Theseus shrugged.
"I propose to do what Allaric, Garrick, Sirius and Charlus already do: We build several attack teams and split the parts those within the teams to their abilities. It would also help with training people - we could simply stick them together in groups according to their main abilities or their place in the teams."
Sirius, who had just stepped inside the tent they were in looked at Theseus interestedly.
"That might be a good idea," he said. "Our team actually learned to work better with each other the moment we had determined which part the person in the team is responsible for. It would also help that we could send out some people of the same abilities together if we needed only them to act - like the Oblivators. Not everybody is good with that charm, so training those that are together while ensuring that there's one in every team can only help in the long run…"
Theseus nodded.
Sal frowned and thought it over.
In the end he sighed and nodded as well.
"If that's what you think is best," he said. "Then do it."
He could see the merit of that proposition. He had always had a hard time to ensure he had people working as oblivators for the muggles or as defenders. Maybe it would be good if everybody had a designed place within teams.
He turned to Sirius Black.
"How are you organized in your team?" He asked him, since Sirius and the rest of his people were the only true existing team right now in his group.
Sirius shrugged.
"We strategize together," he said. "In action, Allaric's position is the attack one, Ollivander is oblivating, healing and defending, Charlus and I take down the wards, then Charlus takes over defending and removing the hostages while I join Allaric. It works - so we've kept it."
Sal nodded thoughtfully.
"Would you be willing to train up others like that as well?" He asked. "We also should ensure that those in similar positions can work with each other."
Theseus grinned.
"Sounds good to me," he said. "I'll go and decide on my standard team!"
With that he left the tent.
Sal looked after him with a raised eyebrow, then he turned to Sirius.
The Black-Heir shrugged.
"The Scamanders were always an odd bunch," he said unconcerned. "Quidditch star or not - Theseus wasn't spared in that regard at all."
Sal snorted.
"I noticed," he said dryly and Sirius grinned wryly.
"I'll go and tell my team," he said. "Don't worry - we'll organize training for the others in different positions and ensure that there are small standard teams from now on."
Sal inclined his head.
"I'll write down the names and where they'd fit best," he said. "After all, I'm the one who has the best overview about our people's abilities and who works best with whom."
Sirius smirked and nodded.
"Of course you have," he said. "You are our leader and coordinator, after all!"
With that he sat down his report on the wards he had taken a look at and left to call together his team.
Sal sighed and closed his eyes.
When did he end up as the leader of this particular group and why was it on him to actually put together the facts and plan out the attacks to the last detail?!
He would never get an answer to that particular question, but he would soon at least have an easier time to find Oblivators. The people he had given Ollivander to train, would soon be the best Oblivators within Europe…
Of course, the Scamander's being the Scamanders, they took it a step further and instead of just organizing the Resistance they started to actively recruit people they thought would fit into the existing groups.
Of course, in the end it would come down to Sal to finish every deal they started…
4 th September 1914
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Delacour," Sal was standing on the doorstep of one of the Lords of France. They hadn't met until today, but Sal had gotten a letter from the man, asking him to come to the man's mansion.
The man in question raised an eyebrow at the greeting.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur…" he started, stopping in a hidden inquiry for Sal's name.
"I'm Salvazsahar Malfoire," Sal said, using his current name variation. "You contacted one of my people and asked for a meeting."
At that, understanding filled the other man's eyes.
"That I did, Monsieur Malfoire," he said. "I guess this is about the package I send you?"
There hadn't been a package, but safety questions were a good thing in dark times like currently.
"It is, Monsieur Delacour," Sal said. "I appreciated the wine and thought that I wouldn't be against meeting a connoisseur like you."
The other man inclined his head, his relief barely visible and then stepped aside so that Sal could enter into his house.
The moment they reached Delacour's study, Sal erected some runic wards and then turned to the other man.
"Why did you want to meet me, Monsieur?" He asked the other lord.
"I heard that you were forming a resistance against those people terrorising Europe," the Delacour lord said. "They've been able to kill off more than half of the magical ruling families of Europe by now and -"
"They also tried to do the same with the none-magical," Sal said darkly. "There's a reason why there's currently a war going on in mundane Europe as well as in magical."
The other lord's gaze darkened at that.
"Have you found out who's behind all those attacks?" He asked. "The ministries and ruling bodies of Europe are a mess right now. A lot of them have ceased to function within the last one and a half years. We might not be in a full-blown war right now but -"
"We are at war," Sal interrupted the other lord darkly. "If we call it a war or not, doesn't change the fact that it is a war. People go missing, people are dying and this dark wizard is taking over Europe in a frightening fast and efficient way…"
"And his name?" The Delacour lord asked Sal and Sal closed his eyes.
"There's a rumour that his name is Grindelwald," he said. "No known first name. No known origin. Nothing but that name."
"Grindelwald," the Delacour lord repeated. "Sounds German."
Sal just shrugged.
"I have no way of proving or disproving anything like that," he replied. "He has not gone to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang is refusing to cooperate by opening the list of names of past students for us to look at, nor are they willing to look up the name themselves."
"So… what do you do?" The Delacour lord asked.
Sal sighed at that.
"I'm building strike teams, designed to counter act the attacks. We've been successful -"
"I know," Delacour interrupted him. "I heard about Theseus Scamander."
Sal's lips twitched in amusement at that.
"Well, he's there to be known," he said amused at the disproving glance he was receiving from the Delacour lord. "He's one of our known fighters, after all; one of those who can be approached by anyone if people are looking for help."
The disapproving glance lessened.
"But there's more to you," the other lord guessed and Sal shrugged.
The Delacour's eyes narrowed.
"I want to be part of it," he said. "Whatever else you do - I want to be part of it."
Sal's eyes met the other lords, a slight legimens told the older-but-younger-looking man what he needed to know.
"So be it," he said. "Swear your oath and I will make you part of the resistance."
So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
And so Death took the second brother for his own.
After a thorough discussion of politics, Sal decided that it was time to return to the more important planning - because as important as politics was, there was no way it would help them to storm Nurmengard in the end…
And yet, it was politics that reminded him off one of the more important parts in their planning…
"What about the wards themselves?" Sal asked, looking at his warders and wardbreakers in a change of topic. "How will you know that you can break them? Grindelwald has been known for his surprises when it comes to his wards, after all…"
"Known to us, you mean," Pollux corrected his commander amused. "Nobody else has ever even tried to break one of his wards, after all."
Sal waved it off.
"Doesn't matter," he said. "We know it - more's not of any interest for us."
Sirius Black nodded slowly.
"It isn't," he agreed before looking at his brother, his son and some other members of his family. The last person he looked at was Charlus Potter.
"We're sure that we can curtail whatever he throws at us," he assured Sal. "Even if we can't - we're willing to sacrifice -"
"I don't condone any kind of sacrifice like that, and you know it, Sirius Black!" Sal interrupted the Lord of Black with narrowed eyes. "Either you have a way to pull down the wards safely while knowing what they'll contain or we won't strike now!"
The warders and wardbreakers looked at each other.
In the end, it was the head of the dragon devision, one Newt Scamander, who spoke up.
"I've got a Hungarian Horntail who might be able to find out at least the original planning of the warding of Numengard. This should be enough that we won't be unduly surprised while attacking the heart of Grindelwald's army."
Sal guessed that this was better then nothing. His men had worked with less information about the wards, after all - even if Sal had hated those circumstances with a passion. Things like that had lead to more death than Sal had liked in the past, after all…
May 1915
Ollivander was standing in the middle of a massacre.
His shoulders were slumped and he was tired beyond relief.
A man stepped up next to him and clasped his shoulder.
"This shouldn't have happened," Cygnus Black, one Sirius Black's brother said with tears in his eyes.
Ollivander knew that half of Cygnus' team was lying in front of them, not moving and dead.
"It shouldn't have," Ollivander said tiredly. "But this is war - things like that happen."
The answer was a sniff.
"It still shouldn't have," Cygnus replied while fighting of his tears. "We're… we were good… we were a fabulous team! This shouldn't have happened to us! It shouldn't have!"
Ollivander sighed and then slowly wrapped his hands around the raging man.
"It's war," he said. "And even with our best planning… even with -"
"If Britain would just enter this war already!" Cygnus hissed while his grief turned into fury. "If those idiots from the Wizengamot would just acknowledge that the rest of Europe needs them! If they'd just get up their asses and fight!"
Ollivander sighed.
"You know that there're some who try to make them see reason," he told the other man and Cygnus sneered.
"Yes," he said. "And then wonder-boy says that they're exaggerating and they belief him! Second coming of Merlin - my ass!"
Ollivander shrugged.
"That's politics for you," he pointed out. "There will always be some people who will sit back and hope that the problem will just go away if they refuse to look."
Cygnus snorted.
"And because of them my team is dead," he said icily. "Politics! I hate them!"
With that he freed himself from Ollivander's grasp and stalked off.
The wandmaker just shook his head and looked back at the bodies of the dead.
He could understand Cygnus - but at the same time, he also knew that even without the support from Britain they would give everything to fight the evil that was currently tyrannizing magical Europe…
May 1915
"We've lost twenty-five people to Grindelwald within the last fortnight," Cygnus Black said thirdly and quite bitterly, while entering the tent Sal was currently in.
Sal sighed and closed his eyes.
"I know," he said before turning back to the wounded he was treating.
Cygnus frowned.
"We can't continue like that," he told Sal. "We don't have enough people to weather the storm if we continue like that."
Sal nodded gravely.
"I know," he repeated.
"So…" Cygnus said slowly. "What will we do?"
And Sal wished to bang his head against the wall.
He hated war.
He hated to fight, to battle, to plan - and yet, here he was, in the middle of a war. And he wasn't just part of it… no, to Sal's utter regret he was leading it.
He pinched his nose bridge.
"I don't know," he said tiredly while trying to think up a plan that would not only keep his people safe but also ensure that they somehow stopped Grindelwald before he took over Europe.
"Our main trouble is our missing intelligence," he finally confessed to Cygnus. "If we knew what Grindelwald and his men are doing, we would be able to counter it. The intelligence we have is for the most time simply not enough. With Grindelwald knowing that we're fighting back, he's gotten more and more cunning with each attack. He's winning because we simply can't predict his actions closely enough to not only stop him but to prevent him from destroying us as well."
Cygnus frowned.
"So you're saying that now that he knows we're there, he's ensuring that as much of our people die within each attack, as he can," he concluded darkly.
Sal inclined his head tiredly.
"Exactly," he said and turned back to the wounded. "Regretfully I haven't yet found a way to circumvent his advantages…"
"What about Garrick or Allaric?"
"They have the same trouble," Sal said. "Grindelwald has changed his pattern in favour to unpredictability. It's a clear advantage for him - and sadly enough an also clear disadvantage for us…"
With that he turned back to bandage the cut on his patient's face. While the cut wasn't the worst he had ever seen, it was infused with the dark magic that made it. Sal had cleared it from the spell, but even his abilities weren't enough to ensure that the cut wouldn't scar. At least, with Sal's abilities, the man wouldn't slowly die from the flesh-rotting curse that had imbedded the cut just minutes ago…
"I might have an idea," the man Sal was treating - one Theseus Scamander - spoke up hesitatingly in that moment.
Sal raised an eyebrow at his patient and Theseus shrugged.
"I didn't know about it until today," he elaborated.
Cygnus frowned.
"Know about what?" He asked and Theseus reached inside one of his pockets to remove a letter and hand it to Sal.
"Don't worry," he said. "The sender is as trustworthy as I am."
Cygnus snorted.
"That doesn't mean a lot," he teased.
Theseus grinned and Sal smacked him and admonished him for moving his face muscles while he was working on fixing them.
"Alright," Theseus amended, not even reacting to Sal's admonishment. "You might be onto something there, Cyg."
For a moment he thought about it, then he nodded what gained him another disapproving look from Sal.
"Then he must be trust worthier than I," he concluded. "That better, Cyg?"
The Black rolled his eyes at Theseus and then looked with interest at the letter in his hands.
"What's that letter about?" He asked interestedly.
Theseus grinned and Sal groaned when he destroyed Sal's stitches with that action.
"It's about a possible way to gain intelligence for the Resistance," he said excitedly. "Don't worry, the person who suggested it, has it all planned out. He's really good when it comes to something -"
That was the moment Sal's stupefy hit Theseus straight into his face and the man toppled over and onto the bed.
Cygnus snickered and Sal send him a threatening look.
"If you don't keep silent for the next ten minutes until I have fixed that idiot's face, I will do the same to you," he told the other man right-out and Cygnus Black raised both hands in defeat.
"I go and look for my brother," he said, still half-amused by Sal's reaction while also half-afraid of the other man's threat. "Don't worry! I'm gone!"
With that, he walked back-first out of the hospital tent, clearly not willing to remove his eyes from the annoyed healer inside it.
Sal rolled his eyes and removed his old stitches to begin again.
At least this time around, stunned Theseus Scamander didn't move a muscle at all…
May 1915
Sal was sitting in a shabby pub in the middle of Germany, in a little town near a nice city called Würzburg. The city itself only had a small wizarding community and most people weren't even aware of the fact that some wizards were living in that city. Being in a town near the city meant that even fewer wizards were near there even if the pub was a wizarding one.
The table he had chosen was in the darkest corner of the room and he had surrounded it with a runic ward that would hide the conversations he chose to have from prying eyes.
He was waiting for a man he had never met, but had been contacted by just the day before. Of course it was a risk coming here, but he knew the man's brother and with the runic ward he had full control in that place of the room. The risk was reasonable for him. Sal had decided to take it.
"Have you been waiting for long?" The voice of a man suddenly asked, before the young man in question took a seat in front of Sal. The man spoke perfect German even if he wasn't German by birth. Nevertheless, he was known in Germany as Tristan Wolfram Henkelmann, a born and bred German wizard.
"Not too long," Sal answered while leaning back, also in German. "Tell me, mein Herr, why were you so desperate to contact me?"
The man in front of him blushed.
"Ah… well," he said, rubbing his neck embarrassed. "I didn't know who else I could talk to about my request, so I decided to go to the leader, directly."
"Your request?" Sal repeated, raising an eyebrow at that.
"Herr," the man said at that while leaning forward, his hands on the table. "I know of my reputation. I had to leave Hogwarts and I prefer creatures to humans - but that doesn't mean that I want to sit by and do nothing in a war against one of the evilest men of our current century. Bitte, Herr, I want to join you! I wish to help in any way I can!"
Sal sighed at that.
"Herr Scamander," he said slowly, but was already interrupted.
"My brother has already joined your ranks. He's a well-known hit wizard, a hero in the eyes of Europe," Scamander said. "I might not be like him, but I can do something, anything!"
Sal couldn't object to that.
He was the head of the resistance against Grindelwald, a newly emerging Dark Lord. They needed people, so everyone who decided to join was a blessing to them. It didn't matter if some of them were well known all over Europe for their deeds while others weren't known at all - as long as they were willing, Sal took them in and organized them into attack groups or other important jobs.
"Alright," he said. "What do you want to do?"
The man hesitated.
"Well," he said slowly. "I heard that you've got a dragon division, Herr."
Sal raised an eyebrow.
"Not truly," he said.
The other man just shrugged.
"Well, you should have one, Herr," he said. "Grindelwald does, after all."
Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"The Resistance is working mostly undercover," he said. "We have some flashy parts like your brother's division, but all in all we're working in the shadows."
Scamander nodded at that.
"I already knew that, Herr," he said. "I still want to be part of the dragon division."
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
"Explain," he finally said.
The answer was a feral grin, something that looked odd on the boyish face of the man in front of him. It wasn't an expression that was expected from a man like that and Sal was sure that not even his own brother knew that the man in front of Sal was able to do an expression like that.
"That's what I will tell everybody if they ever ask me after the war is over," Scamander said.
"And the truth…"
"I will be part of the dragon division, Herr," Scamander replied. "Grindelwald's dragon division."
Sal's eyebrows shot up at that.
"They are part of Grindelwald's elite," he said to the younger man.
"I know," Scamander said grinning. "I have a recognised German identity, Tristan W. Henkelmann, and I have been contacted by Grindelwald's men without them knowing that my identity is a forged one. They asked me to join. They know of my identity's competence with creatures - not that's a lie - so being part of the dragon division will be easy for me. Making the jump to the man's elite will be even easier."
"So… what exactly are you offering?" Sal finally asked, leaning forward as well.
The answer was another feral grin.
"I'm offering to spy for the Resistance," Scamander said. "Will you refuse my offer?"
Sal opened his mouth to stop the man in front of him from sacrificing himself, but Scamander was faster.
"If you refuse, I will go and do it anyway, Herr," Scamander said with hard eyes. "And then I will try to bring that bastard down myself."
Sal closed his mouth again.
He had gotten to know Scamander's older brother who had joined about a year ago and it seemed that as different as the brothers were as similar were they at the same time.
"If you join Grindelwald, Herr Henkelmann," Sal said finally. "How will you contact us?"
The answer was a grin and the man in front of him leaned even closer.
"Just like I did this time around," he said. "We will meet and we will talk, Herr. Mayhap we will even leave for some private time…"
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
"Private time?"
"It's well known in Grindelwald's ranks that he's not interested in women. I right-out told him when I met him that my lover was a male squib and that I wouldn't give him up even if I joined."
Sal looked at the other man in surprise.
"When did you plan all that?" He asked surprised.
Scamander shrugged.
"Yesterday," he said. "When I was offered a place in Grindelwald's dragon division."
Sal opened his mouth to comment about Gryffindors, but closed it again when Scamander leaned over the table to whisper in his ear.
"Now, Sal Sanctuary, will you refuse or accept my offer?" He whispered.
Sal sighed and closed his eyes.
He had looked into the other man's mind and seen his truthfulness and determination. If he refused, the man would try to do it alone, solely with the help of some of his creatures. Sal knew that the risk was even greater for the man in front of him if Sal refused the request.
"Alright," he said in the end. "We'll do it your way, Herr Scamander."
The man leaned back, sitting back down and giving Sal his space.
"I've got a room upstairs," he said. "You coming?"
Sal rolled his eyes but stood up and followed anyway, dissolving the runic ward while leaving the table.
The moment they reached the door to Scamander's room, the other man grabbed him, and pulled him into the room, looking for the world as if he planned some naughty things for the next hours.
The door closed and the man released Sal.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get over with it. I guess you want to have an oath, Herr?"
Sal sighed.
"It would be safer for you," he said and the other man nodded and then spoke the oath without any hesitation.
"I, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, hereby swear to spy for Sal Sanctuary's Resistance while keeping their secrets by all means without Sal Sanctuary's allowance to speak about them. So I swear, so mot it be," Scamander said.
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
"And I thought that you were Albus Dumbledore's man through and through," Sal said amused. "I thought you would insist to at least leave you an out to be able to tell him."
Scamander looked at Sal in surprise at that.
"Why did you -?"
"It's something that people normally feel when Albus Dumbledore decides to help them in any way or form," Sal replied with a shrug. "He seems to be a genius, to get others feel indebted to him."
At that, Newt Scamander shrugged.
"He might be a genius at that," Scamander said. "But I was never like any other."
Sal laughed at that.
"That you aren't," he agreed. "That you aren't."
22th June 1915
"Sal, we have a huge problem," Allaric said slowly while shielding himself from the incoming curse.
Sal looked around with darkness lurking behind his eyes.
"I can see that," he told the other man before turning to Ollivander.
"Garrick!" He called out and when he was sure that the other man was listening, he spoke up again. "We need a way to explain all those dead people away somehow!"
"It's war, people die!" Sirius Black called out while bringing down his last opponent. "Why do we need to explain it further?"
Sal gave him the evil eye.
"Because," he said slowly. "Normally people have wounds to explain how they died!"
Sirius Black opened his mouth to object, then closed it with a snap.
"Well, shit," he said while looking around the battlefield with all the dead being killed by the killing curse.
For a moment, there was silence between the defenders - a silence Sal used to bring down his own opponent.
He sighed and wiped the blood from his head-wound out of his eyes. It was just a scratch that wouldn't even scar if he used magic, but it bled worse than a lot of other wounds.
"How… 'bout… gas?" Allaric panted while dodging the curses of his opponent.
Sal used the opponent's distraction to curse him into the back. It wasn't honourable, but they were at war - and their enemies definitely would do the same to them if they had the chance to do so.
Allaric's opponent toppled over and didn't stand up again. Sal might've been a healer, but unlike others he was a guardian healer. If he thought another person had to die, he could kill them - not that he had killed the other man. They needed people to interrogate, after all…
"That's one for me, I guess?" Theseus asked and stepped up next to the man downed by Sal.
Sal shrugged.
"He's still alive, if that's what you mean," he answered and Theseus nodded.
"I'll see what I can get out of him," he said and then dropped a portkey onto the man that would bring him into one of the cells they had at their own hide-out.
While Theseus had started as their poster-boy, he had soon shown that he was quite ruthless when it came to gaining information. Within months of his recruitment, Theseus had taken over their interrogation rooms and made them his own.
Sal had to admit, that the man was a fearsome interrogator - even if his method was a bit… unusual…
"Back to the obliviate," Allaric said. "What about using gas as an excuse?"
The others looked at each other and Allaric shrugged.
"They used it anyway," he pointed out, pointing not too far from them. "Poisonous gas. Let's just make it look as if they used it to a greater extent than they did."
The others looked at each other, then Sal inclined his head.
"Why not," he sighed while looking the way Allaric had pointed. "I guess we were lucky anyway that the wind was blowing that stuff away from us instead of towards us."
Allaric nodded darkly.
"Definitively," Sirius Black added. "I already feared I would never be able to see my first granddaughter myself."
"Granddaughter?" Allaric asked surprised and Sirius grinned.
"As of a week ago," he said proudly. "I got the letter yesterday. Her name's Lucretia. My son Arcturus is quite a proud daddy right now."
"Arcturus?" Sal repeated with a frown. "Your heir? Isn't the boy only fifteen?"
"That's the one," Sirius agreed and rolled his eyes. "Obviously he and his betrothed Melania couldn't wait."
Sal frowned at the other man.
"Do you need to go home to help him?" He asked, but Sirius waved it off.
"No," he said. "I asked and was told strongly to stay away. From what it sounded like, Arcturus feels already swamped with his mother and his grandparents looking over his shoulder. Anyway, my brother Cygnus has left for home yesterday to await the birth of his third child, so he will be there as well if there's trouble."
Allaric rolled his eyes.
"You could mean that you Blacks have nothing to do but have children and go to war from the way you talk," he said amused.
Sirius Black snorted.
"As if," he said haughtily. "My father is also well invested in politics."
Then he blinked.
"That reminds me," he said slowly. "Did I warn you that my other brother is coming tomorrow to help us?"
"Other brother? What other brother?" Charlus asked confused.
"My brother Arcturus," Sirius said.
Charlus looked at him in concern.
"Didn't you just say Arcturus was your son?" He asked concerned and raised a hand to measure Sirius' temperature.
The other man ducked away from the Potter heir's hand.
"He is," he said with an eye-roll. "But I was talking about my brother Arcturus Nigellus, not my son Arcturus Sirius. My brother's daughter is now two months old and he decided that now was the right time to join us."
Allaric rolled his eyes.
"And there's the proof that Blacks only think about fathering children and going to war," he said amused before pulling out his wand and starting to help obliviating.
Charlus snickered and did the same and with Sirius loudly complaining that the Blacks did more than father children and going to war, they changed the battlefield into something that fit to the story they had made up to explain the dead away.
Muggle history would only speak about the German's first use of poisonous gas in the second battle by Ypern.
July 1917
Garrick Ollivander sat down next to Charlus Potter and Sirius Black who were looking at the flames of their little camp fire in front of them.
"You know," Garrick said. "I heard a rumour today… about Grindelwald…"
"What kind of rumour?" Allaric Moody asked while sitting down next to Garrick with some soup in his hands. He was followed by Theseus Scamander and a dark haired man with oddly piercing green eyes in the colour of the killing curse.
"Something hillarious, I hope," Theseus Scamander added. "I could use a good laugh."
The man next to him raised an eyebrow at the older Scamander.
"You always have a good laugh - if the enemy's upon us and all seems lost or if we're partying doesn't actually matter to you," he countered dryly.
Theseus turned to look at the man innocently.
"But Sal!" He mock-whined. "You can't just blurt out things like that! What will the girls say if you imply that I'm insane while I try to hook them up?!"
Sal just looked pointedly at the darkness of the forest around them.
"What girls?" He asked and Theseus pouted.
Allaric snorted, but Garrick just shook his head.
"Sadly it's nothing amusing," he said unhappily. "There's a rumour going around that Grindelwald managed to get his hands on a legendary wand."
Charlus looked up from the flames at that.
His eyes narrowed.
"What wand?" He asked sharply.
Garrick shrugged.
"It's called the Death Stick," he said. "There's a rumour that it's part of the Deathly Hallows, from the tale, you know?"
Sirius Black frowned.
"How reliable is that rumour?" He asked concerned.
Garrick shrugged.
"I can't say," he said. "All I can say is that he's gotten even more vicious than he already was…"
Allaric rolled his eyes.
"It's just a fairy tale," he said, clearly not believing it. "There's nothing like the Deathly Hallows."
Sal opened his mouth, clearly to object, when Charlus Potter spoke up again, his voice grave, but utterly convinced.
"There is," he said unhappily. "And they're damn dangerous in the wrong hands."
The others, except Sal, looked at each other, suddenly uneasy - especially when Sal just nodded and added "They are," his voice as sure as Charlus' when he finally spoke up.
For a moment, there was utter silent between the friends, then Allaric combed a shaking hand through his hair.
"Then we should ensure that he's not finding the other two pieces as well," he said, his voice shaking as much as his hand. "I don't fancy to fight the Master of Death."
The others nodded, suddenly ill-at-ease.
Charlus just shook his head.
"You would never fight the Master of Death," he said, his voice clear and strong. "My family has always known more about the Deathly Hallows than any other family - and I can guarantee you, you'd never fight the Master of Death."
Sirius frowned at that.
"Why not?" he asked. "If Grindelwald finds the other two -"
"Then he still wouldn't be the Master of Death," Charlus said and looked at his friends calmly. "The true Master accepts death as a part of life. He won't try to command it. The role of the Master is balance. He's there to fight and yet accept death - it's not an easy role. Death is natural - and yet, as the balance, the Master would have to fight it without going so far to try and rule it."
"Sounds like a difficult job," Theseus snorted. "Nothing I'd truly want to do."
"And lonely," Garrick added.
Charlus nodded.
"Considering that the Master would be unable to die until he'd give up his job as the balance or until every other life on Earth ended - it's definitely lonely," he agreed.
Sirius shuddered.
"Not a role I'd wanted to take," he said. "I'd hate to have to sit by and watch my family die - especially if I'd know I'd had the power to change it, but it would be unnatural to do so…"
Charlus nodded gravely.
"There's a legend in my family that one of my ancestors was the last Master of Death," he said. "He was also called 'The First Grim', because he wasn't human but a grim and the son of Death himself. According to legend, he gave up his position after thousands of years of loneliness by killing himself in front of his children."
The others shuddered and Sal's face had blanked into an unreadable mask.
For a moment, silence reigned, then Sal spoke up again.
"Maybe," he said slowly. "We should use the time tonight to talk about something happier than the discussion we had right now."
"But Grindelwald," Garrick spoke up in protest.
Sal just shook his head.
"If he truly has the Death Stick, it won't change a thing," he said, his voice strong and sure. "I will still fight him. Like Charlus said, there's no way that he can be the Master of Death - not while bringing more death than balancing it. We should keep it at that."
Charlus nodded.
The others exchanged a glance, but in the end, Sirius nodded as well.
"I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "Death Stick or not. I won't back down now. Let him come - we will take him down, mythical weapon or not!"
"Damn true!" Theseus agreed grinning.
Allaric snorted and raised his soup as if he wanted to toast to someone.
"Hear! Hear!" He exclaimed and in the end, even Garrick Ollivander smiled, shook his head and changed the topic of their discussion to the plans they had for the attack on Grindelwald's men in the morning…
October 1917
"You look like you've been trampled by a hippogriff," Newt Scamander commented the moment Sal and he had closed the door to their private room behind them.
Sal looked at Newt unhappily.
"Thanks for the compliment," he said then rubbed his eyes. "Now, what's Grindelwald planning now?"
Newt shrugged.
"Not too much, right now," he said. "He's content to sit by and watch the muggles slaughter each other for the moment. I'm sure, he's got something else planned, but right now, I have no idea what. He hasn't shared any of his future plans with us so far."
Sal sighed.
"So it's just the usual?" He asked unhappily.
Newt inclined his head.
"I've got a list with potential targets," he said and handed over the list. "Remember to destroy it the moment you've memorized it. It wouldn't do good to have evidence of my betrayal lying about, you know?"
Sal rolled his eyes.
"I'm quite aware what to do with lists like that," he said with amusement in his voice. "It's not the first time I work with you, you know?"
Newt shrugged.
"Better telling you again and again than you forgetting it once," he pointed out. "This list could get me killed if it ended up in the wrong hands."
Sal nodded seriously.
"I know," he said. "I'll destroy it the moment I've memorized it."
"Good."
With that Sal hid the list away.
"If you can," he told Newt, after hiding the list. "Tell Grindelwald that we had to make room after the Italian lost in Carporetto."
Newt raised an eyebrow at him and Sal shrugged.
"It would be best if you hand him the information through some other people," he said. "While we actually left our hide-out there, we left it mared with some… surprises for all those he sends. If you make it sound as if we left in a hurry and that we had to leave a lot of plans and maps, he will send some people to investigate."
Newt nodded.
"I know a woman or two who would be willing to spread the information in Grindelwald's ranks," he said. "Leave it to me. If I do it right, I might even be able to get rid of one or two people that are suspicious of me."
Sal frowned at the other man.
"If you're in danger to be found out, you should pull out and not -"
"Not yet," Newt said unconcerned. "But I promise you that if it gets worse, I'll try to pull out before they come at me."
Sal scrutinized the other man for a moment, then he nodded slowly.
"Alright," he gave in. "But take care, Newt. We still need you - you're far more faluable than just your position as a spy."
Newt snorted.
"You mean you need someone who knows all the spies in Grindelwald's rank?" He asked Sal amused, not the least bitter sounding.
Sal returned the other man's amused glance with one of his own.
"Don't forget that you're also head of our coffee supply," he said dryly. "Arcturus and Sirius Black would flay me alive if I got you killed before they find somebody else who has access to coffee like you do."
The answer was an amused laugh from Newt, then they parted ways - one of them going back to the enemy after 'a fling in the hay with his lover', the other one returning to the Resistance to inform them of the information he had gotten from the other man.
December 1917
Of course, over time, Grindelwald started to change his strategy - and sadly, not everything could always reported in time to stop catastrophes or near-catastrophes from happening…
" Damn," Allaric cursed while looking at the ward Arcturus Nigellus Black was ringing with. "If that thing comes down uncontrolled, he'll be dead in an instance."
Ollivander nodded darkly.
" Damn Grindelwald and his damn tricks!" Allaric cursed.
It was then that Charlus Potter's eyes hardened.
" Garrick," he said, his voice booking no argument. "Bring those hostages to safety. Allaric - defend them. Black -"
Thankfully, there were a lot of times when those catastrophes could be circumvented by the abilities of those in the Resistance anyway. Sal couldn't be prouder of the people he worked with when it came to their ingenuity and their determination and will to learn and to get better to defeat Grindelwald in the end…
"Damn it, Arcturus! Be a bit more careful next time!" Sirius Black ranted at his brother. "I don't want to explain to my sister-in-law why she will be a widow in the next ten years, you hear me?"
Arcturus Nigellus Black rolled his eyes at his brother in amusement.
"You worry too much, Siph," he said amused. "I was perfectly safe!"
Before Sal could even think about admonishing the other man for his lie, the other man's brother smacked him.
"I'm a ward's master, Archie!" Sirius reminded his younger brother. "You and I both know that those wards were just seconds away to backlash on you!"
Sal couldn't object to that. Wards were part of the ritual magic - and every ritual gone wrong had consequences. A backlashing ward could kill or severly shorten another man's life.
"Yeah well, everything went well in the end, didn't it?" Arcturus countered. "So stop fretting, Siph. I'm alright!"
"Yes - because of dumb luck!" The other man replied angrily. "And don't call me Siph!"
Arcturus rolled his eyes.
"Sirius Phineas," he said. "Si-Ph - it's your name, so don't complain."
"Not my name, Archie!"
"Well, then don't call me Archie!"
"I'm the older one. I'm allowed to call you whatever -"
"Gentlemen - could we return to the discussion, please?" Cygnus interfered.
The two older brothers turned and looked at the younger one.
"Then you're alright with Archie nearly blowing himself up?" Sirius asked incredulously.
"I bet he's just less of a mother hen than you, Siph!" Arcturus replied.
Sal rolled his eyes at the discussion of the brothers.
"Hold still," he interfered when Arcturus tried to sit up when the debate heated. "I'm still not done bandaging you."
In that moment, Allaric Moody, Garrick Ollivander and Charlus Potter entered and stopped dead in the entrance to the tent.
"Are they still debating?" Charlus asked tiredly.
He had dark rings beneath his eyes and his clothes looked half-burned. He had been the one who had stabilized the ward so that Arcturus Black came away with a scare and not a death-sentence.
The moment, Sirius heard Charlus voice, he turned to the door, looked at Charlus for another second or two before making two steps towards the Potter and enveloping him in a hug.
Charlus startled and nearly everybody else's jaws hit the floor.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Sirius breathed. "Thank you so much, Potter!"
Charlus looked at the limped that was once one Sirius Black uncomfortably.
"You're welcome," he said and patted the other man's back awkwardly.
While those two men had learned to work together, this was the first time, they actually interacted as anything else but reluctant team-mates.
Allaric snickered.
"Seems like the idea of friendship between the next generation of Black and Potter might be true, after all," he said amused.
Sirius Black snorted - it sounded a bit watery - before telling them with a muffled voice: "Well, I for once wouldn't mind."
Then he finally released the Potter-heir again.
Said man looked at the other man with clear embarrassment on his face, before finally shrugging.
"If there's ever a Black named after you, Black, then I will think about letting my son be his best friend if that's what you want," with that, he patted the other man another time awkwardly on the shoulder before fleeing from the tent.
Ollivander snickered.
"Now you just need to get your children to name their next child after you," he said amused.
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"As if that will happen," he said and waved it off. "I already forbid my children from naming their children after me - and Potter knows this. I bet he worded it like that to ensure that it won't happen even in the future."
Sirius Black would never know that his as of yet unborn grandson would name his sons in honour of those fighting against Grindelwald.
February 1918
"Lord Potter," Henry stopped. He had been about to leave the halls of the Wizengamot. He was still Supreme Mugwump and had again pleaded for the British to send some help to the war-ridden countries on the mainland. Again, it had been one Albus Dumbledore who had led the opposition, arguing that there was nothing the British wizards could do, that the wizards of the rest of Europe weren't already doing.
Henry couldn't even object to that reasoning. There was nothing that the British wizards could do better than the ones who were already fighting - but unlike those who were already in the middle of the fight, the British wizards would be less worn out and could help them when it came down to numbers.
Yet, the rest of the Wizengamot, as much as they respected Henry, listened to the young charismatic wizard that was called the 'next coming of Merlin' by many. And while Henry couldn't object that the other man definitely had a lot more power than the average wizard, he couldn't see 'Merlin' in the laid-back approach of Albus Dumbledore.
Henry shook off his thoughts and turned to the man approaching him.
"Lord Black," he greeted the man and saw from the corner of the eye Albus Dumbledore stopping and frowning at Henry and Phineas Nigellus.
"Lord Potter, I'd like to talk to you in private, please," the other man said. Henry stared at the other Lord in shock. After the initial approach all those years ago when Phineas Nigellus had rebelled against the decision of the Wizengamot and given his sons the right to decide if they wanted to fight or not, they hadn't spoken even two words with each other.
For a moment, Henry hesitated.
The other Lord hadn't changed his stance in the Wizengamot at all since back then. He was still a proud part of the dark side with no inclination to embrace anything muggle - and therefore a total opposite of Henry.
Yet, when Henry looked into the other man's eyes, he saw nothing but determination in there - a determination obviously aimed at speaking with Henry at all costs.
"Tomorrow, ten o'clock in the Leaky," Henry finally said. "I'll book us a private room."
Phineas Nigellus, the worst remembered Headmaster that ever graced the halls of Hogwarts, nodded.
"Thank you, Lord Potter," he said and with that he walked off.
Not a minute later, Albus Dumbledore was at Henry's side.
"You should be careful with him, Mr Potter," the young Dumbledore warned Henry with a frown. "He can be quite… dangerous when he wants something."
Henry looked at the younger man with a raised eyebrow.
"This is not my first year in politics, Lord Dumbledore," he pointed out coolly. "Don't worry, I can look after myself."
The younger man just frowned.
"This might not be," he replied. "But unlike you, I work closely with Mr Black at Hogwarts. I know his character far better than you who just interacts with him within this chamber - so for your safety, I hope that you will take my warning to heart."
Henry looked at the younger man a bit unhappily. He didn't like it at all, that the other man had even thought about butting into Henry's business, but Henry was far too well raised to admonish the other man openly where everybody else could hear it.
"I believe I know whom I can trust and whom I can't," he finally settled on, before bowing stiffly. "Lord Dumbledore."
With that he turned away and left the young lord standing - hoping against hope that the other man would see his stiff behaviour as the admonishment it was meant to.
A day later Henry met Phineas Nigellus Black in the Leaky Cauldron. They entered the private room Phineas Nigellus rented and then sat down together for breakfast.
It was after they had eaten, that Phineas Nigellus finally decided to speak up.
"Lord Potter," he said formally. "I apologize for calling you here today when I don't even know if you can help me."
Henry looked at the other man in surprise.
"Help you?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and Phineas Nigellus inclined his head.
"I came here in my function as Head of the House Black," he said. "And I came here to ask for advice from the Head of House Potter - a House known for its toleration of muggleborn and muggles."
Henry frowned.
"What does House of Black need that you have to ask me for help regarding either of that," he said, a bit confused. He knew that the House of Black was against everything muggle - so approaching House of Potter because of its tolerance was not something Henry had thought of first when he had been approached.
Phineas Nigellus sighed.
"I…" he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable enough with the theme that it even broke his normally stoic countenance. For a moment, the other man quietened to gather his courage, then he looked Henry into the eye.
"This is about my grandson," he said and Henry looked at the other man in surprise. But before he could say something, Phineas Nigellus already continued.
"The boy is two years old, going on three," he said. "And while it's definitively too early to truly say…"
Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath.
"My daughter-in-law noticed that Marius hasn't shown any signs of accidental magic as of yet," he pressed out. "And while that isn't too unusual for other families at that age, the most of the Black children had their first bout of accidental magic between nine and fifteen months."
Henry's eyes narrowed.
"You play with the thought that the boy might be a squib," he said with a frown.
Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath, then he nodded.
"We don't give up hope yet," he told Henry before the Lord Potter could admonish him. "But it's just another year and a half until the child needs to start training and if he's truly a squib… if he's truly…"
The serious eyes of the Black Lord locked with those of Lord Potter.
"If Marius truly has no magic, then I don't want him not to be able to live in the muggle world after he's grown," Phineas Nigellus grimaced at those words, but the serious expression never left his eyes. "I don't want my grandson to suffer as my brother did - and if that means to ensure that he gets a… muggle -education that he might not need on top of his wizarding one, so be it!"
Henry looked at the other Lord in surprise.
"So," he said slowly, needing time to come to terms with what he just heard. "You approached me to ensure your grandson will be able to navigate the muggle world if he's truly a squib."
The Black Lord nodded and Henry shook his head at the other man.
"Aren't you at odds with one of your sons because he's supporting muggle rights?" He asked confused.
The Black Lord waved it off.
"That has nothing to do with Marius need to learn how to live without magic," he said. "Phineas wants that muggles are made… part of our culture - the only thing I want is for my grandson to have every opportunity he can get even if he might not have magic."
Henry shook his head at the other man. In his eyes, it was still too early to actually say if the child was a squib or not - but he definitely wouldn't stop the man if that's what he wanted.
"Alright," he said. "And what do you want me to do?"
Phineas Nigellus leaned forward as if to share a secret.
"My son Cygnus - little Marius father - and I talked," he said with a grave expression on his face. "We need information about that institution called 'primary' by muggles. As far as I've heard it's something akin to Hogwarts. Since Marius will start his education in a year's time, we need that information now."
Henry stared at the Black Lord.
Primary.
A school.
Well - that definitely wasn't a request he would have ever predicted that the proud Black Lord would make.
"Of course, we will pay you handsomely either in favours or in gold for all the information you will gather," Phineas Nigellus added.
Henry wondered how Phineas Nigellus would react if Henry's memory was right and the Black Lord had to be told that the primary was starting at five and not at four like wizarding education in the House of Black…
October 1918
"Sal!" Sal looked up from his planning and into the eyes of Charlus Potter. "There's an Iron Belly waiting for you!"
Sal sat down his charts and rubbed his eyes.
"An Iron Belly?" He repeated. "Which one?"
"Ukrainian," Charlus replied. "He said he's covering the Eastern Front."
Sal snorted inwardly at that. What had started as an unusual request had soon turned into a new division of Sal's troops. The dragon division Newt Scamander had requested had gained some more members over the last year. They were all called "Iron Bellies" after the dragon race. They weren't a dragon division, per say, but actually their spy division, now consisting of more members than just one person.
"Dragon Division is a fitting description of them," Theseus Scamander had said when he had found out about his younger brother's insistence that he would tell everyone that he was part of the dragon division. "But maybe we should be more specific. 'Iron Bellies', maybe - you have to be able to stomach a lot when you're part of that division, after all." The name had stuck - like every other name Theseus and Newt Scamander had come up with over the years - if Sal liked them or not.
"Send him in," Sal said and Newt Scamander, or "The Ukrainian Iron Belly" as he was known to friends and foes alike, entered.
"You've finally been found out by Grindelwald?" Sal asked amused. Newt waved it off.
"Naw," he said. "He's still clueless."
"And yet you're here in the middle of our camp," Sal said while raising an eyebrow. "I thought it was far too dangerous for you to be anywhere near the camp, Newt?"
Newt waved that off as well.
"Normally, yes," he said. "But after tonight it won't matter anyway."
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
"How so?" He asked.
"I've gotten some information that might end all this if we do it right," Newt replied. "Unfortunately it will also expose me as a spy, so I fear I will have to retire from my doings if we succeed or not."
Sal looked at him in interest at that.
"Alright," he said. "What did you find out?"
"He's planning to assassinate Heinrich Eberstadt, one of the most important wizards of Switzerland," Newt said. "I've got the time and date of the attempt as well as the names of the people who will come with him."
Sal frowned.
"You don't think that he will notice you're missing -"
"He would have, I think," Newt said while waving if off. "But he and the most of his people left to Switzerland already. I'm officially in charge of the rest of his people, but I told my second that I promised to see my hubby tonight and that I had to go. Since we've just been told to wait, nobody will think anything of that - at least until Grindelwald and his people a caught or until they return after being swatted."
Sal nodded.
"Alright," he said. "How long do we have?"
Newt looked at him darkly.
"Barely tonight," he said. "Grindelwald will attack at dawn."
Sal nodded. It wasn't the first time that they had barely time to act, but normally the attacks they prevented had been known to more of Grindelwald's men and not just his elite.
"Alright," he said. "Then I guess we'll have barely time to get into position."
In the end, Newt had been right. Grindelwald attacked at dawn, coming at the Head of Law Enforcement of Switzerland, one Heinrich Eberstadt.
Luckily, Sal and his men had been prepared. At the same time Grindelwald attacked, his own men, the one he left behind were attacked as well. A lot of them died, a lot of them were captured and given to the aurors.
But not only Grindelwald's men were attacked. His own attack was stopped by Sal's people as well.
The following fight was legendary. It was a blood bath and a lot of men got hurt or killed, but in the end, Sal's men won and Grindelwald was given to Eberstadt at the Swiz's request.
Barely a day later, Grindelwald had fled and Sal cursed the man they had rescued for his inability to see the threat Grindelwald portrayed until it was too late and the wizard was gone again.
In the end, Sal and his men could do nothing but curse Eberstadt.
"So, what will we do now?" Theseus Scamander asked darkly. "He's gone and I doubt that we will hear from him until he's got back his strength."
Sal sighed at that.
"I guess we will have to live our lives until then," he said. "We will do everything we want to while keeping an eye out for him. The moment he returns, we will return as well - if you want to, that is. You have fought him already; I won't force you to return if you don't want to anymore."
"But you will return, won't you, Sal?" Theseus said. "You are the one providing the sanctuary for all others, after all…"
Sal just snorted and then sighed.
"I will," he said. "I can't leave others to suffer by this man's hands."
Newt laughed at that.
"Well," he said. "I guess I will return to my cover job as a real one if this ends here for now."
Officially, Newt Scamander was working at the Ministry of Magic in Britain, after all.
"And I will have to think about writing that book Augustus wants me to," he added amused. "That should keep me busy for a while, I guess."
Sal rolled his eyes in amusement.
Augustus Worme was also part of the resistance while at the same time managing a publishing house in Britain. Sal had no idea how Augustus did it, but he knew that he did. When Augustus and Newt met in the resistance - both of them were Iron Bellies, spies, that is, after all - he started to pester the other man about writing a book for his publishing house. It seemed that Augustus had finally won that battle after nearly one and a half years of whining.
"You will keep in touch, won't you, Sal Sanctuary?" Newt added in that moment and Sal's head snapped up.
"What did you call me?" He asked incredulously. Oh, he had heard the name before, but until now he had always thought it as a code name, solely used when he was up and about elsewhere, but never used when he was at the camp. To hear it used there was somehow more frightening…
Newt grinned.
"Well, it was my brother who actually said that you're providing sanctuary," he said. "I just shortened it to an acceptable length."
"But I'm not a place!" Sal protested and Newt just shrugged.
"If you say so," he said, before waving good-bye. "Well, I'm off now. I've got to hunt down Augustus, after all. I'll write the moment I find a trace of that mad man I spied on. Until then, folks!"
They would have something akin to peace for the next eight years.
"Alright," Sal said, looking at his men. "Let the storm begin. May we survive this night and may we win this fight for the sake of the world!"
And yet, while he said this, there was still unease in Sal's mind - an unease, he couldn't put to rest.
This was Dumbledore's story.
This was Dumbledore's history…
So where was the man who had fought and won against Grindelwald if the stories Sal remembered from the future were right?!
Sal shook his head to get rid of that thoughts.
It didn't matter.
Not today.
Today they would go to war.
Today they would fight.
Dumbledore or no Dumbledore.
This was their hour.
Grindelwald would rue the day he killed Allaric Moody's parents…
And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.
It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.