prideful were forced.
Harry had to prevent himself intervening when he'd witnessed a trio of these so-called aurors kick an old man to the ground until he was unmoving.
Only then did they drag him away with the leader shouting obscenities and spitting on the unconscious man.
Harry vowed that he would kill this one before he took his leave of the country and had crept closely under his cloak to a better look at him.
He was a large blonde, his blue eyes full of loathing and lip curled into a sneer.
Harry would not forget his face and would not forget what he had seen occur under his direction.
Once more, to avoid being detected, questioned, and undoubtedly giving himself away, he had opted to remain within the confines of his cloak, and the longer he spent here, the less people he saw.
Evidently, word had gotten out what had happened to the old man, and though the fury of his fellow countrymen was silent, it could be felt in the air.
Still, Harry had a job to do, and though he didn't know what more he could contribute beyond watching those garbed in white robes, he was certain he would not be spending the rest of his time here doing only that.
For the past couple of days, he had been tailing the blonde, and on more than one occasion had seen him slip into an unassuming building in the muggle world.
At first, he had thought that this might be his home and had remembered the name of the street to return to it when he was ready to deliver on the promise he'd made to himself, but the building was much more than he first believed it to be.
This had to the Czechoslovakian ministry, and within it, the newly installed magical government. He'd learned this through a business card that had been dropped by a woman exiting the building, and the overwhelming feeling of magical protections as he'd edged closer to retrieve it.
No house would be protected in such a way and remain visible for all to see. Not even the Blacks had been so cocksure of themselves to do that.
No, it had to be the Ministry. That was the only explanation that made sense.
Not knowing what was inside, he opted to bide his time, to watch the building, and only enter if little else could be gleaned from his observations.
Even with the cloak, he was cautious of this place.
It may have been that he knew the country he found himself was a hostile one, but he felt that it was more than that.
For all he knew, this was the most dangerous place that any could find themselves, and though he wished to gather as much information as possible, he was not willing to possibly risk his life to do so, not unless it became necessary.
(Break)
Arcturus had been waiting weeks for his father to return to chastise him for what he had done, not only to Selwyn in the Wizengamot, but for assuming the position of head of the family in his absence.
Nothing of the like had happened. The man had not even sent a letter since he had taken to the continent over the summer nor was there any sign that he would deign them with his presence.
Seemingly, Orion Black had washed his hands of Arcturus, Dorea, and even his duty to the family.
That suited the former well enough.
Even without the guidance of his father, Arcturus had managed to continue growing the family finances, to ensure that all necessary payments needed had continued, and that Dorea was well, something he had been doing since they were children.
He didn't need Orion, however, the man should have had the decency to put his youngest daughter first instead of gallivanting across Europe with Grindelwald. Arcturus would never forgive him for that above all else he had done throughout the teen's life.
He shook his head of the thoughts that had been plaguing him in favour of focusing on the Chief Warlock as he called the meeting of the Wizengamot to order.
The man, a Yaxley in his advanced years, banged his gavel atop the podium before addressing the room with his croaky voice.
"On this day, the fourth of November 1937, we gather to discuss what is becoming a pressing matter. As the one who called this meeting, I will speak first, and implore that you hear my words."
"May I ask what this is about?" Minister Fawley asked curiously.
"Yes Minister, you may," Yaxley responded. "It pertains to the gathering of the ICW just last week. I attended in my capacity as our representative where some rather grave and frankly disturbing things were revealed."
Fawley nodded, and Arcturus frowned as he leaned forward in his chair to listen to Yaxley.
"Then continue, Chief Warlock," the Minister instructed.
Yaxley offered his superior a respectful bow.
"The meeting was a short one where it was explained to us that both Bulgaria, and more recently, Czechoslovakia have undergone sudden changes in government structure resulting in both having seemed to withdraw themselves from the International Confederation of Warlocks."
"That isn't exactly an entirely unique occurrence," Lord Selwyn cut in. "Russia comes and goes, as do other countries for that matter."
"They do," Yaxley conceded, "but it is strongly believed that these countries have been inverted and subjugated by Gellert Grindelwald."
Arcturus's jaw tightened as the rest of the Wizengamot broke out in discussion, some Lords and Ladies talking to their peers, and others attempting to address Yaxley.
It took several attempts for the man to silence them, his gavel crashing on his podium until they complied with his wishes.
"And where is the proof of this?" Selwyn demanded hotly. "You have come here today in an attempt to instil fear within us for something happening beyond our borders."
"Something that could easily spill into our own," Lord Potter interjected grimly. "Are you forgetting the war that was fought only a few decades ago?"
"Are you forgetting that proof is needed?" Selwyn sneered.
"Proof is being gathered as we speak," Yaxley interjected. "The ICW has dispatched agents to confirm the events surrounding these changes. The Polish representative is certain that Grindelwald is behind this."
"What agents would the ICW send?"
Arcturus's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Charlus Potter standing in the public gallery, his expression one of concern.
The Potter heir was evidently here as part of his training to take over from his father when the man was ready to retire.
Yaxley frowned at the young man.
It was considered rude for an heir, let alone one sitting in the public gallery to inject themselves into the affairs of the Wizengamot.
"Although my son speaks out of turn, I too am curious to know," William Potter declared, shooting Charlus a look of disapproval for his outburst.
"Well, I can only imagine that they dispatched a team of Hit-Wizards for something like that," Yaxley replied thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "The Head of the Department of Justice was instructed to investigate the matter, so it makes sense that they would."
"When did this happen?" Charlus demanded.
William did not even chide his son. He too looked on worriedly as though he knew something the rest of them didn't.
"The meeting was held last Thursday, and Mr Federov assured the representatives that he would begin the work immediately."
Charlus nodded, looking towards his father with an expression that seemed to confirm what the two of them seemingly suspected.
"I'm sorry for interrupting," the Potter heir offered, taking his seat once more.
Arcturus could not help but wonder what that interaction was about, but he did not have time to dwell on it as Yaxley spoke once more.
"I will of course keep you abreast of the situation in Europe, but I do believe that we would be remiss in our duty here if we did not begin preparing for fallout across the continent. Until we know what is happening, we should be restrictive in allowing travel to the countries of Bulgaria and Czechoslovakia at the very least. With tensions rising with the muggles also, what we face in the near future could be catastrophic."
A grim mood settled over those gathered within the chambers, and though Selwyn appeared to be more irritated than worried, the rest were undeniably troubled.
"How catastrophic?" Minister Fawley asked.
Yaxley released a laboured breath and shook his head.
"The world is a frighteningly different place than it was three decades ago," he murmured. "If such a conflict was to break out amongst ourselves and the muggles, I suspect it will be the worst war the world will have ever seen."
Fawley deflated, his posture becoming hunched as though the weight of the words Yaxley spoke were placed entirely upon his shoulders.
"Then let us hope that the Polish representative of the ICW has been misinformed," he muttered. "I have taken what you have said on board, Chief Warlock, and under your advisement, I agree that we should be cautious. Should it become necessary to do so, I will meet with the muggle Prime Minister to discuss this in the hope that such a conflict can be avoided."
Yaxley nodded, offering a final bow before he crashed his gavel against his podium once more, bringing the meeting to an end.
Arcturus took his leave of the room, not wanting to exchange small talk with those that would attempt to accost him.
His own father, brother, and older sister were in some way responsible for what was happening on the continent, and such thoughts did not sit right with him.
If Bulgaria and Czechoslovakia had already fallen to Grindelwald, other countries would follow.
If Minister Fawley's approach was the same that other Ministers would take, then war would only break out across magical Europe if it became a necessity, likely when it would be too late to deal with Grindelwald before he became too strong to not cause utter devastation.
The truth was, many families across the globe had been torn apart by the first war, the casualties numerous. Husbands, fathers, and sons had left their homes to fight an enemy they knew not, and many never returned.
All would be reluctant to find themselves embroiled in conflict again, not when the losses felt in the last war were still felt so deeply.
(Break)
It was a nervous Minerva that found herself standing at the front of the very classroom that she had not so long ago been taught in, preparing herself for her own first teaching experience.
She had been taken aback when Albus had informed her that she would be doing so, and though it was only a first-year class, it didn't make her any less apprehensive.
What if she messed it up? What if she found that her dream job was something that she was not cut out for?
Both were among the may questions she had asked Albus, and the man had merely chuckled in response.
'If I did not believe you were ready then I would not even suggest it."
They were the only words he had spoken to her on the matter before sending her on her way to prepare for the lesson.
"Wooden box to a metal one," she murmured to herself.
It was little more than a matchstick to a needle, just on a bigger scale. If the students had mastered that, there was no reason they should struggle with this.
"Where is Professor Dumbledore?" a voice asked, and Minerva immediately recognised Tom Riddle, his expression one of curiosity.
"Professor Dumbledore has a pressing matter to attend to away from the castle today, so I will be teaching you."
Tom offered her a winning smile as he nodded approvingly.
"I'm looking forward to it," he replied sincerely, evidently relieved that Albus was absent.
Minerva, however, did not take the relaxed demeanour of the boy at face value. She had seen his true nature the night he had tried to attack her when she had been a cat.
Tom Riddle was a senselessly cruel boy, and she would not fall for his charming persona, not when something quite unhinged lurked between the surface.
Besides, she knew what he would become, and she tore her eyes away from him as the rest of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff students filed in, if only to have no need of looking in the eyes of the one that had murdered Harry's parents.
Thoughts of her friend only brought other worries to the forefront of her mind.
She missed him terribly now, more so than she had before seeing him so briefly the previous week.
She respected what he did, even admired him for it, but she could not help but think that she had been all but forgotten about whilst Harry pursued whatever it was he was looking for.
She felt selfish for thinking this way, but she couldn't help it.
"Okay, as you can see, Professor Dumbledore is not here today, and I will be teaching the class. For those of you that don't remember, I am Assistant Professor McGonagall. To make it easier for you all, you may just call me Miss McGonagall."
"Is Professor Dumbledore alright?" Tom asked, his tone laced with fake concern.
"He is fine, Mr Riddle," Minerva assured him, "and will be back tomorrow."
A flash of irritation crossed the features of the boy, one that most would have missed if they had not been watching him so closely.
"I'm pleased to hear it," the boy returned, his smile back in place.
Minerva nodded before once more shifting her gaze from him.
"Today, we will be continuing the work you have been doing with Professor Dumbledore. In front of you all is a wooden box, your task is to simply turn it into a metal one using the same method you would to turn a matchstick into a needle. If you do need any assistance, raise your hand and I will come to you. Any questions?"
When none were forthcoming, Minerva gestured for them to begin, and she watched carefully to ensure that there was no dangerous behaviour taking place.
Transfiguration truly was hazardous, and more so for those inexperienced in the branch. Accidents happened occasionally, but it was immature behaviour that resulted in them more often than the former and eleven-year-olds certainly lacked that.
Memories of Tiberius transfiguring his own foot into a hoof during their first year came to mind and Minerva fought the urge to grin.
"Miss McGonagall?" a voice called.
It belonged to a diminutive Hufflepuff girl, her arm stretched so high that she was almost standing from the effort to get Minerva's attention.
"Yes Miss Caruthers?"
"Could you check that I'm doing this right please?"
Minerva nodded and made her way to the girl who was doing an admirable job with her work.
"Very good," she praised. "Take five points for Hufflepuff."
The girl positively beamed and continued with her efforts, and Minerva returned to the front of the room where she could observe the class.
Much to her relief, the rest of the lesson passed without the need for her to intervene or incident that would see one of the children needing to visit the Hospital Wing, and when the time came, she dismissed them.
"There will be no homework today, but I suspect Professor Dumbledore will be setting some tomorrow," she called as the students all but sprinted from the room, eager to get to the Great Hall for lunch.
Minerva too was famished and was going to follow suit but found the doorway blocked by a pale Charlus.
"What is it, what's wrong?" she asked.
"Harry," Charlus answered simply.
Minerva felt her heart sink.
"Is he…?"
Charlus shook his head.
"No, I don't think so, but I know why he was called away so suddenly. He's gone to the continent to spy on what Grindelwald is doing."
"He's doing what?" Minerva gasped, relieved that nothing bad had happened to him, but now fearful it would.
"That's all I know," Charlus sighed. "I'm worried Minnie, I know he can handle himself, but even my father did not take the news well. He's been hearing troubling rumours from Europe for months now."
"So, what do we do?"
"What can we do?" Charlus huffed. "This is Harry we're talking about."
"I know," Minerva replied sadly, unable to offer the man any comfort.
Although she didn't know exactly what Harry was doing or why, she took some comfort in knowing that he at the very least had an idea what he was getting himself into.
Charlus had no such comfort.
"He will be fine," she offered. "As you said yourself, this is Harry we're talking about."
Charlus chuckled humourlessly, though he cracked a smile at the very least.
Still, it didn't stop her worrying about Harry, even more so than she had been before the lesson she'd just taught.
(Break)
The people of Czechoslovakia were a stubborn bunch that did not adapt to change well. Gellert could respect them for their pride, but their inability to accept him as their new leader was becoming irksome.
Already, unpleasantness had ensued in the capitol with small pockets of resistance having to be quelled by his supporters, but much to his relief, it appeared that there was little resistance left to face.
"We need to win the people over," Perseus broke into his thoughts. "I've spent a long time here and we may crush their spirit, but we will not earn their loyalty. You said yourself that is what we need."
Gellert nodded thoughtfully.
"And what would you suggest? You know these people better than I, so what would you do?"
"Show them that you are worth following," Perseus answered. "We already know the muggles will invade soon, and then it won't matter. For now, make a gesture, show them that you have their best interests at heart. It is easier than trying to break people that will sooner die than fall into line."
"You may be on to something," Gellert replied, "but what do they need, Perseus?"
"Stability would be a good start. Set up some rallies but have the natives that follow you lead them. When the people realise that you are trying to set them free from the shackles they were born wearing, they will come to you."
Gellert was not entirely convinced but it was worth a try.
Anything to move his plans forward, for the greater good.
"Then arrange it," he decided. "Let them see that I am not the enemy that they should fear but the leader they should look to when they need it."
"I will arrange it right away," Perseus declared, taking his leave from the room.
"Your son has a very keen mind, Lord Black."
"He does," Orion agreed. "He was raised at my side to lead my family."
"But he will not do so."
Orion shook his head.
"No, that responsibility has now fallen to my younger son. Perseus will be much more use being by your side."
Gellert nodded his agreement, though a frown creased his brow.
"Your other son…"
"Arcturus."
"What is he like?"
"He is a stubborn sod with a streak of ruthlessness a mile wide. I pity any that make an enemy of him. He's as cunning as they come, but he prefers a blunt approach to dealing with his problems. If Perseus is the unseen dagger that is shoved into the back of our enemies, Arcturus is a hammer."
Gellert chuckled, nodding appreciatively.
"When the time is right, I would like to meet him."
Orion appeared to be concerned by that.
"Arcturus lacks subtlety in social situations, Gellert," he sighed. "He may not see your vision the way you wish for him to."
"Then we must continue sharing victories," Grindelwald replied simply. "I do not believe you would raise a fool who would rather die on his shield than preserve the legacy of your family."
"No, I did not."
Orion did not seem certain, but Gellert did not press the issue. If young Arcturus proved to be so foolish, he could be replaced. Perhaps Cassiopeia would be better suited to running the family.
She was more than capable of doing so whilst continuing to serve him.
Thoughts of the woman reminded him that he should be receiving a report from her soon.
For more than a year, she had been in Germany, keeping a close eye on the muggles there.
The situation was escalating rapidly, and war would soon follow.
Already, the Germans had broken the feeble agreement they'd made after the previous war, and conflict would soon become inevitable.
Were it not for the need of the chaos to cement his own power, Gellert would perhaps be inclined to intervene.
For now, however, he was content for things to proceed as they were.
If nothing else, such a war that was on the horizon would serve to prove that he had been right all along and that the muggles needed to be controlled for the betterment of the world.
For the greater good.
He was pulled from his musings by a knock at the door.
"Come in," he called.
He was surprised to see the unassuming Westphalian enter, a man he had made the acquaintance of shortly after he'd arrived in Germany almost a decade ago.
Gellert had been careful in his movements, had even worn a disguise, and had told no one of his intentions. Yet, this odd wizard had found him within only a few days after he'd arrived in Munich.
An impressive feat indeed.
As such, Gellert had employed the man to be his eyes and ears on the continent, a move that had proven to be exceedingly beneficial.
Weber had established an impressive network of men and women that fed him information, whether they were willing or not was neither here nor there. He had become an invaluable asset, that being the sole reason Gellert had not killed him.
Such a man could be quite the threat to his plans, and Weber was a risk. Should he choose to, he could make things very difficult for the regime.
"Grindelwald," the man greeted him curtly, his expression stoic.
"I did not realise we had a meeting scheduled," Gellert replied.
"We do not, but there are things you should be aware of. I thought it best that I come to you myself to share them."
"Then share, Weber," Gellert urged.
The man nodded appreciatively, not one for small talk or standing on ceremony.
"The ICW has dispatched teams of Hit-Wizards here and in Bulgaria to get a grasp of what is happening. Your actions have not gone unnoticed."
"I expected it," Gellert replied dismissively. "I am surprised it took them this long. Do you have any idea what their task is?"
"To merely observe your operation and learn what has happened."
"Then ensure that the right information is made available to them. I would not want them to return to their superiors with a false understanding of what has transpired."
"Very well," Weber returned, "and just one other thing. Newt Scamander is also on his way here. He arrived in Ostrava via Poland some days ago and will reach Prague shortly."
Gellert's jaw clenched in irritation.
Scamander had already proven to be a thorn in his side on more than one occasion.
"I want him followed and killed," he declared. "He is a damned fool, but one I will not risk interfering in our affairs again."
"It will be done," Weber assured him. "What of the Hit-Wizards?"
Gellert leaned back in his chair.
"You should kill most of them," Orion interjected. "Allow enough to return to pass on the information you want them to know but send your own message that you will not tolerate interference."
Gellert laughed heartily.
He had heard of the ruthlessness of the Blacks and found that in this instance, Orion's idea was not a bad one, for a man that was suffering from a rather severe ailment.
Often, Gellert would hear him muttering to himself confusedly in the moments he lost his grasp on reality. For the most part however, Orion was lucid and an interesting man to have around.
"Do it," he instructed. "It will stop them interfering for a while at least."
Weber offered a simple nod and took his leave of the room to carry out his instructions.
In the long run, this would cause problems, but it would buy Gellert enough time to take hold of more countries and consolidate his power.
When that happened, it didn't matter what the ICW would do, or anyone else for that matter.
It would be much too late to stop him.
(Break)
Prague was not unfamiliar to him. When he had been expelled from Hogwarts, he had taken it upon himself to travel for a while and his adventures had brought him to the city. He had come to visit the impressive mermaid colony that resided within the magical zoo, and the trip had taught him many things about the mysterious creatures.
His grasp on Mermish had been quite poor at the time, but that hadn't mattered. The Chieftain, a merman named Malachi had welcomed him and Newt had spent weeks living with the tribe where his ability in the tongue came on in leaps and bounds.
He would have remained with them longer if he could have, but he had been discovered by the zookeeper who had been rather angry at his intrusion.
Still, it had been worthwhile, and even as he fled the guards who tried to apprehend him, he hadn't regretted his time as a water-dweller.
He had always intended to return to Prague just not under the circumstances he found himself visiting for now.
Grindelwald was a problem he'd thought he'd left behind over a decade ago, but it seemed the past had a way of catching up on him, in this case, in the form of Albus Dumbledore.
The man knew how to get what he wanted Newt would give him that. Just a single mention of Leta was all it had taken for his resolve to crumble, for him to find himself once more putting himself in danger and in the path of Gellert Grindelwald.
The man was a danger that needed to be stopped, and Newt could not comprehend why Albus still rested on his laurels. If there was one that could put an end to Gellert, it was the transfiguration Professor.
Newt released a deep breath as the conductor announced their imminent arrival into the capital, and he picked up his suitcase that had been resting between his legs.
Checking that it was firmly shut, he disembarked from the train, into the chill of the November afternoon.
It was cold. Even though the sun was shining, it brought little warmth with it.
Giving a cursory glance around the station, he left the platform and took to the streets.
Fortunately, his way into the magical district of Prague was only a short distance away, and already, the place felt differently than he remembered.
Although reserved for the most part, the Czechoslovakians had been much warmer during his last visit. Now, they were guarded, an unmissable tension permeating the air.
The continent as a whole was on tenterhooks, and it was no different here. Unavoidable dark times were coming, and it seemed that the Czechoslovakians were anticipating their arrival at any given moment.
The mood only worsened once he passed through the sewer system. The previously bustling streets were all but empty save for a few members of the public, and more than a dozen aurors lining the row of shops.
Ahead in the distance, he could hear a loud, but muffled voice, and he was distinctly aware of the eyes of the aurors following him as he passed them by to check it out.
Too little too late did he realise that something was wrong.
As he reached the gathered crowd, he found himself amongst more aurors than citizens, and the man giving a rousing speech to them met his gaze.
He looked away immediately, but Newt knew he'd been recognised.
He did not know this man, but evidently the man knew exactly who he was.
Carefully, but as he quickly as he could, he left the crowd, only to be followed by several of the aurors and even a few men dressed in regular clothing.
When the first spell was sent his way, he darted into a nearby alley to apparate away, but found he couldn't.
Anti-apparation wards had been erected and Newt realised he had been trapped.
Drawing his wand, he cursed his luck as he waited for the men to catch up with him.
They did only a moment later, their wands trained on him.
Newt could only regret that he had been caught in such a way, but as he prepared to defend himself from the impending assault, one of the men in front of him fell to the ground with a bloodcurdling scream.
"IT'S KOTOVA!" a voice shouted in what Newt believed was Spanish, and in a matter of seconds, all hell broke loose on the streets in front of him as another group of witches and wizards emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and engaged those that had pursued him.
(Break)
Once more Harry found himself on the magical streets of Prague, having followed a large party that had left the Ministry building here, including the blonde he was watching.
Thus far, he hadn't seen such behaviour.
The aurors usually came and went in pairs, and the workers, if they were allowed to leave at all, via a different method that he had yet to discover.
Upon seeing the group converge on the street and begin rounding up the few citizens they could find, he was filled with a sense of dread.
At first, he believed they were going to be executed and breathed a sigh of relief as the stage erected had a podium placed upon it where a man began addressing them in the native tongue.
Harry understood very little of what was being said, though Grindelwald's name was mentioned several times, and he did not believe they were speaking out against him.
No, this was a speech endorsing the man.
Although he could not understand what was being said, he looked on with interest, his attention soon caught by the arrival of a man that stood out above the rest.
This wasn't Grindelwald, but he wasn't a Czechoslovakian either, and it was quickly evident that the stranger was not welcome here in the eyes of the aurors who shifted to approach him.
The man fled as the first spell was sent his way, and just as Harry was debating whether or not he should intervene, the decision was made for him.
"IT'S KOTOVA!"
"Fucking idiot," he grumbled.
The voice belonged to a member of a team of Hit-Wizards that had been present in the chamber he'd been summoned to before being deployed here.
Whatever the fool was thinking, Harry knew not, but his colleagues equated to only eight people who were now found themselves facing off with a few dozen at least.
Imam Kotova he recognised immediately as being one of the thirteen people in the file given to him at the briefing. He was wanted for the murder of four government officials in Belarus, but it appeared that he wasn't alone.
Another man on the list, Salvatore Caputo, was with him. He was suspected of running an illegal potions operation out of Sicily but vanished before he could be arrested.
It was believed that many people had died because of the tainted brews he produced, and others had become highly dependent on addictive substances because of him.
He had once been a decorated potioneer but had turned to a life of crime.
The first few to fall in the melee were dressed in the white robes of the aurors, and for a moment, Harry thought that he would be able to maintain his cover.
It was not to be.
Soon, the Hit-Wizards were converged upon, and all but trapped in a corner where they were forced to defend themselves.
"Wards," Harry sighed, looking for a place where he could seize an advantage of sorts.
Passing the alley, he saw that the man that had unwittingly instigated the ensuing melee was still cornered in there.
He couldn't leave for he would be caught in the crossfire, or he would be spotted by those that seemingly wanted him dead.
Already, Harry was interested in him for that reason alone.
What had he done to provoke such a reaction to his arrival?
It didn't matter. If Harry didn't help him, his chances of escaping were slim at best, and becoming less likely the more time that passed.
The Hit-Wizards were trained for these situations, and though their own position was bleak, they would need to hold fast.
"What the hell did you do?" Harry demanded, revealing himself to the pale man whose eyes bulged in panic.
"I-I just came to see what was happening."
Harry was taken aback by the reply.
He was British.
"Well, they turned on you quickly. Why?"
"I think they've been told about me."
Harry shook his head irritably.
This man had risked everything he had been working towards, as had the idiot amongst the Hit-Wizards that had announced their presence.
"It doesn't matter now, get in here and keep yourself hidden," he commanded.
"Why, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to try to stop you and the rest of the idiots out there from getting killed. Between you, you've already fucked everything up. Stay where you are, I want my cloak back!"
The man tried to protest his innocence, but Harry ignored him in favour of turning his attention to what was happening outside the alley.
In the minute or so he had been speaking to his fellow countryman, the situation had become bleaker for the Hit-Wizards.
Already outnumbered, two of them were now on the ground unmoving, and though several of those in white robes had fallen also, they still held the numbers advantage.
By now, around fifteen remained on their feet, and more would arrive soon.
He needed to act quickly before escape became impossible.
Taking in the devastation around him, Harry took advantage of the debris by whipping up the brickwork that had been torn away from nearby buildings with a gust of wind and launching them towards the unsuspecting attackers.
The sounds of thudding, a few cracking bones, and screaming filled the air as the stones collided with some, though it was not as accurate as Harry had hoped.
As such, a few of the aurors turned to him, immediately continuing their attack.
He bobbed and weaved through the spells, returning fire with his own, transfiguring a fallen sign from a shop into a spear and launching it at one of the men who collapsed to the ground, his scream tearing through the sounds of the surrounding battle.
The projectile had pierced him through the shoulder, and Harry grimaced, remembering the pain of his own wound.
Still, he did not have time for sympathy for a man that had tried to kill him.
The aurors comrades took exception to what he'd done and doubled their efforts to bring him down.
Spell after spell was sent his way, but it was done so without the benefit of teamwork, any sign of that now absent as they fought with anger.
It didn't take long for Harry to nullify the two.
With a wave of his wand, a fallen lamppost collided with their backs, rendering both men unconscious from the force they were hit with.
"BASTARDO!"
The slur came from Caputo who had witnessed what had happened, though he made no move to engage Harry.
Evidently, he was not as gifted with his wand as he was with a cauldron, but he was still an enemy.
The squat man tried to hide himself amongst his peers who were occupied with the other Hit-Wizards who had lost another of their group.
Against the odds, they were fighting on, the remaining five back-to-back as they fought off spells coming at them from all angles.
They were tiring, their own efforts coming much slower now, and Harry knew he needed to do something drastic to get them all out of there.
"YOU!" he called to the man still hiding in the alley. "Get yourself to the exit but don't go in. There could be more aurors waiting in there."
The man revealed his head and nodded before vanishing within the confines of the cloak once more.
Giving the concealed man a few seconds to put some distance between himself and the fighting, Harry turned back towards the aurors and two wanted criminals.
The Hit-Wizards were down to only four now. Thinking back to the duel he had witnessed between Dumbledore and Voldemort, an idea struck him. It was a risky one, but the best he could come up with in the heat of the moment.
First, he wanted to be closer to the burst water pipe that was slowly flooding the street, and for that, he needed to get nearer the Hit-Wizards.
With a sigh, he braced himself before propelling himself into the air, his body being surrounded by a thick, black smoke the same way it had the Death Eaters in the Ministry.
It had taken months of work for Harry to figure out how they moved around this way, but he had managed late in his sixth year, once more, the magic that Tom had used feeling familiar to him helping him achieve it.
This method of travel proved to be effective in warded areas, but for little else.
Apparation would always be faster.
Still, it proved to be useful now, and even served to distract the aurors below who were drawn to him flying without the need of a broom.
It seemed they had never seen anyone do anything of the sort and were shocked by the feat, as were the Hit-Wizards who eyed him curiously as he landed in front of them.
Wasting no time, he put his plan into motion, sweeping up the large pool of water that had formed from the pipe and coalesced it around the group of wizards, trapping them in an enormous orb of water.
"Don't just bloody stand there, RUN!" he urged.
The other Hit-Wizards did not need telling twice, and whilst Harry fought to keep their foes contained, they gave a final look to their fallen comrades and took to their heels.
Harry held the aurors and two wanted felons for as long as he could, but it was not easy to do so.
Only a moment later, the orb collapsed, sending his captives sprawling and gasping for breath.
Not wanting to be where he was when they righted themselves, he too fled, taking to the air once more to catch up with the Hit-Wizards.
When he located them, they had not made it very far, exhausted from their efforts, and having had to navigate their way through the debris of battle.
"Come on, move," he urged as he landed next to them, batting away a spell that had been sent from behind.
One of the aurors had caught them quickly.
"TADY JSOU!"
Another spell headed towards them.
Recognising what it was, Harry hissed loudly, the spell ricocheting off the serpent-adorned shield as it appeared on his arm and setting fire to the building next to them.
"Mierda!" one of the Hit-Wizards gasped, the emerald fire hot enough to melt the stone it had clung to.
It was a dangerous spell to throw around so negligently and would burn for hours if it was not put out.
The fire was spreading quickly, but that did not deter the aurors from continuing with their attack, even with the smoke now clouding their vision.
Seizing an opportunity, Harry caught sight of Caputo amongst them and took aim before hissing once more.
His aim had been true, but he was not able to witness the results of his magic.
With a groan, the building collapsed between the group of Hit-Wizards and the aurors pursuing them, putting an end to the fighting.
"Come on, keep moving," Harry commanded.
The other Hit-Wizards followed him towards the exit, and it was as he neared that he felt a tugging on his arm.
"Stay in there until I say otherwise," he muttered, opening the exit and giving a cursory glance to ensure there were no others waiting for them.
There wasn't, and seeing that it was safe, he pushed the others out ahead of him before crossing into the muggle world, his temper flaring as he caught sight of the Hit-Wizard that had engaged the aurors.
"You stupid bastard," he spat, ramming his fist into the man's nose. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"
A loud crunch filled the air and the man collapsed to ground with a yelp.
"Calm brother," a dark-skinned Hit-Wizard urged. "Garcia is a fool and will pay dearly for his error. He cost many lives today."
"It would have been worse if you were not there," another interjected. "Thank you."
Harry waved them off, releasing a calming breath.
"You are Serpent, yes?" the dark-skinned man asked.
Harry nodded.
"I can see why you got your name. It is a rare gift you have."
"I will be reporting this," Harry assured him.
"As will I," the man replied, "that I promise. For now, I believe we should leave."
Harry snorted and shook his head.
"You lot should, I have some unfinished business here."
"Unfinished business? You do not intend to fight them all?"
"Of course not," Harry huffed, "but there is something else I have to do. You go ahead, and make sure you tell them everything. I will leave soon."
The man nodded, gesturing for the rest of his team to follow.
"Until we meet again, Serpent."
"I bloody well hope not."
The man offered him a grin before leading away what remained of his team, and Harry waited for them to go before heading behind a row of shops nearby.
"You can come out now."
The man that had been the catalyst for the violence appeared, and Harry relieved him of his cloak. Placing it back within his robes, he took in the appearance of the instigator.
"Who are you? And what the hell were you doing there?" he questioned.
The man offered him an awkward but relieved smile.
"My name is Newt Scamander, and I was asked to come here by Albus Dumbledore. Do you know him?"
Harry could only groan in response, his irritation only growing at the mention of the deputy headmaster.
(Break)
Gellert looked on curiously as Caputo suddenly stiffened, his wand clattering to the ground as he reached for his throat. For a moment, it appeared as though he would vomit, but instead of the contents of his stomach spewing forth, a serpent slithered out of his mouth.
When it was free, the Sicilian dropped lifeless to the ground, and the snake bit two others before it was killed.
That was where the memory ended, and Gellert found himself in his office once more.
"What an interesting young man," he commented.
"Interesting?" Kotova asked incredulously. "You saw what he did."
Gellert nodded, a frown creasing his brow.
"He is curious," he mused aloud. "I have only met one who would cast such a spell as he did with the water. Quite an ingenious application of magic if I do say so myself. What is more curious is the parseltongue."
"Parseltongue?" Orion asked. "There's only one family I know that uses that."
"And who would they be, Lord Black?"
"The Gaunts," Orion answered, "but if he is as young as you say, he can't be one of them. Marvolo is dead, and his son is of his rocker."
"Then there must be another connection," Gellert returned thoughtfully. "Weber, I want him found. I want any and all information you can gather on this man. You too Black. I want you to see if there is any possibility that he is a wayward Gaunt."
"I already told you he isn't," Orion grumbled, "but I will make some inquiries. I will have Arcturus look into it."
"Good."
"And what would you have done with him?" Weber asked.
"Nothing for now," Gellert replied. "The man has piqued my curiosity. It has been many years since any has done that."
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