Capítulo 63: A Battle on Two Fronts
The representatives of the ICW had taken very little time in their deliberation to find Fontaine guilty of being a traitor, for willingly passing on information to the enemy, and being responsible for the loss of lives the forces had suffered.
Harry had looked on dispassionately as the Frenchman had been sentenced to twenty-five years in Azkaban, his recommendation to Abreo having come to fruition, and the ICW seemingly agreeing to house prisoners in establishments across the alliance.
There had already been cooperation on this prior to the war, but now a new precedent had been set, a warning sent to any would-be saboteur who had been considering similar actions to Fontaine.
Azkaban was about the worst prison one could be sent to, the dementors being creatures that none would wish to be hosted by.
"I am quite surprised that the ICW could be so callous," Sokolov, the leader of the fighting Russian men commented.
His words were not said with disgust, but almost admiration.
"What are the Russian prisons like?" Harry asked curiously.
Sokolov smirked.
"We may not have dementors, but we have other ways of making life miserable for those that break the law," he explained. "Death would be kinder than some of our prisons."
"Then remind me not to break the law in Russia."
Sokolov chuckled.
"I do not think you need to be concerned about it, Commander Evans," he replied. "The people in Russia are your friends, are we not?"
"Well, I hope so," Harry returned with a grin. "It makes it difficult to fight with people you are unsure you can trust."
Sokolov nodded.
"That is where my country finds itself," he pointed out. "Before the war, we would not have been welcomed in the ICW without agreeing to outlaw some of our more traditional practices."
"Traditional practices?"
"Nothing so despicable, but we refuse to ban studying topics the ICW frowns upon."
"What topics?" Harry asked curiously.
"All of them," Sokolov shrugged. "The ICW has banned blood magic for the most part, many potions, and magic they consider to be dark. I admit, some of it is quite distasteful, but what better way to fight something by having a true understanding of it."
Harry nodded.
"That is true," he agreed. "People tend to fear what they don't understand and choose to distance themselves from it."
"Da, but it is foolish to shy away from these things," Sokolov sighed. "Maybe one day the world will not be run by cowards, and wars like the one we are fighting can be avoided. I think you understand this, Commander Evans, and I am honoured to fight with you."
Sokolov offered his hand almost nervously, though Harry smiled and accepted the gesture.
"It's Harry," he corrected, the Russian having begun to grow on him.
They hadn't interacted much since Harry had arrived at the trenches, but Sokolov was not like the other commanders. He was an honest man, and one that would not shy away from a fight when the going was tough.
"Petr," Sokolov insisted returning the smile. "Please, there is no need for formalities amongst comrades. We are all in this together."
"We are," Harry sighed, "hopefully not for much longer.
"We can hope," Petr murmured. "Now, I must check in with my father. It has been some time that I have seen him."
Harry nodded his understanding and as Petr walked away, he couldn't help but lament on how long it had been since he was last home.
In truth, he couldn't be certain, but it had been months.
He had not seen Minerva in what seemed to be forever.
They wrote often, but it wasn't the same.
So much had happened in the interim, and still, he knew not when he would get the opportunity to return.
"Soon," he vowed to himself before activating his portkey and arriving back in the room he shared with Charlus, the small, dirt-hewn room that had become his home away from home.
"How did it go?" the Potter lord asked.
"As expected," Harry sighed. "He got twenty-five years in Azkaban."
Charlus whistled at the sentence.
"Will he survive that?"
Harry shrugged.
Fontaine certainly wouldn't be the same if he did.
Sirius had spent twelve years with the dementors, and it would be a stretch to say his godfather had shown any real recovery in the years he had been on the run before his death.
"Maybe," he said non-committedly. "He will be left to rot, and they'll just throw out whatever is left."
"Well, it certainly sends a message to any other spy that may be here."
"It does," Harry agreed. "How is Gilbert?"
"Sober," Charlus snorted. "He might not be a spy, but he's still a stupid git."
Harry nodded.
To be sure of his loyalties, Harry had questioned the man under Veritaserum.
He hadn't given up information to a spy knowingly, but he admitted he had spoken of things he shouldn't have. He'd vowed to stay off the drink from then on out, and he had stuck to his word thus far.
It had only been a week, but it was an improvement from the man.
"Are we training them today?" Charlus questioned.
The duo had upped the intensity of the work they were putting into the men. After what had happened during prior battles, Harry knew they needed to be better, and had used the past week whilst Grindelwald was distracted to invest some much-needed time into his group.
"We are," he confirmed. "If you get them rounded up, I'll join you shortly."
Charlus gave a dramatic salute before taking his leave of the room and Harry turned his attention to the spider resting on her web in the corner.
"I have something for you."
Only a moment later, Eleanor Summerbee stood before him wearing an expression of curiosity, though it morphed into one of relief and joy when Harry handed her a rolled-up sheet of parchment.
"My pardon?"
Harry nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.
"You are free," he explained. "I would avoid any of the countries you stole from, but other than that, you can go wherever you'd like."
"Where though?" Summerbee asked uncertainly. "Bulgaria is my home…"
"And you can return to it when it's safe," Harry assured her. "For now, I would find somewhere that is not involved in the fighting and lay low."
Eleanor shook her head.
"I won't hide away," she said firmly.
"Then what do you wish to do?"
"I want to do my part to put an end to this," the woman declared. "I'm not much of a fighter, but there must be something I can do?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"How well do you know Europe?" he asked.
"Well enough to break into their banks and get away with it, until you caught me."
"Then there may be something you can do for me," Harry sighed. "I am looking for a man…"
"Weber."
"Yes," Harry confirmed, "but I do not know where to begin. Would you be able to look into the less savoury places you know and see if you can learn anything? I have another friend looking into it for me, but the more people I can trust doing it, the better."
"I can do that," Eleanor agreed with a smile, "but how will I contact you?"
"Give me a day or so and I will come up with something," Harry assured her. "For now, enjoy the peace you have," he urged.
Eleanor grinned and fell backwards onto his bed, summoning a book before burying her head in it.
With an amused shake of his head, Harry took a seat at his desk and turned his attention to the personal letters he'd received that morning, the first one a response he had been waiting for from Nicholas.
Dear Harry,
Although I am pleased to assist you in any way I can, I am unsure of how much use I can be with this particular problem. I have associated with some questionable characters in my time, but not in recent years.
I do, however, have a few contacts I can make discreet enquiries with, and will do so on your behalf.
Weber is quite a common name in both Germany and Austria, but if there is anything to be found through my own efforts, I will inform you immediately.
You may not like it, but I intend to speak with Albus on the matter.
If nothing else, he is a resourceful man and will be a great help with this.
Perenelle sends her love, and please, remain vigilant.
Nicholas
Harry did not know how he felt about Dumbledore being involved in his affairs, but if it helped find Weber, he would accept it.
He had turned to Nicholas first and foremost as a man he trusted completely, and as one who would know better than him where to begin locating such an elusive man.
Harry had only a name to go on with no idea of what the man looked like or any other background information.
It would be no easy task, but finding the spymaster was a vital undertaking.
Shaking his head of his thoughts of Weber, he picked up the next letter, this one coming from Minerva.
It really had been so long since he'd seen the woman, long enough that he often felt that he forgot what she even looked like.
He carefully broke the seal of the missive, his heart immediately warming at her familiar scrawl.
Dear Harry,
The weather here is finally starting to turn and winter will be here soon enough. Hogwarts is as it has always been, and I am watching the map closely.
The boy is spending considerable time in the Astronomy Tower. I do not know the significance of this but perhaps it means something to you?
I could ramble on about how much I miss you and how long it has been since you were here, but I would only dwell on it more.
I often look towards the gates from the classroom and imagine seeing you walking through them.
I can hope, can't I?
Stay safe and write back soon.
Minerva
Harry smiled sadly at her words as he brushed his finger across the parchment. Somehow, it made him feel closer to home.
What Tom was doing in the astronomy tower, Harry knew not, and in this moment, he didn't care. He longed for home, for his modest house in the sleepy village he had settled in, and to see the woman who had penned him this letter.
"That's a look I haven't seen before," the voice of Eleanor broke into his thoughts.
For once, there was no hint of teasing from the woman who was looking at him sympathetically.
"We all have to make our sacrifices," Harry murmured.
Eleanor nodded.
"Wife?" she questioned.
Harry shook his head and snorted.
"No," he replied. "We never had the time for things to progress that far."
"Why not?"
"She is completing a mastery in transfiguration, and I became a Hit-Wizard when I graduated. I've spent too much time away, and war broke out before anything really happened between us."
Eleanor shook her head.
"You speak as though it's too late."
"Isn't it?"
"Of course not," the woman huffed. "You're both still alive, and she is writing to you. That's not something someone who had given up hope would do."
Harry released a deep breath.
"We are at war," he pointed out unnecessarily.
"And if there is anyone here that will survive it, it's you," Eleanor said sincerely. "Whether it is you or The Serpent that kills him, it will happen."
"Me or The Serpent?"
"Your double life," Eleanor chuckled. "You're not the man that arrested me, but you are him too. It's strange, it's like you're trying to keep them separate. Why?"
Why indeed.
To Harry, The Serpent was much of whatever it was that Voldemort had left within him, and though the Flamels had assimilated that piece of soul with his own, it felt to be another side.
He shook his head.
No, it was just as much of him as his own soul.
Maybe he just didn't want to admit that the world he had grown in and the things he'd experienced had made him cold and ruthless when he needed to be?
In truth, it mattered little.
He was The Serpent, and he was Harry Evans. He just didn't know how the world would react.
Did he even care?
Harry found that he didn't, and that Eleanor was on to something.
It was as though the woman had read his thoughts, and she grinned smugly.
"My mother told me that no matter what you do in life, as long as you are true to yourself, you should always be proud."
"Is that why you became a bank robber?"
Eleanor giggled as she nodded.
"You know what, I think it might be, but that doesn't negate the advice. You are who you are, however it came to be. You should embrace it, all of it."
Harry laughed at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in.
Here he was, fighting for his life and the life of many others, and he was being lectured by a woman he had arrested for robbing banks.
"When did you become a therapist?"
Eleanor shrugged.
"Being in prison gives you a lot of time to think and being a prisoner in your own mind must have given you years."
It had.
Even before the night Sirius had been killed, Harry had always had too much time to think, to dwell on all that had befallen him.
Perhaps it had conditioned him, made him resilient and shaped him into what he was.
Maybe whatever Tom Riddle had left within him the night he'd murdered his parents had little to do with it?
Harry was no therapist, but it seemed to be as good a theory as any.
Not that it mattered what it was that made him the man he'd become.
He was here now and intended to be long after both Grindelwald and Voldemort were no more than a distant memory.
(Break)
The cell she had been placed in was not uncomfortable. It was warm enough, and the mattress on the bed was quite plump. Food was delivered a few times a day, and though Fox knew her situation could be worse, she would do without the niceties if only she could feel her magic again.
She knew not what protections were in place here, but even if she was given a wand, she knew she would be unable to cast with it.
Whatever this prison was doing to her was unsettling.
It wasn't as though it felt like her magic was being quashed, but slowly and steadily drawn out of her.
Often, it made her feel quite weak, and she would wake up quite breathless, as exhausted as though Ghost had put her through her paces during her early days as a Hit-Wizard.
No, as comfortable as she was being kept, Fox was in hell, and wherever Chavdar was now, she hoped he was suffering.
She knew there was little hope of her being rescued, but she would take no small amount of joy knowing the man responsible for the incarceration of her and her team had gotten what he deserved.
(Break)
His men had been shifted from Bulgaria to Poland, and Gellert along with Hans and Cassiopeia had been lying in wait for days for Evans to appear with his men, but the man had failed to do so.
"He's not coming, is he?" he asked Weber.
"He might," the German said comfortingly.
Gellert shook his head.
"No, if he was, he would have been here by now," he sighed. "He's been giving us the run around, or the information you received was false."
Weber pursed his lips at the thought.
"I do not think so," he murmured. "My sources would never knowingly give me information unless they were certain of it."
"Then something has gone amiss, Herr Weber, and I suggest you look into it. I do not like having my time wasted. Hans!" Gellert called, leaving a chastised German in his wake as he approached the enormous man. "I have no reason to believe Commander Evans will be joining us here. Have the men sent to the front."
"The front?" Hans questioned uncertainly.
Gellert nodded.
"Yes, the front," he said firmly, "and see that they are prepared to fight. You will be joining them."
"And you?"
Gellert smirked.
"I would not miss it for anything. If Commander Evans will not come to us, then we will pay him a visit."
Gaulitier beamed at the thought as he rushed off to organise the men and Gellert snorted amusedly at the keenness of the man.
Whenever it came to violence, Hans was the one that he would call upon, and when it came to subtlety, it was the confidence of the enigmatic young woman who had sought him out so many years ago now.
As ill-tempered as she could be, Cassiopeia was a useful woman to have around, and as he came upon her watching the sudden flurry of activity amongst the men, her eyes lit up in admiration.
"I need you to do something for me."
"Of course," the woman replied without hesitation. "It will take a few days for this lot to be ready. I want you to contact Osbert, and then make your way to the southern border of France where you will wait for him."
"We are finally making our move?" Cassiopeia asked excitedly.
Gellert nodded.
"I do not wish to lose the men, but there is nothing else for it. We must break through, or we risk being delayed indefinitely. I will be throwing every resource at this, Cassie, so failure is not an option."
"I won't let you down," the woman promised.
"I know," Gellert replied with a warm smile. "This is not where our journey ends. Now, off you go, and keep me informed of your progress. In less than a week, we will be walking the streets of Paris, and be one step closer to seeing our vision brought to life."
(Break)
Nicholas stared at the broken man before him. As well as Albus could hide his inner turmoil from others, the alchemist saw through the façade. He'd known Albus since he was still but a boy, and though he no longer was so, the way he coped was very much the same.
"You have never needed to be strong around me before, Albie," Nicholas sighed as his mentee simply stared back at him.
He had been caught unprepared, just as Nicholas intended. It gave the younger man less time to compose himself.
As useful as occlumency was, Nicholas despised it in moments like this when he needed to be opened up to.
Albus shook his head.
"I'm not a strong man," he chuckled humourlessly, "just conditioned."
Nicholas released a deep breath as he took a seat on the opposite side of the desk.
"You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for, but a weakness is still a weakness until you confront it."
"I can't do that. I wish I could, but…"
His words trailed off and Nicholas took pity on him.
"I do not mean that you have to fight him, Albus," he pointed out. "I mean that you must put your demons to rest where he is concerned. What happened has come to pass and there is nothing that can change that, but the future, now that is something that need not be so bleak. What is it you fear?"
As Albus met his eyes a moment later, there was no attempt to conceal what the man was feeling. The emotions were raw, guilt, sadness, and even longing.
"I fear that I will no longer see him as I remember, that he will be the monster that everyone believes him to be."
Nicholas gave Albus a smile of sympathy.
"Perhaps he has become that, but maybe there is still some of the young man you remember within him."
"And if there is, should I not be trying to save him?"
Nicholas shook his head.
"Do you think he can be saved, Albus? After everything he has done, is there any hope for him?"
Albus swallowed deeply but said nothing.
"I think you wish you could save him," Nicholas continued, "but you can only save those that want to be. Grindelwald is not a man that wants to be saved. He would sooner see the world burn the way it is than admit defeat or abandon his plans."
"I know," Albus sighed, "but I cannot bring myself to fight him."
"Maybe not now, but you have considered it."
"I have."
"So, you think that it could be inevitable?"
Albus nodded.
"I believe if it wasn't for Harry fighting so ardently and admirably, many more would be looking to me to act. I fear what should happen if Harry were to be killed."
"Then help him," Nicholas pleaded. "I am not asking you to stand in Grindelwald's path directly but help remove the obstacles on Harry's."
"How is Harry?" Albus asked. "It has been so long since I saw him."
"Harry is a fighter," Nicholas snorted, "and that is where the two of you differ. He is coping, Albus. Despite everything thrown at him, he is coping."
"I am pleased, and I do not wish anything to befall him."
The transfiguration professor released a deep breath.
"I will help him as much as I can," he declared. "For what it is worth, he will have my assistance."
Nicholas offered the man a smile as he leaned over and gave Albus's shoulder a squeeze.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Harry has asked me help locate an extremely dangerous man. Nothing is known about him other than he is possibly German or Austrian and goes by the name Weber."
Albus nodded thoughtfully.
"I would agree on either of those countries if he is not using an alias. If he is, then we have nothing."
"You understand the difficulty of the task," Nicholas huffed.
"I do, but I made some useful contacts in Austria and Germany when I was completing my mastery in transfiguration. I can make some discreet enquiries to begin with."
"I am doing the same," Nicholas explained. "I am sure that between us, we will leave no stone unturned.
(Break)
"All you need to do is tap it with your wand, speak your message, and it will appear on mine," Harry explained as he handed Eleanor the Galleon.
He had taken inspiration from Hermione's work during fifth year and how she had managed to communicate with the various members of the DA, but he'd added a few more protective charms to ensure this method of communication could not be used against him.
"It's that simple?" Summerbee asked, impressed by the seemingly innocuous device.
Harry nodded.
"You only need to add a drop of your blood, and then no one else will be able to even touch it without suffering a very painful death."
"You cursed it?" the woman yelped.
"It will only activate if someone else touches it," Harry assured her with a grin.
Eleanor shook her head.
"You really are quite a terrifying man," she sighed. "I suppose I got off easy when you caught up with me."
"You did," Harry agreed amusedly. "Now, this is for you to use for anything you need. If you run out, just send me a message and I will get more to you," he explained, handing her a bag of coins.
"There must be five hundred galleons in here," Eleanor said with a frown as she weighed the coins in her hand.
"There is," Harry confirmed. "It's not doing me any good whilst I'm here. Like I said, use it for whatever you need, and if you ever get into trouble, squeeze the coin, and say the word Serpent. I will be able to find you."
"Oh, you do care," Summerbee cooed.
"Well, it would be a poor repayment for you to die doing something for me, wouldn't it?"
Eleanor nodded.
"I'll be off then," she declared. "I'll let you know where I am when I move on."
"Thank you," Harry said appreciatively.
Eleanor smiled and placed a kiss on his cheek before doing the same to Charlus.
"As horrible as it has been being here, I'm grateful for you getting me out of prison. I'll do what I can to find this man for you, and hope that when this war is over, none of us have lost too much."
With her parting words given, she activated the portkey Harry had given her, leaving the two men alone in their room.
"Come on," Harry urged. "It's time to train that lot some more."
Charlus shook his head whilst he chuckled.
"If you keep going the way you are with them, they will be the best fighting unit we have."
"That's exactly what I intend for them to be," Harry replied seriously.
(Break)
"The southern defences are not well-manned, as you expected," Cassiopeia explained. "The Italian's are cooperating. The only places they can flee is into Spain or Switzerland."
Having spoken with Osbert, she had spent the past two days meticulously watching the ICW defences on the southern French border the country shared with Italy, an area that could not be ignored.
An invasion from the south was possible, and though the implemented defences were not as well fortified as those where the main fighting had been taking place, it was still a risk, but one that was necessary.
"The Swiss are remaining neutral for now, and they will take exception if any were to enter their land. They will flee to Spain when they are overwhelmed," Gellert mused aloud as he consulted his map.
"Then there will be nowhere for them to go," Cassiopeia pointed out.
"Geographically speaking, you are correct, but we must remain vigilant. A cornered animal is at its most dangerous," Gellert said grimly. "Our aim is to take France, but we must not be complacent. The ICW may be run by fools, but Evans is not one. He must know that an attack like this would be impossible to repel on two fronts. No, he will have a contingency plan."
"What can we do about it?"
Gellert shook his head.
"Nothing, I fear," he sighed. "We must remain focused on taking France and not allow ourselves to be distracted elsewhere. Is Osbert ready?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"He arrived this morning and is lying in wait with his beasts," she confirmed uneasily.
"You are unsettled by this?"
Cassiopeia sighed deeply.
"Osbert is unhinged," she snorted. "The man is little better than the creatures he commands."
"Sometimes, Cassie, a little craziness is needed to see our goals achieved."
"Osbert is insane, Gellert," Cassiopeia returned severely.
Gellert placed a hand on her shoulder.
"For now, his madness serves us. If he proves to be a danger to us or our movement, he will be dealt with accordingly. Now, let us not concern ourselves with Osbert and his creatures. We will soon be celebrating a great victory, and I would have you by my side when our enemies crumble."
"Should I lead the charge?"
"No, not this time," Gellert denied. "Why should we risk ourselves when the victory is already assured?"
(Break)
In the months he had spent in the trenches, Harry had grown used to sleeping through the distant rumbling of artillery fire and other various muggle weaponry being discharged.
However, since he and Grindelwald had completed their combined protections of the wizarding battlefield, no errant shells had come close, yet he was rudely awoken by the entire room trembling as he was showered with dirt from the ceiling.
He had no time to ponder what was happening, as more explosions sounded, quickly being intertwined with the screaming of men.
"What the hell is happening?" Charlus asked.
Harry said nothing as he crossed the room and opened the door, only to be thrown backwards by another explosion.
"HARRY!" Charlus shouted.
"Bloody hell," Harry groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet. "Come on, we need to know what is happening."
Charlus nodded, his eyes wide as he followed Harry out of the room and into a veritable dust cloud that left neither able to see any more than a foot or so in front of them.
With a wave of his wand, Harry began dispersing the obstacle to clear a path for them, only for the duo to be greeted by the sight of others that had not fared as well as they were.
Bodies were strewn across the length of the trenches, and though they were already dead, they continued to be flung around by more explosions.
"Shit!" Charlus cursed as Harry suddenly pulled him into an alcove in the nick of time, the spot the man had been standing in only a few seconds before having subjected to a direct hit.
Harry continued trying to clear clouds around them, both coughing from the dust they'd already ingested.
"EVANS!"
"That's Yaxley," Charlus gasped.
With a nod, Harry took the other man by the arm and dragged him towards where the voice had come from. Both stumbled over bodies as they did so, but eventually, they came across Yaxley huddled in another alcove with half a dozen other men from their group.
"Where are the rest?" Harry asked.
Yaxley coughed as he shook his head.
"I don't know," he choked. "Fucking hell, what is going on?"
"I don't know, but we can't stay in here," Harry decided. "Chances are, they'll be waiting for us to leave the trenches."
"What do we do?" Gilbert asked worriedly.
"You pull your trousers up, not shit yourself, and we fight!" Charlus replied. "Come on, this is what you've all been preparing for!"
Harry gave him a nod of gratitude.
"In your threes," he instructed. "If you're missing someone in your group, join another. Let's get out of here before one of those explosions lands on top of us."
Nervously, the men followed him and Charlus as they made their way to the edge of the trench, their vision still obscured by the debris.
Harry was the first to climb out, followed quickly by Charlus and the rest.
"Well, bugger me," Yaxley gasped as the magnitude of what they faced was made known to them. "How did he get so many men?"
Harry swallowed deeply at the force that was charging towards them.
As far as the eye could see, hordes of men could be seen sprinting, their wands held aloft as they screamed in numerous languages, each one promising nothing but death.
He glanced up and down the length of their own trenches and shook his head.
Even at full capacity, they would be hard-pressed to fend off the incoming attack, and with so many gaps from the men who had been killed in their beds or attempting to escape the ongoing bombardment, their chance of victory was nil.
Still, he gritted his teeth and prepared for them to come within range.
If they failed here, France would be taken.
A significant blow to sustain in the war.
The charging men were around three-hundred metres away.
"Harry?" Charlus questioned.
The man was nervous, but he took up his position by Harry's side, nonetheless.
Three-hundred metres.
Harry shook his head.
What was he thinking?
He knew it would be smarter to flee, but there was a stubborn part of him that refused to give an inch to Grindelwald and his men. Even in the face of death, he was relishing the impending fight.
Two-hundred metres.
"COMMANDER EVANS!" a frantic voice called.
Harry glimpsed to his left where a familiar, short Frenchman was running towards him.
"Commander Evans," he wheezed. "We are being attacked in the south and have been ordered to send men there!"
"Send men there?" Harry questioned. "Take a look around, we can't afford to spare anyone."
"The other Commanders have agreed," the Frenchman explained sadly. "We are all to retreat there."
Harry shook his head in disbelief.
"What the bloody hell is the point of that?" Charlus snapped as the short man continued on his way. "If we give up this position, we've lost the country. We'll be attacked from both sides."
"RETREAT!"
The shouts came from further up the trench and was echoed by the next group along until the French unit next to Harry's announced it also.
One-hundred metres.
The spells began to rain down on them now, some careening across the distance of the battlefield, others fired from further back in the ranks into the air so they would arc over their own men in front, and onto the ICW forces.
More explosions came from those above, and Harry could only look on as the various groups of men across the trench vanished, activating the emergency portkeys they had been given that would take them to the other trench.
Harry shook his head once more, but knew it was no use remaining here.
All they would be able to hope for was a quick death, and he was not done in this world yet.
"RETREAT!" he snarled.
His men didn't need telling twice, and immediately activated their portkeys.
For a fleeting moment, Harry remained behind, his eyes narrowed at the charging enemy before he reluctantly followed, only to find himself pulled from one fight into another.
The sound of screeching, snarling, and even loud roars filled the air, all of them mixed with the agonised screams of men.
It took only a single glance around for Harry to be reminded of the battle they'd endured only months prior, the very same night he had killed the dragon, only this was worse.
The beasts had struck against the defences when they were mostly unmanned, and the ensuing fight was nothing short of desperate melee on the part of the ICW forces.
With the lines already having been breached before most of the men had arrived, there was no opportunity to implement the same tactic as they had before, and now, each man was fighting for their lives.
"FORM UP!" Harry shouted to his own group.
Their only chance of survival was to fight together, and even then, that chance was slim at best with the options available to them.
Once more, he was the first to climb over the lip of the trench, his wand snapping upwards as he sent a ball of fire towards a gathering of goblins dressed in furs and wielding small axes.
He followed up with a gouging curse aimed towards the face of an enormous, club-wielding troll as it swung its weapon at an Irishman who found himself fighting the beats alone.
With a loud groan, the troll dropped its club in favour of attempting to stem the bleeding from its eyes, only to collapse under a barrage of spells courtesy of Charlus and Yaxley.
"What the hell are they?" Gilbert yelped, pointing to a wave of scuttling creatures heading towards them.
The clicking of the pincers was a sound Harry would never forget, not since he first encountered Aragog and his children in the Forbidden Forest during his second year, and again during the Triwizard Tournament.
The mere sight of the acromantula made his left leg twinge in a stab of phantom pain as he remembered the unpleasant experience of being bitten by one in the maze.
"Arania Exumai!" Harry cast, sending the most eager of spiders back into its brethren with a screech.
The spell was useful for dealing with one spider, but not the dozens still swarming towards them.
"FIRE SPELLS!" Harry shouted.
At his command, his men unleashed torrents of flame upon the creatures, killing many and sending the others fleeing in all directions.
None of these were the size of Aragog, but in their large numbers, they could have been lethal.
Not that Harry had much time to ponder this.
As the spiders scattered, they gave way to new foes in the form of a trio of Wampus cats.
Harry knew very little of them, but during a Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid had soothed Ron about Crookshanks' unending attempts to eat Scabbers by pointing out he should be glad it wasn't a Wampus cat, something that offered no help now that he was faced by three of them.
The beasts were stood on the hindlegs and moved impossibly fast as they avoided the spells sent their way from the rest of the men, but Harry soon realised their danger did not lay in their speed or the sharp claws protruding from their paws.
No, their most powerful weapon was made known to him as he caught the eerie gaze of one of the felines, and he felt its presence invading his mind.
The stabbing pain was worse than anything he'd endured during his occlumency lessons with Snape, and he winced, the ensnaring magic leaving him unable to look away.
He was caught in a mental trap, and all he could do in the moment was fight back.
Harry pushed with all his might, but the presence of the creature only grew stronger as it continued flooding his consciousness, and just when he began to feel that his last thread of hope was about to snap, he felt something else emerging, a coldness that was oddly comforting, though not for the creature he faced.
The large cat began to hiss, yelping in agony as it attempted to pull itself away, but it was the feline that was now trapped.
It screamed in desperation and began clawing at its own face until it collapsed limply to the floor, mewling in pain having destroyed its own eyes to escape the clutches of whatever had seized it.
Harry didn't know what had happened, and he didn't pause to think as he brought his wand to bear once more, slaughtering the last Wampus cat with a severing charm that cleaved it in two.
"Are you alright?" Charlus asked worriedly from his left, his eyes widening as he looked at Harry.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Charlus shook his head.
"I thought… no, it must have been a trick of the light. Shit, you're bleeding."
Harry could taste the blood in his mouth and spat it onto the floor.
"You thought what?" he pressed.
Charlus looked at him in concern before snorting.
"Your eyes, I thought they were yellow for a moment."
Harry felt his stomach sink, but the sudden throbbing in his head and behind his eyes didn't allow him much time to think, and the ensuing battle around them was raging on.
"We're going to die here, aren't we?" Yaxley asked.
There was no sign of fear from the man, but a morbid acceptance of the situation they found themselves in.
Everywhere Harry looked, the various creatures were continuing to advance.
There was simply too many of them to overcome, and though Harry hated to admit it, Yaxley was right.
There was no victory to be had this night, only death awaited them, and would be upon the ICW forces in a matter of moments.
"No," Harry answered the man firmly, refusing to believe the situation was so hopeless.
He'd faced seemingly insurmountable odds many times before, and he wouldn't believe this was the end, not whilst he still breathed and was in possession of his wand.
"What do we do, Harry?" Charlus asked.
Harry glanced to his right where he saw a large gathering of wizards still fighting, their red robes unmistakable.
"The Russians," he decided, pointing in the direction he could see them in the distance.
Somehow, they seemed to have stuck together, and though there was less than the thousand that had arrived shortly after Ivan had been killed, they were still the biggest group continuing to fight.
"Come on," Harry urged.
"We'll never get through," Yaxley sighed.
Between their group and the Russians were hordes of creatures ranging from trolls, goblins, centaurs, acromantula, and even another large cat that Harry suspected was a nundu, something he did not wish to consider fighting.
However, with their survival at stake, he'd made up his mind.
They'd be throwing themselves in to an even bigger fight, but one where there would be more of them to fend off the threat.
"We will," Harry assured his remaining men, taking a deep breath as he raised his wand. "Watch the flanks, I'll do the rest."
The men formed a semi-circle around Harry, fending off the attacking creatures as he began clearing the path towards the Russian positions, slaughtering beast after beast as he went.
They came at him in droves, and even though his head was pounding, his wand never stopped moving as he cast.
Trolls were felled, centaurs cut down at the knees as they levelled their drawn bows at him, and large wolves were cursed, howling as their blood boiled or flesh was peeled from the bone.
To Harry, everything was a blur, and everything that did not resemble a man was killed or maimed in his effort to reach the rest of their comrades.
He wouldn't die here, not when there was so much to yet live for.
More men joined their group as they were relieved of the burden of fighting so ardently alone or in small gatherings.
Soon, a sizable force had been accumulated, but as they came to be a little of fifty metres away from the surrounded Russians, Charlus fell in next to Harry.
"Any bright ideas?" he asked breathily, his robes covered in blood.
"Only one, and it isn't so bright," Harry replied darkly.
The beasts that had converged on the Russians had them tightly surrounded in a large circle, the creatures even fighting amongst themselves to either feed or simply kill if that was their nature.
Fighting through them would be dangerous, but Harry realised his only idea had the same potential for disaster.
He shook his head as he looked at his men and the others that had joined them during the fighting.
Many were sporting injuries, and the others were exhausted from their efforts.
Any more fighting would see many of them die, and they had already lost a significant amount of their fighters in the two attacks.
There was nothing for it.
The situation was desperate, and it called for an equally desperate response.
"STAND BACK!" Harry commanded as he readied himself.
"What are you doing, Harry?" Charlus asked worriedly.
Harry offered him what he thought to be a comforting smile, but with his face and robes smeared with blood, it looked downright sinister.
"Stand back," he urged once more before taking a deep breath. "FIENDFYRE!"
Charlus's eyes widened in horror, and the illuminated features of the rest of the men were a mixture of fear, awe, and grim acceptance as the gout of flame spewed from Harry's wand.
For a moment, the fire was shapeless, but it coalesced into a large basilisk as it descended on the unaware creatures, stripping the ground of all living matter as it scorched the ground before beginning to feast on those its caster directed it to.
Harry had read about the spell in one of the Slytherin books, and another he'd perused from the Flamels library.
It was an exceptionally dangerous piece of magic to use, and notoriously difficult to snuff when it had been summoned.
In many ways, the fire was sentient, and if the caster failed to focus on controlling it, it would run wild, burning, and killing everything in its path.
"What the hell is that?" Charlus whispered as he watched the basilisk lay waste to everything it touched.
Harry did not reply, all his energy going into controlling the fire, the effort alone making him perspire and his arm tremble.
Fearing that he would soon lose his hold over it, he charged forward.
"COME ON!" Charlus urged the others, and with utter faith and loyalty in the man that led them, they followed.
Putting himself in front of the fiery serpent, Harry brandished his wand like a whip and struck out.
The basilisk winced, but lunged, only to recoil as it was struck again.
The beast coiled itself tightly for another attack, and with a guttural roar, Harry slashed his wand across the breadth of his body, and the cursed flames exploded in a shower of sparks that scorched the ground.
Silence followed, though Harry could see the creatures that had fled the fire regrouping for another attack.
"Bloody hell," Charlus chuckled humourlessly as he looked upon his friend.
Harry said nothing, choosing to ignore the remark and the looks of disbelief the rest of the men were looking at him with.
"Commander Evans, I am glad to see you," Sokolov declared, pulling him into a tight embrace. "We are grateful for your assistance."
"I'd save my gratitude if I was you," Harry snorted, nodding to where the creatures were already charging towards them again. "We're not done yet."
Before Sokolov could reply, another sound, one more familiar than the screeching and roars of beasts was heard coming somewhere on the other side of the trenches.
It was the sound of men shouting, though it wasn't a welcome addition.
"Fuck! Could this get any worse?" Charlus questioned.
It couldn't.
The men that had arrived were not allies, and now the men of the ICW were stuck between Grindelwald's larger army on one side and ranks of creatures on the other.
The Dark Lord was evidently not content to only take the northern positions.
He wanted both for himself.
"The men are too tired for another fight like this," Sokolov said urgently.
They were, and there was nothing Harry could do or say that would change that.
"We must regroup," Sokolov continued. "We should go to Russia. He will not follow us there."
"Do you have enough portkeys for everyone?" Harry asked.
Sokolov nodded and began barking orders frantically in his mother tongue.
"Have your men pair with mine," he instructed. "Quickly now."
Harry echoed the order and the only seconds later, men began disappearing as the portkeys were activated, with Harry and Sokolov being the last when the attacking forces were only a dozen or so feet away.
When they arrived at their destination, Harry found himself with the others that had survived the fight in an enormous hall.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"In the Russian Ministry of Magic," Sokolov explained fondly. "We will be safe here."
Harry nodded gratefully.
Once more Sokolov began barking orders in Russian, and several of his men hurried from the room.
"I have sent them to fetch some healers to help with the injured," he explained. "Come, let us check on our men."
It was odd for Harry to see those he had fought side by side with looking at him with such gratitude and respect, even those garbed in red offering him appreciative nods.
"Those of you that are injured, move to the left," he instructed.
Most did so, but even those that didn't hadn't escaped unscathed.
Harry too had his share of cuts and bruises, but his wounds could wait. There were many others much worse off than him.
"How're you?" Charlus asked as he limped next to Harry.
"I've been better."
"I know that feeling," Charlus chuckled. "What do we do now, Harry?"
Harry took a look around the room at what remained of the ICW forces.
Hundreds had been killed tonight, but that didn't mean they would admit defeat.
No, now was not the time to mope or lament on what had been lost.
"We fight back," he replied simply. "The moment the men are ready, we show Grindelwald that this war is not over. He took something from us, and we will do the same to him."
A/N
No, Harry is not going to develop a basilisk stare that can kill anytime he wishes. The basilisk thing was an extreme reaction to a desperate situation, but it will be touched upon further into the story.
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