HP: Night of the Wolf

In the dozen years that Ivan Federov had been the head of the Department of Justice for the ICW, he had never attended a gathering so tense, so animated, nor so pivotal to the future of the wizarding world.

Still, as important as it was, he had his doubts that it would be fruitful.

Memories here were as long as the bills that were drafted, and until Grindelwald moved towards seizing control of one of the major member countries, the collective body would do little to prevent his movements.

They would blow hot air, make promises they had no intention of keeping, and ultimately leave him to operate within the restrictions already in place.

To Ivan, it was not acceptable, but he was acutely aware that there was little to be done.

Until firm action was needed, the ICW would do nothing.

Trailing his gaze around the members in attendance, he could not miss the empty seats. Though few, this was only the beginning of what he believed to be many more absentees in the future.

It was not a coincidence that the 'liberation' of a country at the hands of Grindelwald resulted in the apparent withdrawal of that nation from these chambers.

Austria was the latest to not attend, and the news on that front was unsettling, just as much as the unexpected absence of the German representative.

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of the Chief Mugwump crashing his gavel atop his podium.

"I call to order this gathering of the International Confederation of Warlocks dated March 18th, 1938," he declared, his expression grim. "Before we begin, I have received a letter from Albert Klose, our German representative, that I will read aloud."

Federov frowned as he released a laboured breath.

This would not be good news.

'To my esteemed colleagues,' the Chief Mugwump began. 'It is with a heavy heart that I pass on these words, but I feel that it is no longer possible to delay them. My country is gripped by a contagious madness, and as such, the people, wizards, and muggles alike, have been infected with it. I, in good conscience, cannot be swept up in the furore for what is happening goes against all I stand for.

The muggle leader is a monster, having those he deems in unworthy carted off to camps where they are killed in droves, or put to work for his vision of a greater Germany.

I know that we do not involve ourselves in the affairs of muggles, but I fear that it will soon be too late.

As is customary, the Austrian was informed of our existence when he took up office, and his attention is turning to us to solve his problems. Thus far, our government has resisted, but there is a movement that wishes for us to break the Statute of Secrecy, and it is slowly beginning to gain traction.

I believe that sooner or later, it is inevitable that they will be successful.

Already I have received threats against myself and my wife and have taken the decision to go into hiding for our safety.

I am at a loss as to what to do. I am torn between being a once proud German and being sickened by what I know is happening to my people.

I am terrified of what the future holds and implore you to take the necessary steps of intervening with haste.

Yours in good faith,

Albert Klose'

When he was finished, the Chief Mugwump folded up the parchment and place it in his robes, those within the room seemingly in a state of shock.

"What nonsense," the Italian representative snorted derisively. "What proof does he offer?"

"Behave yourself, Sylvio. We have known Albert for years. Why would he lie?" the French representative asked.

The man had every right to be concerned.

"We have, but is it not possible that he is being hysterical? Many of our countries have gone through quite significant changes recently, my own included," Sylvio replied. "The Russians have to, and the Spanish are at war with themselves as we speak. We are in times of change, and it is merely Germany's turn. It will settle."

The Frenchman shook his head in response, and Ivan did not agree with the Italian.

He cleared his throat loudly to garner the attention of the room.

"Mr Federov, you have some thoughts on the matter?" the Chief Mugwump questioned.

Federov nodded as he stood.

"I wish I could be as positive about the situation as Sylvio, but I do not believe he is correct in this instance. The Germans are showing no signs of settling, if anything, they are gearing up for war."

"And what proof do you have of this?" Sylvio demanded.

"I think the proof can be found in what we have seen," Federov returned. "They have already broken the treaty they signed less than three decades ago. They have formed an army and have now annexed Austria. Britain and France cannot be seen to allow these breaches to continue. The world will look to them to act, and they will. It may not be today, but the fighting will begin soon."

The Italian waved him off dismissively.

"Again, there is no proof of this!"

"That is where you are wrong," Ivan replied. "I have an agent in Germany who has reported some very worrying findings. He believes without doubt that the Germans want war."

"An agent?" Sylvio scoffed. "You mean one of your Hit-Wizards?"

Federov nodded.

"The Serpent has not let us down," he pointed out. "He killed Caputo, did he not?"

The Italian grumbled unhappily, but Ivan cut him off before he could speak.

"He captured Laurent and his entire gang, and recently Karl Katz. I thought he was the best man to give the job to observe the Germans. I am expecting a full report from him in the coming days."

"And what if his report is as damning as Albert's own accusations?" the Canadian representative asked.

"Then nothing," Sylvio snorted. "We do not interfere in the affair of muggles. We never have, and we will not now."

"But what if the Germans have broken the Statute of Secrecy?" Ivan pressed.

"Until we have definitive proof that has happened, then there is nothing to be done," the Chief Mugwump said firmly. "As unpleasant and undesirable the prospect of the muggles going to war is, it is not our concern and unless the wizarding population of Germany are proven to be taking an active part, it is not our place to act."

Ivan mumbled his displeasure to himself whilst the Italian looked to be very pleased by the declaration.

"I would have a copy of the expected report and will decide if there is any point of discussion to be had amongst ourselves," the Chief Mugwump added.

"Of course," Ivan agreed, already suspecting the man will do all he can to avoid raising the topic unless necessary.

"Now, is there any other business?"

When nothing was forthcoming, he crashed his gavel on the podium for a final time.

"Then I draw this gathering to a close with the prospect of meeting in the coming weeks to discuss the findings of Federov and the Department of Justice."

Ivan offered the Chief Mugwump a bow before taking his leave of the room, hoping beyond hope that Evans came up with something they could work with.

He had no reason to doubt the words of Klose. Something suspicious had been going on in Germany for years, and already, the ICW was more than half a decade behind.

Even if they did decide to intervene, there was a chance it would be too late.

Whilst Hitler had risen to prominence and then power, Grindelwald had been on his own ascension, and Ivan could not help but think he would one day be fighting an uphill battle to put an end to whatever ambitions he had.

"Come on Evans," he muttered.

It was unlikely that anything short of a declaration of war would spur the ICW into action, but if there was any hope of a timely intervention to what was happening across the continent, Evans would need to come up with something very convincing.

Ivan shook his head.

No. Regardless of what Evans produced for him and consideration from the powers that be, it wouldn't matter.

Only more excuses would follow and then heads would be buried in the sand until the world began to burn around them.

"Shit," Federov muttered simply.

(Break)

Harry had never seen so many people gathered as he was witnessing in Berlin. Thousands upon thousands had lined the streets to greet their leader as he arrived back from his successful venture into Austria having sealed the sought alliance, and the Germans loved him for it.

The cheers were deafening, the little swastika flags they waved vigorously dwarfed by the enormous ones that hung proudly from the famous architecture, but equally carrying the enthusiasm of a nation.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

Did the people not know what their leader was doing? Were they unaware of the treatment some of the citizens here were receiving?

In the days that he had been here, Harry had heard little mention of any of it. The public didn't talk about the labour camps that had been set up to house the Jews and other undesirables, or the prisons being full of those that were considered political enemies.

Harry had seen Dachau and though he was under strict orders to not intervene no matter what he learned he had been sorely tempted. The men held there were enduring the greatest of cruelties daily and the people didn't care, or if they did, they showed no sign of it.

For years they had been manipulated to turn on the Jews, to see them as the enemy within their own borders, and most were simply happy to be rid of them.

They hadn't considered where they had gone or what had been done with them. The Jews were no longer here, not visibly at least, and that's all that mattered.

He watched the soldiers that formed the front line of the spectators as they snapped to attention, their arms held straight and aloft to those of the convoy that began rolling through the city centre.

Car after car in formation passed, at the head of which stood a man in the rear of the vehicle, his small stature and infamous moustache unmistakable.

This was Adolf Hitler, and Harry fought the urge to reach for his wand.

With a single spell, he could derail the German plans, but that would leave him a wanted man, and cause changes that he could not even begin to fathom in this moment.

Instead, he watched as Hitler waved to his adoring supporters, the man safe in the knowledge that his enemies here were either dead or incarcerated at his behest.

Seemingly, the man had an ego and stood for several moments to simply revel in the reception he'd received. It wasn't until he was ushered into the Reichstag building that the crowd quietened, all eagerly looking towards the windows of to get another glimpse of their leader.

He appeared again around fifteen minutes later on the topmost level, offering a salute as a microphone was placed in front of him.

The crowd fell eerily silent as he began to speak animatedly, his rather frantic gesturing and tone of voice engrossing his audience.

Harry had seen enough, and his retreat went unnoticed by the enraptured men and women of Germany.

When he reached an alleyway that was not overrun with citizens, he gave a final look towards the Reichstag, to the little man that would ultimately be the death of many, and reluctantly disapparated to report his findings, already with the knowledge that nothing would be done.

"I'm here to see Federov," he said to the woman who usually received the prisoners brought in by the Hit-Wizards.

She nodded and tapped her desk in the same fashion she had when Harry had returned with Karl Katz, and a visibly troubled Federov arrived a few moments later.

"Come with me," he instructed.

Harry followed the man through the door situated behind the desk, and soon found himself in the office of his superior.

Federov looked tired, as though he was carrying a great weight upon his shoulders.

"Help yourself to some coffee, Evans," he urged. "I would offer you something stronger, but I do not drink whilst on duty, even if the occasion calls for it."

Harry nodded his understanding and accepted the invitation.

Warming his hands with his full mug, he waited for Federov to speak.

"The ICW still refuses to act," he sighed.

"Did you expect anything less?"

Federov shook his head.

"No, but I had hoped with what happened in Austria there would be a sense of urgency to do so. Even after the German's letter was read, they were mostly unmoved. The French less so than the others but only because they are probably close to the top of the list of who the Germans will look to attack first once they have consolidated their power."

"That is very likely," Harry agreed, "but not for some time yet. As powerful as the Germans are, they are not ready to invade a country like France. They will look elsewhere first."

He did not remember the fine details of his muggle school education, but he did know that France suffered greatly under the German ambitions, but not before others.

"You mean the countries that Grindelwald is exerting himself in?"

"It would follow the current trend, and he has only made it easier for them. I expect the Germans will move onto Czechoslovakia next and the surrounding countries whilst establishing treaties and alliances with as many of those that could be a threat to them."

Federov snorted.

"I didn't realise you were a military genius. What makes you think that's what he'll do?"

"Because despite what we think of him, he is a cunning man that does not lack intelligence."

Federov released a deep breath and conceded the point with a nod.

"You know, I like you Evans, but you seem to only bring me unsettling news…"

"And wanted criminals," Harry interjected.

"That too, but please tell me that it is not all doom and gloom from what you have observed."

Harry deflated slightly.

"I wish that I could," he murmured, "but it is worse than I could have imagined."

Federov cursed in his native tongue and gestured for him to continue.

"The muggles have been manipulated by the current regime. Most stand behind Hitler, and those that don't have been silenced. He has set up labour camps where he keeps political dissidents and the Jews he has removed from the population."

"How draconian," Federov huffed.

"It's worse than it appears," Harry sighed. "All of the people in them are of working age. No young children and no elderly. What do you suppose he has done with them?"

Federov's eyes widened.

"Surely not!"

Harry nodded grimly.

"I observed one of these camps, and it is little more than a den of cruelty. The muggle prisoners often drop from exhaustion, from lack of food, and being overworked. They are beaten until they get back to their feet. Many don't."

Federov's expression was one of shock mingled with despair.

Harry had not expected these places to be happy ones full of people being held in reasonable conditions, but he had been sickened by what he had seen.

Death was not so much a stranger to him. He had seen enough of it with his own eyes and through the dreams he had of what Tom had once done. He had even taken lives with his own wand and hands, but nothing could have prepared him for the depravity of Dachau.

"I do not know for certain what has been done with the children nor elderly, but I think it is safe to assume that they have been dealt with in accordance with the will of those in charge."

"Bastards!" Federov seethed.

Harry nodded his agreement.

"Worst of all is that we are powerless to help them, well as far as the Statute of Secrecy declares," he explained.

"There is no sign of wizard involvement?"

Both Harry and Federov had hoped there was. If it could be proven that wizards were involved, they would be able to intervene.

"None whatsoever," Harry confirmed.

Federov placed his head in his hands.

"Then there is nothing to be done until such a time there is," he mumbled unhappily.

"Then I will keep returning as much as I can until I can prove it," Harry assured him. "We may be restricted by the Statute, but there is nothing stopping us being vigilant with our suspicions."

Federov offered him a grateful smile.

"I would feel much easier if you would. I too will make my own inquiries but do be careful Evans. These are amongst the most dangerous people on the planet, and I would not have either of us take unnecessary risks. I understand your eagerness to help them, but we must not forget that first and foremost, Grindelwald is our main concern. Without us opposing him, there is no one. If he were to seize the advantage, there's no telling how much worse things will get."

"I know," Harry replied, "but that doesn't mean we can't stay abreast of what is happening. I think the two will eventually become interconnected, and when they do, we will no longer be restricted by our own laws."

"But Grindelwald will do all he can to keep it hidden," Federov pointed out. "This could well be that advantage we fear him taking."

Harry had no doubt the man was right, but what could be done about it?

"Do we know where he is?"

Federov shook his head.

"I received a report notifying me that he left Austria almost two months ago, but nothing since. I expect he is keeping a low profile until he is ready to act again."

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

"I will see what I can come up with," he decided. "I think keeping tabs on him is the most important thing we can do."

"It is, but for now, you will go and rest," Federov instructed. "Take a week to refresh yourself and then we will get back at it. For now, little will happen, not until this Hitler or Grindelwald make their next move, something that we can do little to prevent."

"For now," Harry agreed firmly.

Federov nodded approvingly, taking Harry's hand in his own before shaking it.

"For now."

(Break)

Throughout all the months he had spent here, Orion had still yet to lay eyes on his eldest daughter. Cassiopeia had been the apple of his eye, and often, he found himself wishing she had been born a son.

She was cunning, her wit as sharp as any, and her wand sharper still.

Had she been a boy, she would have made a magnificent head of the family.

Orion had once dreamed of marrying her off to any eligible, would-be lord of his choice, but it had never happened. Cassiopeia was too headstrong, too independent to allow herself to be matched.

It had been a source of frustration for the Black patriarch, but he had been equally proud of the girl.

She was far too good to good for any that could be considered a suitor.

Both of his daughters were.

"Lord Black are you still with us?" the voice of Gellert broke into his thoughts.

Orion shook his head, frowning in confusion.

He didn't remember arriving here.

He had been in his rooms when the thoughts of his daughters began, but now he wasn't.

"I am," he answered quickly. "I was just thinking of when I might see my Cassie?"

Gellert exchanged an odd look with Perseus.

"Lord Black, you asked me that very question only a few minutes ago. Don't you remember? I explained that she is on a very important errand for me in England, and that she will return in due course. When she does, you will see her."

Had he asked such a question?

"Of course, of course," Orion said dismissively. "My apologies Gellert, I am more tired than I thought. If I am not needed, I will return to my rooms."

Gellert offered him an understanding smile and nod.

"Rest, my friend," he urged. "It has been a very busy time for us all, and your weariness is forgiven."

"Thank you," Orion replied before taking his leave of the study, eying the maps adorning the walls curiously.

What had happened over the past weeks?

Orion couldn't be sure, but he knew that he was in the right place.

Never in his life had he been so full of confidence at the success of a venture he had opted to be part of.

No, he would be as right as rain back in Britain with enough rest, and then, he could once more be an asset to Gellert.

(Break)

"Your father's condition worsens."

Perseus could only nod his agreement as he watched his sire leave the room.

Arcturus had mentioned the lord of their family was deteriorating but Perseus had not believed him. Orion Black had always been slightly unhinged, mumbling to himself on occasion, but nothing like this.

It was becoming common for the man to forget himself, for his memory to fail him, and for him to become lost in his own mind.

Orion had never been a particularly doting father, but it saddened Perseus to see him this way.

"He will be cared for," Gellert said reassuringly. "I do not know what is ailing him, but he will receive only the best help."

"Thank you," Perseus said gratefully. "I still do not think that it is wise to send Cassie to England. Arcturus will not be pleased to see her."

"If she chooses to visit your brother whilst there, that is her choice. I have sent her to complete a task."

"The Serpent?"

Gellert nodded.

"He is English, I have no doubt of that, but who, I do not know," he sighed. "Weber has never failed me until now. This man has caused problems, and I would have him dealt with."

"Did you send her to kill him?"

"No," Gellert promised. "I sent her to see if she could find any who may be our man. I will kill him myself when the time is right."

"When the time is right?" Perseus questioned.

"When it suits me to do so. A man like him would be prepared for an ambush at his home or anywhere even. I would like to speak with him before he is dead, to hear his final words. A worthy foe deserves a worthy end, Perseus."

"You admire him."

"I admire his skill and potential," Gellert corrected. "He is young, and so far, inexperienced, yet already he has proven capable. I would give him his plaudits along with my teachings."

"Your teachings?"

"That no matter how mighty one may become with their wand, there will always be a mightier man with a mightier wand."

Gellert grasped the shaft of the deathstick.

Already, even his most loyal and devout followers whispered of their fear of The Serpent, his reputation preceding him. The only viable option was for the man to meet his demise so that the fear was no longer present.

Fear could be a powerful tool, a powerful enemy even, but it was something Gellert had done without.

One could neither conquer nor rule by fear, not with any longevity.

No, those that were to be subjugated must realise that they were not being so, that they were acting by their own will and have another to look to for guidance.

Gellert prided himself on being the wolf to his enemies, but to the sheep he gathered, he was their shepherd, their guide towards a better future.

A future where the muggles would be at the behest of wizards and that he and his own kind would no longer have to hide form their counterparts.

Muggles were too dangerous to be left unchecked.

It was in their best interest to become a part of the flock.

"For the greater good," he murmured to himself, his eyes glancing towards his maps and the efforts he had been making for the past several years.

"For the greater good," Perseus parroted. "So, what now?"

Gellert smiled at the young man's eagerness as he stood.

"For now, we wait for the muggles to catch up. We have paved the way for them to expand their territories, and then, we begin again. This is not a sprint nor is it a whimsical undertaking, Perseus. It may take us many years to achieve what we wish to, but those years will be well spent. It just so happens that we have reached a pinnacle and we must exercise patience. Our time will come, that you can be assured of."

Perseus was.

Gellert had yet to steer him wrong.

"Dark years may lie ahead of us, but already there is a silver-lining for us to venture towards. Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"Then trust that I know that the most productive thing we can do is bide our time. For now, I would see that our recruits are trained. Until Cassie returns, I leave you in charge of this."

Perseus stood and nodded enthusiastically.

"I will begin immediately."

"Very good," Gellert praised, pouring himself a glass of wine.

The men that had pledged themselves to him would need to be readied, after all. War would be upon them soon enough, and he would not be defeated because he had failed to prepare for the fighting.

The countries he had subjugated thus far had fallen with little resistance, but there would be those that would not do so easily. There would be resistance, there would be blood spilled, and Gellert would be remiss in his duties if he did not have men prepared to fight and die.

The elder wand itself was not unbeatable as the legend foretold, but in his hands, it was just as good as.

But it was only he that possessed it. His men were still only men who could fall like his enemies, after all.

(Break)

She sat so brazenly, poised, and even having the temerity to smile at him before sipping her drink. Arcturus narrowed his eyes at his older sister, not wanting to have believed the letter he'd received explaining that she would be here, and that she expected him to join her.

Brazen indeed.

"Hello Archie," Cassie greeted him, standing and kissing him delicately on the cheek, a gesture that belied her nature.

"What do you want?" Arcturus asked simply, ignoring her pet-name for him whilst they had been children.

"My, you have grown into a man," she replied approvingly. "I wish to visit with my brother. I was hoping you would bring Dorea."

"She is in school," Arcturus returned, taking the seat opposite his sister. "Let's cut out the bollocks, Cassie, you're not here to see me. You've had years to do that and not once bothered even writing."

Cassie nodded unashamedly.

"Perseus did say you were quite bitter," she sighed, "only his visit was much more hostile."

"Because Perseus is a fucking moron who only left to follow you," Arcturus huffed. "What you did didn't surprise me, but him, he's not bright enough to have come up with it himself."

"I may have mentioned my intentions to him," Cassiopeia admitted, "but he took no convincing. He insisted on joining me."

"And left Dorea and I to handle the fallout."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic Archie," Cassie snorted.

"Dramatic? Surely even someone as self-centred as you can't have missed how much he has changed? Ever since mother passed away, he has only gotten worse, and even more so after you left."

Cassiopeia frowned.

"I haven't seen him," she admitted.

"You haven't seen him?" Arcturus chuckled humourlessly. "He has been there for the best part of two years, how haven't you seen him?"

"Because I have been indisposed."

"You mean doing grunt work for your master?"

Cassie's nostrils flared and Arcturus knew he had touched a nerve.

"Gellert is not my master," she whispered harshly. "I choose to follow him because he will bring about the changes we sorely need."

"By enslaving the muggles?"

Cassie tutted.

"Gellert's plans go far beyond simply taking control of the muggles. He does not wish them to suffer, only for them to comply with our will, for the greater good."

Arcturus laughed.

"A rehearsed load of drivel if I've ever heard it," he declared. "But what if other countries refuse. The British won't accept what he is doing, and nor will many others. I doubt Grindelwald is one to be deterred so easily. That would mean war, and you would play your part in the death of your own people? Those that are friends and allies to our house?"

"This is bigger than our family, Arcturus," Cassie hissed. "This is about the world as we know it."

Arcturus nodded his understanding.

"Then I will tell you the same that I told Perseus. You will get no support from me, and I will do everything in my power to ensure you get none from anyone here. I know what happens in the countries under his control, and I will not allow that to happen to our people or to our little sister."

Cassie released a deep breath.

"Then that is a choice that you must live with, Archie. I just hope you see sense before it is too late."

"I could say the same for you, but you will not. You're a stubborn fool who has made a stupid decision that will haunt you. Mark my words Cass, it will be your choices that have displeasing consequences for your lot."

Cassie nodded thoughtfully.

"Then I suppose we will have to agree to disagree," she murmured. "If is to be the last time I see you Archie, I do not wish for it to be on poor terms. Despite your decision, you are still my brother, and I would like to look back on this with fondness. Can you do that for me?"

"I will do it for myself," Arcturus returned, "and mourn for the vibrant, brilliant sister I admired during my childhood. Not for the mindless, brainwashed fool she has become."

Cassie grinned as she raised her glass towards her brother.

"Now, why don't you tell me why you are really here?" Arcturus pressed. "We may be on different sides of this conflict, but it would certainly make more interesting dinner conversation than listening about Perseus whining or father's failing health."

(Break)

Minerva had never seen Harry in such a state. Even after what had transpired in Austria, when he had killed a man with only his hands, he had not been so affected. Here, in this moment, he was filled with despair, his eyes brimming with the guilt he felt.

"Leaving all those people there, that is the worst thing I have ever done," he mumbled.

At a loss at what else to do, Minerva wrapped her arms around him.

"What other choice did you have?"

"I could have saved them," Harry replied. "I could have killed the guards and set them free."

"Only for them to be hunted again," Minerva pointed out. "Only for you to become a fugitive yourself."

Harry released a laboured breath as he nodded.

"I know you're right, but it doesn't change how I feel about it," he sighed. "I know that I have to be careful, that this isn't something that can be solved overnight."

"And you being on the run for a single act when there are so many suffering will only prevent you helping them when the time comes. I won't pretend to understand what you're going through, but I know you, Harry. The reason you care so much is because you're a good person."

"Even if I have to kill others?" he asked.

Minerva offered him a wan smile.

"Even then," she said reassuringly. "You kill to protect yourself and others from what is happening out there."

Harry nodded.

"Maybe one day I will tire of the need to be the way I am," he shrugged. "Maybe I will have the chance to just live."

"You will," Minerva replied sincerely.

Harry snorted as he stood from the below the tree they had been seated against beside the lake.

"Come on, I did promise you lunch," he reminded her. "The Broomsticks?"

Minerva nodded and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"You know, if lunch is going to become a regular thing, we should probably try other places," Harry suggested.

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course," Harry chuckled, though it was a little hollow, "but for today, I fancy a bit of the treacle tart they serve in Hogsmeade. What? It's good," he added as an eyebrow was raised in his direction.

Minerva shook her head amusedly, following Harry as he apparated away when they passed through the school gates.

With spring now in its' infancy, the winter chill had passed, though it was still not warm. Harry may have gotten used to the cold being in the countries he had visited, but Minerva still felt it.

As a native Scot, she should perhaps be used to it now, but her years hiding from it in a warm castle, only venturing out to play Quidditch had taken away her immunity to it.

"At least it's quiet in here," Harry said, breaking into her thoughts.

It was.

Only three tables were occupied, one by a young man that was unmistakable. Arcturus Black would be recognisable in the biggest of crowds.

He and Harry shared a respectful nod, a strange gesture from one as prejudice as a Black, but Harry was seemingly held in some esteem by him.

At the exchange, the woman accompanying Arcturus turned to see who had entered and Minerva frowned.

She was a beautiful woman, older than herself and with the same aristocratic features of the boy. She too must be a Black. The expression of disapproval sent their way certainly attested to it.

"Do you know these people, Archie?" she asked haughtily.

"I do," Arcturus confirmed. "The lovely young lady is Minerva McGonagall, a prodigy in transfiguration and the only person ever to be apprenticed under Albus Dumbledore."

"That is quite impressive," the woman acknowledged, her eyes narrowing at the mention of Minerva's mentor. "And the young man? He looks quite impressive himself."

Arcturus nodded.

"He would be Harry Evans, the only person other than father I know to send the Malfoys running for the hills with their tails between their legs. He is something of an expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Ha! The Malfoys have always been snivelling cowards," the woman said dismissively. "I didn't think you'd resorted as low as to cavort with mudbloods."

"Evans is a half-blood…"

"I fail to see the difference."

"…and is the nephew of Nicholas Flamel."

The woman's eyes widened in surprise.

"Is that so?" she asked interestedly, offering Harry a speculative look. "Are you sure he's not one of ours? He shares a lot of similarities with the Blacks. Not the eyes though. I suppose they came from the muggle side."

Arcturus offered them an apologetic look.

"Evans is not one of us, a fact that has long been established. Did you think I would not have noticed the resemblance? I am not as dim as Perseus."

"And who is this rather unpleasant woman?" Harry asked, provoking a glare from the chuckling Arcturus's companion.

"I always knew you were a good judge of character, Evans. This would be my older sister, Cassiopeia."

Judging by the look of knowing Harry wore, he had heard of her at the very least.

"Forgive me if I don't apologise," he replied.

"Oh, he is interesting," Cassiopeia declared. "You must join us for lunch. I insist," she added, seeing that both Harry and Arcturus were going to protest.

Reluctantly, Harry nodded, and Minerva took a seat at the table, preparing herself for a thoroughly awkward meal.

"We were just discussing my time on the continent," Cassiopeia explained, ignoring the tension that had settled over them. "Just recently, there has been rumours of a parselmouth having arrived. I even heard that he killed a man with his bare hands," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Minerva felt Harry stiffen next to her. She frowned, but the following words from Cassiopeia gave her all she needed to know.

"Apparently, he is a Hit-Wizard employed by the ICW. Sorry, do you even know what a parselmouth is? It is a rare talent."

"It is a person with the ability to converse with snakes," Harry answered with a shrug.

"Oh, you are impressive for a half-blood," Cassiopeia gushed, "but this man is proving it is more than that. It is also a branch of magic unique to speakers. And there was me thinking the Gaunts were nothing more than boring and inbred."

Arcturus snorted.

"From what I saw of Morfin, he is certainly the latter, none too bright, and a complete lunatic," he grumbled.

"Morfin Gaunt?" Harry asked.

He knew that name, but didn't remember where he had heard it? Had he ever heard it at all?

"The Gaunts are an old pureblood family and the only descendants of the Slytherins that remain, or so I thought," Arcturus explained. "Morfin is what is left of them. He lives in a shack in Little Hangelton."

Harry stiffened once more, and though Minerva was reeling from the shock of what she had already learned, she didn't miss it.

"From what he said, he used to live with his father and sister, but the father died shortly after his last stint in Azkaban, and she ran away more than ten years ago. He hasn't seen her since and expects that she's dead."

"His sister?" Harry asked, a very grim and unpleasant story forming in his mind.

"That would be Merope," Cassiopeia interjected. "No one ever saw her. According to the rumours, she fell in love with a local muggle boy and old Marvolo and Morfin didn't like that. They attacked him and ended up in Azkaban for it."

"Marvolo?" Harry whispered to himself, horrified yet eager to hear more.

"Marvolo Gaunt, he was the father," Cassiopeia informed him.

"They attacked the muggle boy?" Minerva asked.

Cassiopeia nodded.

"A stupid thing to do really, not only because the Ministry took them in immediately, but that family was rich enough to drag them out of the hole they were in. They should have allowed the little wretch to marry him before killing them off at least."

Harry shook his head, beginning to understand where the Blacks' reputation came from.

He thought Walburga had been mad, but Cassiopeia was something else entirely.

"Why the interest in the parselmouth? If the Gaunts are the last of the Slytherin line, he must be related to them some way," he pointed out.

"You would think so, but there is no connection. Even if Merope had a child, it couldn't be any older than eleven or twelve now," Arcturus explained. "I couldn't imagine any woman laying with Morfin, and he said himself that another wayward child from Marvolo was impossible."

"So, he is a mystery."

"He is," Cassiopeia agreed, "an enigma if you will. Never mind, it has just been the subject of discussion across Europe in certain circles."

Harry knew what circles they were, and it all fell into place.

Cassiopeia Black was working with Grindelwald and was looking for him.

Were the other Blacks working with him too?

He wouldn't profess to know Arcturus well, but he didn't seem the kind to do such a thing. Less than a year ago, he'd had his heart set on keeping the peace in Hogwarts so that he could cooperate with the other pureblood families here.

Joining Grindelwald certainly did not lend itself to that end. If anything, it went against everything Arcturus seemingly stood for.

"Anyway, it was merely a conversation we were having," Cassiopeia spoke once more. "Now, I know that you are apprenticing in transfiguration, but what about you Evans? What are you ambitions in life?"

"I'm an investor," Harry replied, his demeanour one of calm and assuredness, so much so that none would detect that his thoughts were a mess of all that had been revealed to him during the course of the past several moments.

Cassiopeia nodded appreciatively and Minerva watched the two converse, her own mind awash with so many questions, so many thoughts about the young man seated next to her.

Eventually, after what felt to be hours, the lunch came to an end when Cassiopeia made her excuses to leave, followed shortly by her unhappy brother who paid the accumulated bill.

Harry and Minerva too allowed them a few minutes to make their way out of the village before they exited the pub.

"She was talking about you, wasn't she?" Minerva asked.

Harry did not even try to deny it.

"She was."

"So, you're a…"

Harry held up a hand to prevent her asking the question but nodded the unneeded confirmation.

"Yes, but it isn't what you think," he assured her. "I'm not related to them, but I now know who Tom Riddle's parents are."

"But how are you…?"

"It was an inherited ability. I will explain to you one day, but for now, I need to get a message to my superior. If Grindelwald has sent her here, he must be determined to find me."

Minerva felt her heart sink.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered.

He offered her an easy smile.

"This isn't new to me," he sighed. "I've spent my whole life with someone or other out to get me. Grindelwald will just be another person in that queue. I will write soon," he promised.

With a kiss on the cheek and another smile, this one not reaching his eyes, he disapparated.

Minerva could only look to where he had been standing, her heart still somewhere in her stomach.

What had begun as Harry choosing a rather dangerous career had quickly evolved into him being rather high up on Grindelwald's hitlist.

Already, she worried for him, and now, she was truly fearful at what might come to pass.

(Break)

"He's dead, it's just me now."

Morfin laughed and Harry felt his fury rise.

How could this be? How could he be related to this man?

"And Merope?"

Morfin shrugged uncaringly.

"The little whore ran away, probably with the muggle filth, but he came back."

It was clear Morfin did not care for his sister and held no affection for the girl.

"Took the locket too. All I have is the ring. That's all that's left of him."

Morfin was mumbling to himself now, looking upon the ring that adorned his finger with reverence.

"Left of who?"

"Of Slytherin himself, you stupid sod!" Morfin hissed, waving the gawdy piece of jewellery under Harry's nose.

"The muggle?" he asked.

"The bloody Riddles in the big house at the top of the road…"

Although Harry was watching the events unfold from his own eyes, he had no control of what he saw.

He could only look on as he stunned and took his uncle's wand and look on as he killed the three muggles in the entrance hall of their home, his father being one of them.

He then returned to the rundown shack where he modified his uncle's memories before returning his wand to him.

It was only when he was leaving that he caught a glance of the family ring and decided that he wanted it for himself. His uncle did not even struggle as he slipped it off his finger and placed it on his own.

With a final laugh, he admired the family relic before disapparating away.

Harry woke in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy as he played the events of his dream over in his mind.

It wasn't the killing that bothered him so much nor that he had been inside Voldemort's mind again.

It was the ring he was focused on.

The feeling of its magic was so familiar, but just to be sure, he retrieved his cloak from under his pillow where he kept it whilst he was at home.

It was the same magic he'd felt wash over him when he'd put the ring on, unlike anything else he'd experienced before.

"The cloak, the wand, the stone… bloody hell."

Surely it could not be that simple?

Many had spent their lives seeking out the hallows, the stories surrounding them growing only more obscure over the centuries.

Could it be that the stone had been with the Gaunts the entire time? Did they know what it was they held?

He shook his head.

No, someone like Morfin Gaunt would have lorded it over all he had come across. He was proud of the ring, and rightly so, but not for the reason he should be.

His reverence stemmed from the fact that it had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, but Harry and many others who knew of the hallows would have been much more impressed that it was one of them.

If such a thing was known, it certainly wouldn't be in the possession of Morfin Gaunt.

Suddenly, he felt himself filled with dread.

He had no doubt that what he witnessed was one of Voldemort's memories, and something that would come to pass if he did nothing.

The Dark Lord had told him himself that he had murdered his muggle family when he had been young, but when did this happen?

Harry knew not, but he did know that there was something else he could deprive his foe of. The ring itself would be quite the acquisition, though having it along with his cloak would pale in comparison to the feeling of knowing he had achieved another victory over Tom.

Now, he just needed to come up with a plan to obtain what he sought.