The Fires of Paris

The mood in the chambers of the International Confederation of Warlocks was

sombre, the representatives of each member country wearing grim
expressions and spending much of the time muttering amongst themselves.
Harry would be too if he was in their unenviable position, but he wasn’t.
Here, his opinions meant nothing and that would suit him just fine were it not
for the thousands of lives at stake.
“Might I ask why his men are marching towards the border and not
apparating?” the Spanish representative asked.
Ghost cleared his throat.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I suppose he could be concerned about traps
waiting for them.”
“And are there any?” the Spaniard followed up.
Ghost shook his head.
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
Ghost stood straighter, evidently not appreciating the accusive tone.
“Our efforts have been focused on fortifying Paris. For weeks we have been
preparing for this attack. I can assure you all that everything is under control, it
is just a matter of Grindelwald coming to us.”
The representatives muttered amongst themselves once more and Harry shook
his head disapprovingly.
It was a poor plan.
“I hope you are right,” the Supreme Mugwump said severely. “The Minister
has assured me that all our aurors will be placed at your disposal.”
Harry could understand his position.
The man was French and concerned for the safety of his country.
“Did your scouts manage to get an accurate count of how many?” Doge
questioned.
Ghost shuffled awkwardly.
“Not entirely,” Fox broke in, “but we were told around three thousand. Our
scouts didn’t want to get too close.”
“About what we expected,” Doge mused aloud.
“From my count, it was closer to six thousand,” Harry explained, shooting Fox a
look of annoyance.
Had the woman even verified anything for herself?
“Six thousand?” Doge pressed.
“Not true!” Fox defended, only to be waved off by the Supreme Mugwump.
“You are certain you saw six thousand men?”
Harry nodded.
“Grindelwald has recently added to his numbers by recruiting abroad. He has
men from Africa and Asia, likely more places,” he explained. “His ranks have
swelled and when we meet, it will likely be at a disadvantage.”
The murmuring amongst the representatives were not the sounds of men that
had been reassured.
“The Serpent is wrong,” Fox huffed. “Our scouts could not have been so
inaccurate.”
“And yet, it seems that they were,” the Supreme Mugwump responded
pointedly.
“You are taking his word for it over ours?” Fox asked disbelievingly.
“No,” the Supreme Mugwump denied, “but I would much be prepared for six
thousand and have less to deal with,” he explained. “What other measures are
in place?”
Fox did not appear happy with the explanation, but it was Ghost who spoke
before she could voice her thoughts on the matter.
“We have begun evacuating the women and children from the city. The men
that are willing to fight have been placed into already established groups.
Those that are not…”
“Those that are not?” Abreo pressed.
“They are being detained to ensure they are not agents of Grindelwald.”
His words were met mutterings of displeasure and head shakes by the
gathered representatives.
“It is a necessary measure,” Ghost insisted. “In this case, it is better to be safe
than sorry.”
Abreo nodded.
“I understand,” he sighed. “I will leave it to your discretion to handle these
affairs. I’m afraid I may not be able to remain impartial.”
“I do not wish to disrespect you, but that is why this has been done discreetly,”
Ghost replied.
Harry believed him, even believed Ghost thought he was doing what was right
when it came to preparing the defences, but Harry couldn’t ignore the feeling
that he was gravely wrong.
“And what if he does not attack Paris?” the Russian Minister of Magic
interjected.
“Of course he will attack Paris,” the Spaniard scoffed.
The Russian Minister merely shrugged in response, a slight grin tugging at his
lips.
“We have no doubt that Paris is his target. It is where the Ministry is located
and the most important city in France. He wouldn’t waste his time elsewhere,”
Fox pointed out soundly.
Abreo hummed.
“I am inclined to agree with you. Does anyone else have any other thoughts?”
None spoke up.
Harry too held his tongue.
He had his own thoughts, but he had no proof to offer to substantiate them.
For all Harry knew, Gellert may well only attack Paris, but that was irrelevant,
in truth.
He still thought it best that Grindelwald not be allowed to enter France at all.
“Then I call this meeting to a close to allow you to continue with your
preparations. Please, be prepared to convene in an emergency in the coming
days.”
The room started to clear, and Fox shot Harry a smug look, though she had no
reason to feel such a way.
If things were to take a turn for the worse as Harry was anticipating, she would
have nothing to feel smug about.
Not that Harry would take joy in something so petty, not with what the cost
would be.
Releasing a deep breath, he left the chambers, the last do so having been
distracted by what was coming.
From his own observations, Grindelwald’s men would arrive at the French
border in only two-days-time. Ghost’s plan was set in stone, and there was
nothing else to be done.
“My father would like to speak with you,” a heavily accented voice requested.
Harry turned to see the Russian Minister’s son beckoning him into one of the
side-rooms outside the main chamber.
With a frown, Harry entered to find the seated at a table with two additional
guards either side of him, each with their wands in hand.
“I do not believe they would do much good,” the Minister chuckled, nodding
towards his nervous entourage. “If the rumours about you are to be believed,
you could kill us all without much effort on your part.”
Harry snorted.
“I do not make a habit of killing those that aren’t my enemy, and certainly not
an ally.”
The Minister nodded and gestured for his men to put their wands away, an
instruction that was carried out warily.
“The Serpent,” the Minister said with admiration. “Even in Russia the whispers
of your deeds are heard by all. The women swoon, and the criminals tremble
at the mention of you. Quite the reputation you have carved out for yourself.”
“You know what they say about rumours,” Harry replied politely.
“Da, this is true, but not where you are concerned. Njet, our enemy is fearful of
you for good reason. Even my own men warned me of meeting with you.”
“Then why did you?” Harry asked.
“I wanted to look upon the man who has many speaking his name. I wanted to
see for myself what makes you so special, to get a measure of the man you
are.”
“Are you satisfied?” Harry asked irritably.
He had grown tired many years ago of being something of a sideshow to
others, people wanting to look at his scar and ask about how he had survived
Voldemort’s attack as a baby when men who were not untalented had
perished.
The Russian chuckled before nodding.
“Da, I am satisfied that perhaps there is more truth in the rumours than I
thought. You are a young man, but a man who has endured much. I can see it
in your eyes, there is anger, pain, and a willingness to do what is necessary to
vanquish your enemies. A darkness some may say, but to me, you are ruthless
out of obligation.”
Harry could only snort in reply.
“More than all of this,” the Minister continued, “I noticed that you are not in
agreement with your superiors. You do not believe their tactic to be the
correct one.”
“I don’t,” Harry admitted unashamedly. “I think allowing Grindelwald to enter
France would be a mistake.”
“I agree with you,” the Russian replied. “This Ghost, he is blinded by his belief
that Grindelwald will only target Paris. If it was my country he was marching
on, I would meet him outside of it. If the ICW are wrong, the consequences
could be dire. I too am uncomfortable with allowing him in. When he crosses
the border, he could send his men wherever he wishes.”
“So, what can we do about it?”
“Nothing,” the Minister said matter-of-factly. “The plans are already in motion.
Sometimes, we must let people make mistakes, so they learn to be better. This
could be a very harsh lesson for all involved, and one I hope he will learn from.
I will not risk my men defending France alone on an open field when no other
would do the same for Russia.”
“We just let it happen then?”
“What choice do we have? Grindelwald already marches. We must see this
plan through and hope that it is enough to fend him off.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Many will die, and France will fall under his control.”
Harry deflated, though such a fate was all but unavoidable at this point.
“I understand your frustration,” the Russian comforted, “but if there is any that
can find an advantage when it is needed most, perhaps it will be you,” he
added as he stood. “I wish you well, Serpent, and hope that we are both wrong
in this instance, but I have my doubts.”
After muttering some instructions in Russian, the five men left, and Harry
turned his attention to the impending battle.
“What if Grindelwald decided that Paris was too well protected, or if he had
other plans beyond his previous modus operandi?
It didn’t bare thinking about, and regardless of the outcome of the fighting. the
fallout would be something to behold.
(Break)
William had fond memories of Paris. It was here that he had finally proposed
marriage to Angelica, and where she had returned the gesture by announcing
her pregnancy to him. He was even certain that Charlus had been conceived
here, but Paris was no longer the city he remembered.
The streets in the city centre were bereft of muggles and magical folk alike,
many of the former having taken their leave at the declaration of war and the
latter having been sent away over the past days.
It helped little that almost every building in sight had been boarded up, the
ones of most importance having been imbued with protective charms that
William had little faith in.
They wouldn’t hold any more than the makeshift prison that held the wizards
who refused to fight.
William did not agree with that measure.
The new Head of the Department of Justice of the ICW had not endeared
himself to many, and his assistant even less so.
She had a sense of self-importance to rival any Malfoy William had met.
He didn’t understand why this Ghost was put in charge of the ICW forces when
there were people like Gabriel Moody at their disposal.
Ghost was a Hit-Wizard, and though William respected what they did, they
were not trained to command entire armies, not as far as he knew at least.
He would need to check with Harry.
“What a fucking mess,” Gabriel declared as he took a seat next to him. “If
these prats carry on the way they are, we’ll all be strung up by our balls within
a week.”
William chuckled.
Things certainly looked bleak, but he wasn’t as pessimistic as Moody.
“Where’s Yaxley?” Gabriel asked.
“He went off somewhere with Gilbert,” William sighed, “probably up to no
good.”
“Aye,” Gabriel agreed, “let them have their fun while they can. We’ve got more
important things to think about.”
“Like how buggered we are when Grindelwald turns up?”
Moody snorted.
“Aye, that sounds about right.”
William shook his head as he reached into his bag.
“Drink?” he asked, producing a bottle of cognac.
“Where did you get that?” Gabriel asked suspiciously.
“Gilbert gave it to me. I though it best to not ask and just enjoy it.”
Gabriel nodded his agreement and conjured a couple of glasses.
When they were filled with a generous measure, he held his own aloft.
“To shite plans,” he toasted.
William echoed the sentiment, and the two men drained their glasses.
“Whose owl is that?” Gabriel asked, pointing towards a large white bird that
landed next to them.
“I have no idea,” William answered.
He knew it belonged to Harry, but the man wouldn’t send Theseus to him here
unless it was in regard to the war and something of the utmost importance.
With a frown, he unrolled the piece of parchment he’d removed from the owl’s
leg, and he read the short missive aloud leaving both Gabriel and William
feeling nervous.
‘Grindelwald will arrive in around 48 hours.’
“Well, best get our arses in gear then, but not before another drink,” Moody
decided.
William poured each of them another, this one to steady their resolve rather
than for the commodity of enjoyment.
(Break)
Grindelwald Marches on France!
by Albert Prowse
Arcturus shook his head as he read the article, the attached photo rather
ominous in nature. It was a picture of Grindelwald’s men ambling brazenly
across a field in formation with no care for who saw them.
“Cocky bastards,” he growled.
“We’ve been put on high alert at the hospital,” Dorea sighed, pointing at the
article. “Do you think Perseus and Cassie are there?”
“Of course they are,” Arcturus snorted. “I hope the traitorous shits get what’s
coming to them.”
“You don’t mean that,” Dorea refuted.
“Don’t I?”
Dorea shook her head and busied herself with clearing the kitchen table.
“I’m angry with them too, but I don’t want them to die,” she muttered.
“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes,” Arcturus replied. “They’re
both morons who aren’t worth the steam off a hippogriff’s piss.”
“Must you be so crass?” Dorea sighed disapprovingly.
Arcturus shrugged carelessly as he turned his attention back to the article,
ignoring the urge to go to France and deal with his siblings himself.
No, as much as he despised them, he didn’t think he could bring himself to kill
his kin, not unless he had no other choice in the matter.
Still, despite the best efforts of the ICW, the war was not going well and if
France were to fall, it would come as quite the blow to the combined efforts at
putting an end to Grindelwald’s regime.
(Break)
Perseus had never walked so far in his life. Gellert insisted on the march as he
did not wish for them to fall into any traps that may have been laid. It was a
cautious but understandable approach, though the blisters on Perseus’s feet
were much less forgiving of their leader.
“Why did we not just fly?” one of the men bemoaned.
Perseus had heard the same questioned asked a dozen times over the past
days, and the answer was a simple; There weren’t enough to go around and
Gellert would not see their forces split.
They were at a pivotal stage in their plans and no risks were to be taken.
Why Gellert would be leaving them when they entered France, Perseus knew
not, but he knew the man wouldn’t do so unless it was vitally important.
“We will reach the border within the next day,” Gellert informed him. “We will
keep marching and make sure the men are fed and rested before we enter.
When we get through the defences, I want you and your men to apparate
here,” he explained, pointing to a point on the map just south of Paris. That is
where you will attack the city from.”
“And where will you be?”
Gellert smirked almost proudly.
“You will know soon enough,” he assured him. “For now, it is best that not too
much is said.”
Perseus nodded his understanding.
Although the influx of men they’d received was a boon, there hadn’t been time
to vet them all.
It was always possible that there were spies amongst them, not that anything
they may have learned would do them any good. Gellert kept much to himself
and nothing that could be detrimental was revealed until it was necessary.
“So, tomorrow then?” Perseus asked.
Gellert nodded, a twinkle of excitement visible in his eyes.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed. “Paris will fall and France with it.”
(Break)
“What the fuck is this?” Gabriel spat furiously. “I was expecting at least seven
hundred of you. Where are the Indians?”
The man who was on the receiving end of Gabriel’s temper shrugged.
“I don’t know what to tell you. The rest of us aren’t ready and we don’t know
anything about the Indians.”
“Unbelievable,” Gabriel declared. “There can’t be any more than three
hundred of you.”
“Sounds right,” the Canadian agreed.
Moody grumbled under his breath as he approached William.
“Well, if we weren’t fucked before,” he growled.
“How bad is it?” William asked.
“Bad enough that our cheeks are spread, and we should prepare ourselves for
a dry buggering. Was it six thousand men he’s got? We’ve got only a little more
than four thousand and a quarter of them are Russian. What is this pillock in
charge playing at?”
William wouldn’t pretend to know, but if Gabriel was worried, then there was
reason to be.
He had said his goodbyes to Angelica and Charlus before he’d left, but William
felt for the first time that perhaps he wouldn’t see them again.
For months he had been mentally preparing for that possibility, but now that it
was more possible than ever, he realised he wasn’t ready for it.
Not that he ever would be, but it was as though he now stood in the middle of
Paris, waiting for death to claim him.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled.
“Bloody hell is right,” Gilbert agreed. “We’ll need a miracle to get out of this
alive.”
Yaxley nodded, his stony expression more tense than usual but he was not
deterred.
William hadn’t had much to do with the family over the years, but he had
come to respect the man that had fought beside him on two occasions already.
Even with how bleak the outlook seemed, Yaxley was there along with Gabriel
and even Gilbert who was undoubtedly rather drunk.
“Anyone want a sip?” he asked, holding out a bottle of vodka. “I freed it from
some Ruskies,” he snickered.
William snorted and shook his head.
“I think I’ll keep a clear head.”
“Aye,” Gabriel echoed.
“Suit yourself,” Gilbert shrugged before taking a long pull on the bottle,
smacking his lips in satisfaction when he was done and belching loudly. “That
one’s for Grindelwald.”
“If only that would be enough,” Gabriel chuckled.
“THEY’RE COMING!”
They rushed to where the voice had come from, as did everyone else who
heard it.
In the distance, wave after wave of men rolled towards them, so many that not
one could be distinguished from the other.
“Well, bloody hell,” William said darkly, his grip tightening around his wand.
Thoughts of what was to come had been haunting enough to disturb his sleep
since he’d arrived but seeing the enemy charging towards them made those
thoughts feel almost welcome in comparison.
“It’s like I said, we’ll need a miracle,” Gabriel reiterated. “Do you think he’ll
come?”
William immediately knew who Moody was referring to, and though they
could use someone like Harry, William wanted the young man to stay far away
from this.
He shook his head.
It was wishful thinking at best to believe Harry wouldn’t be here.
It was only a matter of time before he arrived.
(Break)
With Gellert and a team of experts, it had taken little more than an hour to
breach the wards on the border of Belgium and France, and when the men had
passed safely into the latter, the time had come to put their plan into action.
“You know what to do,” Gellert had said simply before vanishing to carry out
his own task.
Perseus had taken a deep breath and nodded.
“FOLLOW ME!” he instructed to his men.
He’d apparated to where Gellert had pointed to on the map, a large expanse of
greenery that was likely used as a public park; the perfect place to arrive.
In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was visible as the key component of the
backdrop of the French capitol, and it felt surreal to finally be here.
For years now Gellert had discussed what a great victory it would be when
they took France, and here they were.
After weeks and months of sacrifice, of spilled blood and lost lives, they had
arrived, and Perseus was more determined than ever to achieve the great
victory he had been envisioning.
“We proceed with caution,” he announced. “Hans, take a handful of men and
look out for any traps. Destroy whatever you find.”
Gaulitier nodded and the German and his own men left to do as they had been
bid.
“The rest of you, make your lastminute preparations. We attack as soon as
Hans gives us the all-clear.”
Perseus watched as the men went through their own pre-battle rituals of sorts.
Some opted to look at photos of the family they’d left behind, others chose to
gamble, drink, and smoke.
Whatever worked for them was their business, but Perseus’s thoughts
remained on the city that was almost within his grasp.
He wouldn’t be distracted by such frivolous things the way the men were.
“The path is clear,” Hans informed him after what could have been only an
hour since he’d left.
Perseus nodded as he stood.
His moment was now.
Bruges and Warsaw had merely been building up to this moment, and what
happened in Paris tonight could well determine how the rest of the war would
play out.
“ALRIGHT, MEN, IT’S TIME TO MOVE!” he commanded, leading them towards
the city with quick steps, and breaking into a run when he could no longer
contain his enthusiasm.
Perseus was nervous, but it was this that fuelled him, all the way until he
unleashed his first flurry of spells, signalling the beginning of the battle for
Paris.
(Break)
The home she found herself before was much less grand than Cassiopeia
expected. Having lived for more than six centuries, she thought the Flamels
would have more to show for it.
Not that it mattered.
They would have no further use for any of their possessions soon enough.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” one of the cursebreakers muttered from next
to her. “Something is not right about this place.”
“Shut up, Kowalski,” another grumbled. “You’re a superstitious shit.”
Kowalski shook his head.
“Can you not feel it?” he asked pleadingly. “There is something here.”
“That’s your lack of guts. Now get on with it.”
The added encouragement of Cassiopeia’s wand being pointed at him was all
the prompting he needed to keep silent and begin his work.
Kowalski was excellent at his job, an expert in even the oldest wards.
Cassiopeia watched the man closely to ensure he did what was asked of him
and nothing more. It was a risk not tackling the wards herself, but she was not
as experienced as Kowalski and would be out of her depth.
“There’s a trigger ward here that I’ve never come across,” the sweating
cursebreaker explained.
“What will it trigger?” Cassiopeia asked.
Kowalski shrugged.
“I won’t know unless I trigger it.”
“How long after you’ve done it will the rest take?”
Kowalski released a deep breath.
“Two or three minutes if there are no other surprises.”
Cassiopeia nodded thoughtfully.
“Can you add anything to prevent them disappearing before we get in?”
“I can,” Kowalski confirmed. “I can erect wards that will prevent the use of
portkeys or anyone apparating in or out. The problem with that is if we need to
make a quick escape, we won’t be able to until I bring them down.”
“How long?”
“I can do it in only a minute, but it is a long minute if we need to leave
immediately.”
Cassiopeia hummed.
“We will have to risk it,” she decided.
Kowalski mopped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve and
returned to his work, stiffening as a low rumble spread through the ground
below them.
“That was a big backlash,” he whispered frantically.
“What did it trigger?” Cassiopeia questioned, her gaze sweeping across the
breadth of the house.
“I have no idea, but something is coming. I can feel it.”
(Break)
William stood back-to-back with Gabriel, the two of them fighting for all they
were worth. In the heat of battle, they had been separated from the rest of
their group and found themselves quickly becoming overwhelmed.
“Well, isn’t this just great,” Gabriel chuckled humourlessly.
William grunted, collapsing a large wall on top of a dozen or so oddly dressed,
dark-skinned men. With a wave of his wand, he swept up the debris that had
broken away and began using them to block spells sent their way.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
“Aye, I’ve got something for them,” Gabriel declared.
Only a moment later, screams filled the air as a large pack of wolves descended
on their attackers, and Gabriel began laughing gleefully as Grindelwald’s men
fled with the wolves snapping at their heels.
“TAKE THAT YOU FILTHY BASTARDS!”
William could only shake his head, sobering as he turned in the opposite
direction to where their group had been only a few minutes before.
“Gabriel!” he said urgently, pulling the man by his robes.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, wounds leaking blood, and many of the faces
unrecognizable through the crimson masks.
In the heat of battle, neither had paid attention to the rancid smell emanating
from the bodies, but the scent of blood, urine, and evacuated bowels could not
be missed now.
“Are they ours?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t think that matters right now,” William replied, pointing ahead to
where an enormous shadow was slinking towards them.
“Is that a bloody three-headed dog?” Gabriel gasped.
William nodded as he readied his wand.
He had heard of these creatures, but he was no expert on the topic.
“What do we do?” Gabriel questioned as the two of them began backing
slowly away from the snarling heads that had picked up their scent.
Behind the beast, another large group of men followed in their wake, their
wands drawn and as ready to pounce as the creature.
“Somehow I don’t think the wolves will work this time,” William commented.
Gabriel jumped as the three heads of the dog barked.
“No, but this might.”
With a flick of his wrist, a long whip coated in fire shot from the tip of his
wand.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Charlus warned, his words falling on deaf
ears.
With a loud crackle, the whip snapped against the nose of one of the heads,
eliciting a yelp of pain from it.
Instead of being deterred from attacking them, Gabriel’s efforts seemed only
to encourage it to do so more.
“Now I’ve done it,” Moody groaned, only to frown as a low, mournful tone
began to sound over the din of the surrounding battle.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know,” William mumbled, “but the dog is falling asleep.”
The men behind the beast were looking around for the source of the music,
but the Cerberus thudded to the ground, snoring loudly.
Still, William and Gabriel’s position was not favourable. They were
outnumbered considerably, and their enemies knew that.
“GET THEM!” a dark-skinned man yelled in a heavy African accent.
They charged, each carrying a wand and crude swords that appeared to be
fashioned from bone, howling in an unrecognisable tongue.
William and Gabriel braced themselves, any escape cut off by the collapsed
buildings around them, only to wince as dozens of spikes shot upwards from
the ground, skewering several of their attackers.
From what seemed to be from nowhere, a lone figure appeared between the
warring men, waving his wand in an intricate pattern.
The spikes were torn from the pavement, and those that had been impaled
with them hung morbidly from the ends as the new arrival sent the projectiles
forth, claiming even more casualties.
The remaining men fled, their eyes wide and expressions fearful from what
they had witnessed.
“Better late than never,” Gabriel commented as Harry turned towards them.
“Come on, we need to find the rest of our group, if they’re still out there.”
“I’ll help,” Harry declared, leading them through the mass of dismembered
limbs, unmoving forms, and debris caused by the ensuing fight.
The trio barely made it into a sprint before Harry stopped suddenly, his eyes
wide in a look of panic that William had never seen.
“What is it?” he asked worriedly.
“The Flamels!” Harry gasped before vanishing.
Surely Grindelwald wouldn’t be targeting them?
William shook his head though he wouldn’t put it past the man to do it. If he
could kill the Flamels, that would be quite the blow to the French morale.
“Where’s he gone?” Gabriel asked.
William shrugged.
“I don’t know, but look who we have here?”
“The strange looking blokes in red robes?”
William followed Gabriel’s gaze to where an odd group were approaching from
where Grindelwald’s men had attacked, a few dozen of them slowly walking
towards the fighting.
“No,” he said dismissively, pointing to the man he’d spotted.
“Is that Perseus Black?”
“It is,” William confirmed darkly.
He didn’t know what part the former Black heir was playing in this war but
judging from how he seemed to be in charge of Grindelwald’s forces in
Belgium, he could only deduce he was quite the key figure.
“I’ll deal with him,” William declared, dispatching of two men as he made his
way towards his target.
(Break)
Sato did not look well. His frame was thin and prison robes hung loosely off
him. Evidently, the man had lost considerable weight since he had been placed
at the mercy of the French.
“Who’s there?” he rasped, his voice hoarse.
“I have come to set you free, Mr Sato. I do hope that I can still rely on your
support.”
“Grindelwald?” Sato whispered in disbelief.
“It’s me,” Gellert confirmed. “Now, do be a good man and step away from the
door.
Sato did so, and with little effort, Gellert bent the door away from the hinges
leaving the man ample room to exit the cell.
“How?” Sato asked dumbly.
“I do not think there is a prison in the world that could keep me out,” Gellert
replied thoughtfully. “Come, Mr Sato, let us not linger, not when there is so
much more yet to do.”
The emaciated man followed as Gellert left the prison the way he had entered,
stepping over the bodies of the small crew that had attempted to stop him.
The fight had been a short one, each man dying quickly at his hand.
“You killed them all?”
“A shame,” Gellert declared. “Had they not stood in my way, perhaps I would
have allowed them to live.”
Sato frowned before shaking his head, pleased as he should be that he would
no longer be kept within four walls.
“So, where are we going?” he asked.
“You will be returning to my study where a meal, fresh clothes, a shower, and
bed are waiting for you. I will be assisting my men with their work in this fine
city. Take the portkey, Mr Sato,” Gellert instructed. “You will need your
strength for when you return to Japan to fetch me the men you promised.”
Sato offered him a bow before doing as he was bid,
With the man gone, Gellert could turn his attention to why he had come to
France in the first place.
“For the greater good,” he muttered to himself before vanishing silently from
the courtyard of what remained of the wizarding prison in France.
(Break)
“Nicholas, what are we going to do? We’re trapped,” Perenelle said worriedly.
The old alchemist nodded as he drew his wand.
“We need to keep them out of the house. Harry will come for us.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
Nicholas offered his wife a comforting smile.
“I have faith that he will be here. He is a good boy…”
Murmuring under his breath, Nicholas conjured a white ball of light and
directed it towards the wall of the kitchen, releasing a laboured breath when
he was done.
“Stay here my love,” he urged. “If they get into the house, head into my study
and find a book titled The World’s End. It is on the third shelf furthest from the
door. It is the only blue one there. Give it a gentle pull and it will take you to a
hidden room I created.”
“Nicholas, no, you must come with me!” Perenelle insisted. “I will not leave
you alone to face them.”
“You will,” Nicholas said firmly, “and I will not be alone. Harry will come,” he
added with certainty taking his wife by the shoulder sand kissing her on the
cheek.
Perenelle shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek as Nicholas left the
room.
He hoped she’d listen, though Nicholas had his doubts.
For as long as he cared to remember, it had been him and Perenelle, through
thick and thin, through the best and worst times.
That wouldn’t change now.
“Are you Flamel?” a woman demanded to know as Nicholas descended the
staircase that led to his front door.
She wasn’t alone.
Behind her was at least another ten people, each with heir wands drawn.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Nicholas replied politely. “You seem to know
who I am, yet, I am none the wiser to whom it is I find myself speaking with.”
The woman was quite beautiful, her long, black hair a contrast to her milky
skin, her dark eyes as alluring as they were foreboding.
“My name is Cassiopeia Black, and I am here on behalf of Gellert Grindelwald,”
she explained.
“I see,” Nicholas replied with a nod. “I don’t suppose you come in peace?”
Cassiopeia Black grinned as she shook her head and sashayed towards him,
pausing as a disturbance could be felt beneath their feet.
“I told you something was coming!” one of the woman’s companions said
worriedly. “We should leave, now!”
“You should,” Nicholas agreed, filled with a sense of relief as he spotted a black
mass barrelling towards them. “You really should.”
The men screamed fearfully as they were engulfed by a black fog, but the
woman ignored them in favour of levelling her wand at Nicholas.
“Avada Kedavra!”
She grinned triumphantly and Nicholas ducked, only for the spell to be
intercepted by a bronze shield, a gong-like sound reverberating across the
grounds.
“YOU!” Cassiopeia spat.
Nicholas peered around the figure that now stood between him and the
woman to be met with an expression of loathing.
Harry said nothing.
Instead, he sprang into action, his wand a blur as he cast spell after spell at the
woman who became quickly overwhelmed.
All she could do was defend herself, taken aback by the ferocity with which
Harry fought.
Even though she was surprised, she adapted well and managed to retaliate,
but to no avail.
If she had been shocked by how unreservedly Harry had attacked her, it was
nothing compared to the look of utter disbelief she wore when he nullified her
own efforts, spells that Nicholas had never seen, yet ones that Harry
combatted with ease.
“How?” Cassiopeia gasped.
Again, Harry said nothing, choosing to continue his assault until the woman
was blasted off her feet, finally overwhelmed by the onslaught.
She hit the ground with a dull thud, and Nicholas winced as a snapping sound
was heard.
He didn’t know what she had broken, but Cassiopeia whimpered in pain as she
skidded to a halt.
Harry had not been idle in the interim.
He swept up the fog he had created and sent it towards the prone woman who
didn’t appear to be concerned until she caught sight of the men that had
accompanied her.
They were dead, each with green and black veins bulging prominently on the
surface of their skin.
Poisoned, but Nicholas couldn’t be certain what from.
Nonetheless, the woman that had seemingly come to kill him and Perenelle
decided to cut her losses and fumbled for a portkey.
She vanished as the cloud fell upon her and Harry cursed under his breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, taking Nicholas by the shoulders.
“Where’s Perenelle?”
“We are fine, Harry,” Nicholas assured the young man, offering him a smile of
gratitude. “I knew you would come for us. I knew my faith hadn’t been
misplaced. He’s here, isn’t he?”
Harry nodded.
“I need to get back to Paris. I want you and Perenelle to take this portkey, it
will take you to my house. I will be there as soon as I can. Please, don’t be a
stubborn old git, Nick. Do as I ask.”
Nicholas offered Harry a sad smile.
“You’re a good boy, Harry,” he said sincerely, accepting the portkey. “I will lock
the house down and we will leave.”
“Good,” Harry replied. “Keep him out of trouble,” he added to Perenelle as she
joined them.
With that Harry was gone, as always shouldering a burden he shouldn’t have.
“He came,” Perenelle said simply.
“Did you expect anything less?”
Perenelle shook her head.
“No, of course not,” she replied fondly, “but it warms me to know he thinks so
highly of us without any expectations.”
“He’s a good boy,” Nicholas reiterated. “Now, come along. He may think highly
of us, but I don’t imagine he’d be best pleased if we hung around here longer
than necessary.”
“Must we leave, Nicholas?”
“It is no longer safe for us to be here. If Grindelwald is victorious tonight, it will
be even less so.”
 (Break)
The men in red robes were causing havoc, their fire spells serving only to
separate the two fighting forces on opposing sides of the street. William,
however, did not have time to focus on them.
He was locked in a fierce duel with Perseus Black.
The young man was competent, better than most his own age, but he lacked
experience.
Evidently, the Lord Black had not seen fit to prepare his heir sufficiently.
William’s own father had not been so negligent and had spent many, many
hours with him the in the basement at Potter manor.
Henry Potter had been a taskmaster and had put his son through his paces.
William sidestepped a sickly orange curse sent his way before returning fire
with a particularly nasty severing curse.
Black shielded it, but he was beginning to wane, his technique becoming
sloppy.
Noticing this, William pressed the advantage, his attack becoming relentless.
Spell after spell left his wand, and Black struggled to keep them at bay,
stumbling as he was forced backwards.
Before he could bring his wand to bear once more, he was hit with four spells,
one after the other, and he collapsed to the ground, his wand falling from his
grasp.
In that moment, William felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he watched the
young man thrash around in agony, blood spilling from a mortal wound; a hole
that had been punched cleanly through his throat.
The Potter lord wanted nothing more than to look away, but he couldn’t.
He’d wanted to kill Perseus Black, that he wouldn’t deny, but not in such a
violent manner.
It brought him no joy to see the fool suffer so much.
After what felt like hours but could only have been mere seconds, the former
Black heir fell still and moved no more.
“WILLIAM!” a familiar voice shouted in panic as he breathed a sigh of relief,
pleased that his suffering was over.
William felt something slam into his back, and he crashed to the pavement
with the wind knocked from his lungs.
At first, he thought the warmth he felt was emanating from the burning
buildings around him, and it wasn’t until he tried to draw breath that he
realised how wrong he was.
He coughed and immediately tasted iron as his mouth filled with blood, the
very same that was pooling around him.
What had hit him.
With a groan of agony, he managed to turn enough to see a gleeful face
looking at him triumphantly, though the triumph faded as a roar of fury
sounded.
Everything became muffled for William as he felt himself weaken but he was
certain everything grew suddenly brighter behind the closed lids of his eyes.
He needed to rest and only wished to close them for a moment, just long
enough that he could catch his breath once more.
(Break)
Harry returned to Paris to find most of the city aflame, with more corpses
littering the pavement. He needed only to follow the trail of bodies to lead him
back to where the fighting was taking place with just as much vigour as when
he’d left.
Oddly, although most of the men were fighting, there was a pocket on each
side watching a duel, and Harry arrived in time to see William Potter send a
man sprawling with a flurry of spells.
Whoever it was did not die well, but Harry did not have time to dwell on that.
In his periphery, he caught sight of a pale form with pale hair taking aim at
William’s back, a purple spell marred with flecks of yellow being sent towards
him.
“WILLIAM!” Harry shouted, his attempt to shield the man from the attack not
coming quickly enough.
A gout of blood erupted from the Potter lord’s back as he slammed hard to the
ground.
Harry was shocked, but it gave way to a familiar feeling of seeing another he
cared so much for dying in front of his eyes, a feeling that was reminiscent of
the night Bellatrix had murdered Sirius.
With a primitive roar of unbridled fury, he turned towards Grindelwald, whose
smirk fell.
“CRUCIO!” Harry spat.
He was no longer a fifteen-year-old boy who could not muster the willpower to
harm another in such a way.
Now, Harry was a man, and the hatred he felt for Gellert Grindelwald fuelled
the spell, and were it to land, he would have revelled in the man’s suffering.
Gellert, however, was much too cunning to be caught out by such a trivial
thing.
Seizing one of his followers, he pulled the man into the path of the spell, and a
bloodcurdling scream rent the air.
Harry released the spell, his jaw tightening as Grindelwald smirked at him once
more and turned to walk away.
“No you don’t!” Harry growled.
His rage continued to pump through his veins as the fighting amongst those
that refused to give any quarter went on, fighting whilst William Potter lay
dying amongst them.
With his eyes firmly on the retreating form of Grindelwald, Harry twirled
before pushing his arms outwards.
The surrounding fires flared brightly, taking on a green and golden hue.
Grindelwald paused and turned to look at him once more, his eyes widening as
a piercing shriek cut through the sounds of battle.
From the many infernos, fiery birds burst forth followed by enormous
serpents, hissing the fury of their conjurer.
They swept and descended upon Harry’s enemies, engulfing many in flames as
Grindelwald did his utmost to snuff them, but even the great Gellert
Grindelwald could not extinguish so many.
“Lad, you need to stop it!” Gabriel commanded. “You’ll kill us all!”
His words fell on deaf ears, the heat of the flames and icy magic running
through Harry’s veins as unyielding as one another.
“YOU NEED TO STOP!” Moody repeated, shaking Harry by the shoulders.
Once more he was ignored as Harry’s gaze burned into Grindelwald who was
fighting desperately now, urging his men to regroup with him.
They did so, the cowards apparating away at his behest and the man shooting
Harry a final look of anger before he followed suit, eliciting a hiss of displeasure
from the younger man.
With Harry failing to listen to reason, Gabriel too thought it better that the ICW
forces retreat.
It was too dangerous to remain here any longer as more and more of the city
went up in flames.
In only a matter of moments, Harry was left alone with the dead and dying and
he lowered his wand, falling to his knees from sheer exhaustion.
“William,” he muttered, crawling to where he had seen the be man cut down.
“William!”
He turned the man over, giving a watery chuckle as his eyes fluttered open.
“Harry?” he wheezed, his breathing laboured and skin unhealthily pale.
“Come on, we need to get you out of here,” Harry urged.
William attempted to sit up, but it was no good. He had lost too much blood
and he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore.
He couldn’t feel anything, not even the pain he’d been experiencing only
moments before.
“I can’t,” William snorted humourlessly.
“You have to!” Harry pleaded, attempting to pull the man to his feet.
The pain returned and William grimaced, his legs collapsing beneath him.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s too late,” he choked, his eyelids feeling heavy once more.
He needed to rest. He’d be fine after a rest.
“William?” Harry called, shaking the man.
There was no response, and his head hung limply to one side.
“William!” Harry tried again.
Try as he may, Harry had seen enough death to know when someone was no
longer there, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept what had happened.
William Potter was dead, and all Harry could do was cling to the body of his
great grandfather as Paris burned around him, the explosions that followed
shortly afterwards not even heard by the young man through the grief that had
taken hold of him.