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Chapter Text

"This is Magnus Bellum, he has ideas on how to cripple the IWC. You are to serve under him and help convince the Brass to follow through with his plans."

By the look on the other kid's face, Blake wasn't the only one surprised by Gellert's order. Bellum stood like he didn't fit in his own skin. The confidence he held was false, he looked like a pureblood heir stepping into the spotlight, not used to the power he held but still wielding out of necessity. Bellum held a good mask, in front of any other wizard he would seem like he belonged. He stood tall, his long hair was well cared for, his eyes would be a treasured genetic trait passed onto future descendants.

Bellum seemed to shrink back under their scrutiny. They focused their gaze back on Gellert, "What are his qualifications sir?"

Those two-toned eyes crinkled, Gellert's version of a smile when he did want to show it on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, and pulled a piece of paper from his desk, "He's kept the Muggleborn division alive for the past three years. His first year was spent commanding a squad in Yugoslavia, specifically in the Serbian region, composed entirely of muggleborn wizards. He later took command of the Muggleborn division, and led them in multiple attacks. He is the reason we still hold control over Hungary. Bellum just came back from a rescue mission in Greece, in which he found some rather interesting information."

Gellert's gaze landed on Bellum, the younger startled, "I found where the IWC are keeping their wounded and non-combatants. Ithaca is a fortress, while most of the habitents are crippled, they still can use magic. There are thousands of wizards with wands, ready to stun and kill every last one of us. We can't just invade, we'll be slaughtered, we need a way to wipe them out-"

An idea struck them, a memory.

They were handed a mask, a contraption with big glass eye holes and a massive metal something in the front. It looked somewhat like a plague doctor's mask. They had asked their Sergeant why they were being given such masks. It was later, in the trenches, when a cloud of yellow-green had descended on them, that they realized why. They remember seeing older soldiers, ones that had been present for the first attack in April, shaking, holding their guns and quivering at the sight of the looming cloud. Blake remembered that the first attack had cleared the trench of thousands of soldiers, because they were either dead, dying, or running away.

This time, the trenches had the masks, and so they let the cloud pass over them. It had looked like some omen of death. They remembered what it was like, the toxic yellow surrounding them, breathing very carefully. They, frankly, had been scared shitless, and had heard the most seasoned among them sobbing quietly. When it had passed, they fought back like nothing happened, but late at night, the bunks were even more alive with nightmares than normal.

Even back home, after the war had passed, they remember shooting up in bed, clutching at their mouth as they dreamed of gaseous death.

"You have an idea?"

They looked at Gellert, the question in his face, in his body, "Have you heard of chemical weapons?"

The Dark Lord just tilted his head, Bellum turned to them, also confused. Was it alright, morally, to give one of the worst things the Great War had to offer, to a man like Grindelwald? Was it smart to introduce the wizard world to muggle weapons of mass destruction?

"Blake?"

Gellert was expecting an answer.

He had taken them out of the darkest time of their life, and they had yet to repay him. Not only had he taken them out of hell, but he kept them afloat, helped them integrate in wizarding society, taught them how to blend in with the snootiest purebloods. Some occasional advice that was ignored by the Brass was barely worth his kindness. So they had a gun and used it, the IWC would learn to bypass in a couple months and by the time all the squibs and muggles had guns, they would be useless.

Maybe this would be enough.

They looked up, hesitantly. Should they-?

"In the Great War, I was stationed in Ypres, the Germans released a chemical gas, airborne chlorine. It flooded the trenches and created a breach they were able to make use of. Later on both the Allied and Central powers used chemical weapons, as they were effective at clearing out entire areas of people. Maybe the alchemists and artificers might be able to come up with something similar to flood Ithaca."

Gellert leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers. He was unreadable, Blake realized with a start. Blake hadn't failed to read someone since they first met Gellert. He was hiding away from their prying gaze, and they didn't like it. Maybe it was necessary so they could keep a cool head, but their head wasn't getting any cooler.

"Bring this up to the Brass. Magnus, Blake, I want you both to lead this operation. Magnus you will officially be in charge, a wizard as head of this plan will make it more credible. However, do not discount Blake, they have advised me many a time, and without their advice we would not be as dangerous as we currently are. We would be seen as fools, instead we are predators."

Bellum bobbed his head, "Of course sir"

Gellert picked up a stray paper, "Now, if you need nothing else of me, you are excused. Please make sure to consult each other on any decisions made, and maybe the two of you may find some friendship, or at least comradery in each other's presence, who knows? Good day all."

Chapter Text

The sharp pain of a spell had them keeling over.

They could feel blood pouring from every hole they had, or once had; each scar broke open anew, every orifice they had was suddenly letting their blood flow freely from their vein's confines.

Blake hit the muddy dirt, trying as hard as they could not to choke on the blood pooling in their mouth and nose. Spells flew over their head, as they blinked the red out of their eyes, and lined up their shot with their sniper rifle.

They vaguely remembered a briefing about a new spell the IWC was developing, based around an old blood letting spell. Blake remembers having to force Magnus to look attentive in front of the Brass. His plans with Ithaca, while approved, were having trouble in the creation of the gas itself.

Their sights landed on a poor sap who's wand arm seemed broken. The figure was casting wandlessly, but Blake would be fixing that shortly.

Inhaling, past the mess of blood, squeezing the trigger, and the figure dropped. Another corpse added to the battlefield.

The IWC had yet to counteract the force of a muggle bullet. Production for enchanted bullets already had gotten authorization, so once Santos's minions had developed defences for plain lead slugs, the Alliance's guns would be supplied with piercing, explosive and freezing bullets. Mobile alchemical arrays.

But for right now, Blake just had to find a wizard who favoured a simple protego.

The IWC were usually easy to spot in their billowing black robes against the blazing sun, but all Blake could see was murky red. Everything was spinning, and they were suddenly glad they had fallen to the ground with the first strike of the spell, not pushing through the pain in order to stay upright.

They found themselves short of breath, gasping with each inhale, drowning in clear air. Blood loss, of course. Were they going to die? Was the blackness creeping in at the edge of their blurry, red vision going to be the last thing they see? Was the crackling pain of leftover spell, the numbness when the pain got a touch too much, the searing agony their nerves were singing the last thing they would feel? Were the last tears they shed, to be tears of blood?

Blake knew they would die young. They knew the moment they held Grindlewald's hand. The moment they teleported out of that bar, escaping their homeland to a castle in Austria, they knew they would die for Gellert's cause. A muggle could not survive contact with a wizard, it was basic arithmetic.

And yet they still felt their tired heart try to speed past its already rabbit-quick pounding, the cold clutches of panic clawing at their cooling body. Fear about death, about the unknown curled around their soon-to-be corpse.

It was all they could do, to stay breathing, to stay conscious, to hope that some wizard, some miracle worker, would bring them back from the brink of death.

The darkness closed in, and Blake felt regret.

Lights blinked.

Blake took a breath. They let it out.

Reality blurred into view.

They were in a bed, one much too nice for a dead body. Fluffed, cool, pillows, layers of linens that should be used for cots or uniforms, a plush dragon that snuggled into their arm. They felt good in a way they rarely felt after a near-death experience.

Honestly, with the level of "good" they felt, Blake found themselves considering the wizards were wrong and Heaven really did exist.

The sudden appearance of a hulking man with a thick bush of beard and medic robes dismissed the hesitant thought from their mind. His hair was cropped close to his head, and a delicate chain hung from his neck, a charm depicting the Deathly Hallows attached, a small brass shield hung by the Hallows. The necklace contrasted with the rest of the man. He was bulky, the medic robes were bulky, his gloves and shoes and everything apart from that thin chain was bulky.

"You are Blake, yes? I am Cruor Fortis." The man spoke with a conviction and warmth they rarely saw anymore. It was the sort of conviction that came with too much loyalty. Any less loyal and it would be obsession, but this was pure devotion. That devotion had razed cities, that devotion led to world-conquering religions, that devotion was almost as powerful as a Lord. It was mildly amazing, seeing it in front of you. Living, Breathing, holding a sheet of paper in one hand, the other hand fiddling with the Hallows charm.

Blake decided to not to respond. If there wasn't a sheer sincerity radiating off of him, they would've suspected a spy or suck-up. They knew how to deal with spies, and they knew how to deal with suck-ups, but this was unfamiliar territory, and they were still coming to.

Fortis coughed, covering the rapidly building silence, "I was the field medic who found you, I'm sorry if my patch-job didn't meet muggle standards. I was trained using wizards, so I am unfamiliar with the muggle body. I tried to use less magically intense spells and serums. I wasn't sure how intense of a procedure your body could handle, I did what was necessary and I hope that your recovery accommodations make up for the treatment."

They blinked at the almost-hesitance the man held. Confident, yes, but the man had clearly been beat down and built back up again. Fortis was almost completely different to Bellum, while their boss consciously tried to fill the room with his presence, the medic looked like he was actively shrinking down on himself, making himself seem more meek. He was failing spectacularly, but the effort was kind enough.

The meaning of the words finally processed,"Wait, were you the one who put me in this?" they waved their arms, gesturing to the comfort of the room and bed, "I appreciate it, but I know other muggles who lost their legs on makeshift tables and recovered fine. I don't need all this, for future reference."

Fortis blinked at them, "Was the muggle anesthetized? Are they fully recovered?"

A small, sparking fondness washed over Blake, the corners of their mouth tugged up, "Probably not, the higher ups wouldn't wanna waste precious whatever on a foot soldier. I haven't talked to the bastard in years, but when I last saw him, he was alive and well."

The man sat at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together, a look of scrunched up concentration on his face.

"Never thought I'd see a day where Cruor acted concerned for a muggle."

Bellum's sudden presence was an unwelcome annoyance. They rolled their eyes, leaning back into the mountain of pillows, letting the plush dragon crawl across their stomach. Blake found themselves suddenly petting the animated toy, "They're calling you the Argent Killer, Magnus."

Their supposed boss flopped onto their lap. Bellum snuggled up comfortably against their shoulder, and Blake couldn't resist the sigh that forced it's way out of their lungs, "Did you know," Bellum sing-songed, "that Fortis here, used to torture me on a daily basis!"

A frown crossed Cruor's face, "That was before my time with the IWC."

"I think you mean, before the miserable Missgeburt saved your well-toned ass." Bellum said with a sarcastic lilt, curling further into their lap. The dragon huffed its annoyance, crawling up to sit on their chest.

Cruor stood from the foot of the massive bed, "I've stopped using that name Magnus."

"Only after your time in Greece, what was that? 9 months?" Bellum leaned forward, a vicious grin on his face. He usually didn't enjoy these sorts of things, dressing down fellow officers, even particularly stuck up purebloods. What made Fortis so different?

"I had no other name to call you by!" The medic was clutching his necklace, they could see the hunched fear, guilt, anger, guilt , that trembled in the large man's frame.

Bellum leaned back with a scoff, he wasn't enjoying this, no. He wanted to enjoy it, but he was ripping his soul out to bear it. Why would he share this with his tormentor if it wasn't out of some sick glee? Was it because they were there? "So you didn't report Regina to the Professors because she called me Alex? That never happened? I wasn't kept in the dungeons for hours on end, multiple times, losing track of time because you decided to abandon our muggleborn group and pretend to be Mr. Pureblood?"

The venom in the room was tangible. Blake found it hard to breathe, under the gaze of these two wizards. Muggles weren't frail no, but beside two wizards with agitated magic? They might as well be sleeping in a field of landmines.

"I'm sorry." Cruor bowed his head, "I'm sorry Magnus. I was scared and I was a fool. I saw what was being done to you and wanted nothing to do it with. I heard your cries from the dungeon and wished to never be in your position. It wasn't until my time in Ithaca that I realized what I had done to you. I truly am sorry. I would do anything to make it up to you I-"

"Shut up." Bellum's eyes were hard, any further and there would be tears in those eyes, "Just, shut up. Later, when we don't have company, we can air out grievances."

Both of the men's eyes landed on them, Crour startled, the magic in the room calmed, "Sorry, yes. Speaking of Ithaca, what are the plans for it? I heard you went to the Lord with your ideas?"

Blake nodded, "Yes, using your information about the landscape, and your confirmation that no other Alliance members reside in Ithaca, we've developed a plan to dispose of the residents"

Cruor looked to Bellum, then to them, "We?"

Their boss waved their hand, "Blake and I are in charge of this project, I'm the political head because none of these pureblooded twits would accept a muggle as anything important."

The medic's eyes met theirs, "Why were you out on the front lines? Why were you in a position where you could be hit by a Bleeding Curse?"

Bellum's gaze joined Cruor's, "Yes Blake? Why were you on the front lines?"

They didn't shrink back, no one would take them seriously if they shrunk back at every wizard's gaze, but it was a conscious abortion of movement, "The Brass ordered me as a foot soldier. I was the one to develop the implementation of guns into our forces, they wanted evidence that it worked before they sent out the Squibs. I was seen as less necessary to the development of the Ithaca raid."

And then Bellum was up on his feet, magic crackling around him, "Bullshit. Grindelwald was specific, you are to be on equal footing as I am when it comes to Ithaca." His head snapped to Cruor, "You follow him around like a dog, where is our Dark Lord?"

A tempus charm was cast, "At this time, he should-" a small smile nudged its way onto Fortis's face, "-he should be in a meeting with the Top Brass, discussing current plans and allocating resources and the like."

An evil grin climbed onto Bellum's face, "With the Brass he says? Isn't it their lucky day. The Argent Killer, ready to give his uncensored advice" He turned sharply on his heel, leaving the room with a crackle of magic and a manic laughter.

They watched him go, and Blake felt a sick satisfaction building in their gut. They turned to Cruor who had a conflicted look, joy and concern battling for control over his facial expression, "Thank you, for healing me and sending Bellum after the asses who put me here, despite your history."

Cruor smiled, taking their hand, "I was just doing my job. As long as Ithaca burns to the ground before I die, I will save you a millions times more."

"Still, Thank you."

"You are very welcome."

Chapter Text

They had not slept in three days, and as magical as wizard-coffee was, Blake was having a hard time standing up, let alone staying awake. Every part of them was screaming for them to collapse to the floor snoring. If Cruor knew the last time they slept was for three hours after the raid last Wednesday, Blake knew they would be spending the next week in that overly fluffy and borderline disrespectful bed with the animated dragon plush.

"You're right about that."

A spike of fear shot through the haze of sleep deprivation, and Blake found themselves tripping over their feet in surprise (They should be more aware, getting caught off guard was a death sentence, one Cruor had pulled them away from enough). They squinted at the person who just spoke.

Were their eyes always like that? Not present, just, blank face past the cheekbones. As if someone had taken a marble statue and sanded the eyes away. Was it a curse?

"In a way," The beautiful woman said. Black hair with a slight curl tied up into a bun, porceline-white skin, no eyes. No eyes. Something nudged the back of their brain, again they squinted. It was the only way the sluggish pittering of thoughts managed to get past the haze. There was

The woman was staring, well not starting, but directing focus and intent- staring at Blake intensely, "Maybe I should call Fortis, get him to pick up his favorite muggle before their brain melts from their ears."

No. She couldn't do that. Blake had to do something, they wracked their brain for any semblance of thought-

They shook their head, this was important, the meeting. The meeting with Gellert. With Magnus. They had to get this right, the brass would kill them if they couldn't get this right. They had the files they just- "No, I can't do that, I have a meeting with The Lord and the Brass about the proposed strike on Ithaca, I need to get these papers-"

The woman just raised an brow, "Blake, you haven't sle-"

She needed to listen, Blake didn't care if this woman was some darling of Gellert, she needed to listen. Ma'am? No, Madam? No, she was too young for that. "Mistress! Please, I just need to compile these files before my meeting. Please don't call Captain Fortis or send me to Medical. I may be a muggle, but I can handle myself."

Blake turned, if they spent any more time with the woman, they were going to combust. They needed to focus. Focus, something about a focused attack on-

"I'm getting you a cup of coffee. When you're thoroughly caffeinated and you still can't stay awake, I'll be casting an accelerated sleep spell. Now, march muggle. I know you lot know how to do that."

They blinked at the eyeless woman. Every thought in their fuzzy mind had shut down all at once. What?

Blake watched with immovable interest as they saw the woman first walk forward, then, when it was clear they wouldn't be moving from their swaying position without help, placed a delicate, almost sculpted hand on their shoulder. It really was a pretty hand.

The woman sighed, "What've you been using to stay awake?"

Blake continued to stare at the hand, it looked somewhat like their sister's hand. They briefly wondered what their sister's name was. They knew they had a sister, back in America. They hadn't thought about home in a long time, so long they forgot their sister's name. Wasn't that tragic? Hell, America probably wasn't even their "home" anymore, this damned castle was the closest thing to a home now. They really needed to take a nap if they were thinking about their sister. This was worse than being drunk off Magnus's secret collection. Ah right, the question. Coffee.

"What kind of coffee Blake?"

Wizarding coffee. They were sure of that, muggle coffee didn't make muffled screams when it hadn't been drunk in the past 5 minutes. Unless someone had charmed it to scream like that, they wouldn't be surprised, a lot of their things had been charmed. Pranks and the like.

"Latte? Mocha? Espresso shots? Bellum's Breakfast Blend?"

Cruor had suggested the brand, said it was what he relied on during exam season at Durmstrang. Though Bellum's Breakfast Blend seemed mildly intriguing, maybe that's what kept him so chipper, despite the bloodshed.

"Fortis is a lying sack of shit, if you're this sleepy after only three days. 'The Midterm Mix' could keep a first year up for a month. I'm taking you to see Count Caffeine, the greatest creature to come out of the Vampire drug war of 1853."

And then suddenly they were moving. There was another delicate, pretty hand, wrapped around their wrist, and there was an arm connected to that hand, and that arm was connected to the woman. The woman, who was leading them somewhere . Who was Count Caffeine? That seemed like a mildly childish name. Were they a real Vampire? Why were they letting the woman take them to see a Vampire? Who was this woman? Blake had papers to get back to damnit!

"Just shut up. You'll make this easier on everyone. We can't have our pet muggle breaking this early into the war."

Halls blurred by. They weren't a pet muggle. They were a muggle sure they were dreadfully aware of that fact. They knew they were a liability on the field, and while they did everything to prevent it, they still had to be rescued by Cruor every other month. And sure, they worked closely with Gellert and Magnus, but they weren't anyone's pet. They refused to be, not after The Great War. They wouldn't be some attack dog, "point and shoot". They blinked away memories of burning fields, of skies black with smoke. Never again.

"See, you call all of our best leaders by their first names, that's your problem pet."

No, they weren't anyone's pet, they weren't going to anyone else's dog. They may be loyal to Gellert, but they would kill themselves before they had to pull the trigger in another mass execution.

"Caecia? Blake?"

The world zoomed in with those words. New voice. Papers. Meeting. Don't let Cruor catch you after your 32nd hour awake. Cruor. Blake looked at the man that had suddenly appeared. Black hair, well built, medic robes.

Shit.

They looked to the woman, mustering as much betrayal as they could to fit onto their admittedly, very tired face. They were sure they told her not to tell Cruor about the sleep-deprivation. They didn't want to end up in that overly-comfortable bed again. It was embarrassing. They weren't that weak for Merlin's sake, just a muggle.

"Caecia, what did you give them?"

They looked to Cruor, did he not just hear them admit to the sleep-deprivation?

The woman, Caecia sighed. The named nudged something in the back of their head, the same part of their head as the "no eyes" thought had. She leveled them with an eyeless-stare and brought up a hand.

To pat their cheek.

Huh?

"You're going to need to use your words now my dear muggle"

But they had been talking-

No, no they hadn't, had they? Was Caecia a psychic or something? a telepath?

Cruor was frowning, "Caecia, really did Blake get hit with a Jelly Brain Jinx or something?"

The eyeless woman shook her head, "No, you failed to give our dear Muggle friend the good shit. They've been on the weak blend for the past three days. You, Fortis, to make up for your crime of depriving a perfectly good coworker of sleep, need to get them the Exam Espresso from the Count."

Realization dawned on Cruor's face. Then worry, "I don't know if a muggle body can handle-"

"Bellum's toy will be fine, I promise, you won't have an angry knight after your ass again. You were so much easier to deal with when you didn't have a guilt complex the size of IWC's funding." Her head turned to the crowd, "And ignore what I just said, keep the muggle happy while I go get the coffee." Caecia pushed past the medic and into a sea of tired looking wizards.

Bellum. Caecia. Blind woman, Cruor- Oh!

"You three are the muggleborns Gellert kidnapped and raised at Durmstrang!" Blake felt somewhat proud for figuring that out. Sure, if they were more awake, it probably would've been obvious, how many eyeless people did the average person know? But considering the current climate of their brain, it was an impressive deduction.

Cruor sighed, and then suddenly there was a big hand on their back, why was everyone so damn determined to manhandle them?

"Yes, include Regina Regitur, and us four are the group of muggleborns that were raised under Durmstrang's tutelage."

They blinked, their eyelids felt heavy. Why did their eyelids feel heavy? They frowned, "What was Durmstrang like?"

Again, they were being led forward, by that strong hand on their back, "It was strict. The professors were strict, the students were pureblooded, hotheaded and looked down on us muggleborns, the assignments were nigh impossible without a pureblooded upbringing."

They were in a chair now, something big and soft. Cruor was beside them, they leaned against him. "The only way to hold any power was to exceed the incredibly high expectations. If you fell behind, they found some way to make you useful. Caecia lost her eyes, Magnus was used to encourage Regina. Regina was used for the size of her core. I think I got off the lightest of them all, because I was able to meet them. I was a monster in my teenage years, I got slightly better after I graduated, but I will-"

The words lost their meaning. All Blake could recognise was that rumbling voice, the well-meaning, shattered guilt that hung to each vowel like blood dripping out a wound. It was a familiar voice, it was a comforting voice. It reminded them of Father Micheal, back home. His sermons and mass. They missed home.

They could feel their eyes closing, the steady breathing of the figure beside them had them feeling safe. Warm.

They let the comforting darkness in, despite the tiny voice of the conscience screaming about reports and papers. They would get to it later.

Caecia came back with three steaming cups of coffee and a bag of beans floating behind her. She looked down at Blake, slumped against his shoulder, snoring lightly. A smile split across her face, "They're rather cute like that no? A shame Bellum has his paws all over his muggle."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh let them sleep, muggles really aren't meant to stay awake for more than 16 hours at a time."

She offered him a paper cup, "You place no trust in the muggle body Fortis, a couple years ago you would have considered yourself a muggle no?" He took the cup with a bow of his head, and blew lightly, skimming the surface of the sleepless elixir.

"I'm very sure I considered myself a devil's child. Most of the muggleborns I met thought they were some mistake in the eyes of their God. Either way I have no memory of such a time."

Caecia let out a low laugh, "Cheers to that at least. Our hell started at 11, not earlier"

Their paper cups met. Cruor took a sip.

It really was good coffee.

Chapter Text

Caecia, Cruor and Blake sat in a circle of rather comfortable chairs and sofas. While the other two had chosen to sit in the plush armchairs, they had relegated themselves to the loveseat. Partially because the other seats had been taken prior to their arrival. Partially because Bellum was the one to call them all to this get together, and they were the only one comfortable with being used as a living, breathing pillow.

A little fireplace crackled away merrily on one side of the room. Drinks and refreshments were kept in a magically cooled cabinet, which was right under two large windows that let the twinkling moonlight. It was a nice room, pleasant. It reminded Blake of their accommodations, before they had added their personal flair.

Cruor sat stiffly in his seat. He coughed, "So, does anyone else know why we were told to meet here?"

"I could tell you, but I have a feeling I'm going to need to save my sight for the rest of the night." Caecia said, sipping a glass of wine she had acquired, probably from the drinks cabinet.

A look of concern crossed the medic's face, "What, will we be dealing with some attack?"

"Worse,” The door to the room slammed open, “we are going to participate in the art of fashion!"

Magnus strode in, a smug look on his face. He wore a dress with a skirt that swished, something that might have had a place in wizarding St. Petersburg, but definitely not in rural Austria, in a no-name castle that no one was meant to find.

Caecia sighed into her drink. Cruor's "at attention" perfect-posture sitting position, turned into an uncomfortable shifting. They looked to Magnus with his wide grin, they squinted their eyes, "How did you know?"

Magnus walked forward and collapsed on the loveseat beside them, crossing his leg over his lap, "Know what darling?"

They mustered their inner pureblood, and sniffed haughtily "That I was going to school for fashion design back in America."

Bellum's smug grin turned into a smile of surprise, "You studied fashion design?"

"I agree with Bellum, fashion?" Cruor added while Caecia snorted.

They shifted under the gazes on them, "Yes, before the war, I was planning on going into fashion. I had an eye for dress design."

"Did anyone ever wear the clothes you designed?" A new voice spoke up, light, feminine, horse. Like it hadn't been in use for a very long time; or if it had, it had only been used to scream. They looked to the new arrival, a woman, blond hair, electric eyes, scars on every inch of her body.

They smiled at the blond, "Yes, my sister. She was the one who put up with me, tearing into her old skirts and sheets, pinning and sewing the new creations onto her. She was always happy to help me. We lost her though, when she was young."

The woman used her entire face to frown. It was almost childish, the way she emoted. Magnus tugged her forward, dropping her into his lap. The others had looks of surprise, and when she smiled up at Magnus, jealousy twisted across Cruor and Caecia’s frames. Magnus’s hand settled on their shoulder, "This is Regina Regitur, the Lightning Mistress herself. She just earned some free time, so she's going to help dress up me and Blake for the ball in the Carpathians. We're meeting with the Vampire Lords."

Regina's eyes lit up like a lighter in a dark cave, "Vampires? Woah, are they on our side now? I remember I had to fight one of them, back in,"

Her brow scrunched up in the effort of remembering, but Caecia jumped in before she could complete her train of thought, "We aren't allies yet, we're trying to get them to join the fight on our side. However,” They were suddenly the subject of a dry and eyeless stare, “Blake and Bellum have crashed enough galas that their requested appearance might suggest the Brass is planning creature genocide. Or something similarly radical."

Everyone looked at Caecia.

"Is that something you've seen?" They asked, because the question was hanging in the air and no one else was asking it.

"No no, just looking at patterns. You both are probably going to wear your runic shoes, and if that's the case, there will most likely be reports of you two creating a magic bomb again on every relevant world leader's desk by noon."

Blake rolled their eyes, "Please, I’ve gone to plenty of galas and balls without blowing anything up. I’ve even gone to a couple with Magnus, where we didn’t blow everything up.”

Caecia raised a perfectly sculpted brow, “You went to plenty of galas and balls before you met Magnus, dear. And the few times you didn’t blow up a ballroom with Bellum, the two of you didn’t have access to those runic shoes. You’re messing with the statistics.”

They put a finger into the air and opened their mouth. They closed their mouth. They frowned, “I’m sure there was one time, in Berlin-”

“No.” Cruor cut in, “Not one member of the Alliance was invited to one of 15 different German officals’ funerals. Not even the poor man’s son.”

They opened their mouth again, but closed it again, putting a finger to their chin to think. Magnus put a hand on their back, “Don’t over exhaust your brain dear, we need you sharp! We have Vampires to charm in 12 hour-”

“12 Hours?!” Regina exclaimed, launching herself forward, putting two hands on Magnus’s knees, “We have no time at all! C’mon Alex, c’mon!”

The Lord stood, clapped and looked at the assembled group of muggleborns with assessing eyes. Blake felt like a battlefield, the way the tactical gaze traced over their body. She wasn’t the girl with childish expressions anymore, she was a weapon. Was this how others felt when Blake read them? If so, it was unnerving to say the least. Though they couldn’t give up their one advantage in the wizarding world.

Regina seemed to come to a conclusion. She looked at the two of them, huddled on the loveseat, and smiled. She snapped her fingers and suddenly racks of clothes appeared out of thin air, and more racks drove themselves in through the doorway. There had to be a couple hundred dresses in the room, all glittering and shining. Blake had the urge to get up and study them. See the way the dresses fell down a body, how the artist chose their fabric, what colour choices they had used. Of course Blake had seen the dresses at the events their job had dragged them to. Of course they studied how each Lord and Lady of each family dressed, but it was just for a handshake, or a glance while sipping some strange wine. Here they could touch them .

They looked to Regina with awe, trying to convey the need to study these dresses with their eyes alone. There was one simple yellow one right beside them. Puffed sleeves, an illusion neckline that flowed into a cape that they swore was made of sunlight. Little bees danced across fabric that seemed to be made of sunflowers, leaving white stitches in their wake. The dress was alive and beautiful. When they reached out to grasp the dress, it felt like any muggle dress, if the material was of a higher quality. 

When they looked back to Regina, those calculating eyes had lit up with familiarity. 

“Caecia!” The woman straightened at her name, “I’m taking Blake so we can get into the nitty gritty of the dressing up alright? I know you know what I want Bellum to end up looking like by the end of the night, and I know you know your way around makeup brushes and a needle. You’re in charge!”

And then the two of them were gone, leaving three mildly confused yearmates to figure out how to fit Bellum into a dress chosen by prophecy. 

“So, what’s with Regina?” He asked, watching as Caecia nearly poked Bellum’s eye out with a brush of some sort. Her face was grim, jaw set and brow furrowed in concentration, though it didn’t seem to help much as Bellum still squeaked everytime the bristles got too close to his face. 

Bellum tried not to flinch at Caecia’s dubious probes of the brush, “Regina’s back from her time in France, I managed to keep her for a day before she’s sent back off to the dungeons.”

Caecia pursed her lips, out of focus or simmering rage, Cruor couldn’t tell, “What did you bribe Stephan with this time?”

“Nothing!” The both of them leveled their disbelief at Bellum, “Really! On Merlin’s name! I just pulled rank.”

“Oh?” He said as Caecia put the sharp end of a pencil much too close to Bellum’s eye. 

Bellum tipped his head back and away from the pencil, “Apparently, being in charge of a major raid has its perks. This might be the last gala I go to. If Ithaca crumbles, then I’ll be important enough that I won’t need to go to any more balls.” The pencil went off course because of Bellum’s movements and a white line was smeared across Bellum’s cheek. Caecia swore and waved her hand, the mark disappeared, “It’s a shame really, never going to a ball again.”

Caecia repositioned her hand on his face, pencil aimed at his eye. She scowled “A real shame. Now if you move again, I’m going to cast petrificus totalus and I’ll give you a tattoo that says “I want to fuck Dumbledore” on your forehead. Are we clear?”

The words “Crystal” materialized to her right. Caecia smirked and jabbed the pencil.

Blake, unlike the three others currently struggling with a stubborn zipper, was having a wonderful time. Their face had been shifted to look powerful and wise, as the owner of the gentle hands that applied their makeup had claimed. Now they were getting a beautiful black and blue dress tailored right onto their body by a series of charms that Regina had cast the second they got it on. 

“-lot of people think that Vampires like the colour red. That’s wrong. In Vampiric culture, only two types of people are allowed to wear red, the Lords and the Prey.” Regina puttered around, her eyes flicking here and there, “In the Lord’s case, it represents self control. The Lord might smell blood every day, and they still will have control over themselves. In the Prey’s case, it means you are free to feast on them, they are an indulgence you can eat.”

Regina looked straight into their eyes, “You aren’t secretly a Vampire Lord, are you?” 

They shook their head with a smile. Regina returned the smile, and spun them around to focus on their back, “Then we don’t want you to be prey.”

They looked at the rest of the dresses in front of them, all black and blue. Some were fluffy ball gowns, some were casual smocked dresses, some were elaborate contraptions that seemed to be held together by nothing at all. Yet each of them still shared the same key feature of black and blue, “I understand why I shouldn’t wear red, but why black? Why blue?”

Regina spun them around again, and winked, bringing a finger to her smiling lips, “I have insider information, Dear Liaison.” 

The dress they were currently wearing, something that seemed to be made of Blue Morpho butterfly wings, settled as the tailoring charms pulled away, “Black represents Nobility and Age, as well as a familiarity with death. Magically aged blood is said to eventually turn into a pure black. At least that’s how it’s stated in ancient Sângeros texts. If you had the capacity to keep blood pure and long enough to make it truly black, then you had to be noble, and in order to see the blood become black, you had to be old enough to see the transformation. Which usually took something like 450 years, give or take a century.”

They hummed as a brush started tugging at their hair, “And the blue?”

“To state you’re an associate of Grindelwald. His protego diabolica is iconic at this point, and this shade of blue is almost exactly the same shade as that fire. If they trust the Alliance, then they need not worry about the night ending in an explosive manner. If they don’t trust the Alliance, then,” Regina shrugged with a wicked smile on her face, “I suppose you and Alex won’t be breaking your track record hm?”

Blake adopted their own wicked grin, “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose threatening the Vampires with explosives would be more fun than an actual explosion.”

“No blowing up anything.” 

Bellum scowled at Caecia, as he put on his shoes. They were pure white and crackled with contained magic. They were made of refined mana stones, the kind dug up from the Antarctic Caverns by the Southern Merpersons Collective. Bellum had carved them himself, “I can’t promise that Caecia.”

Caecia put her hand on Bellum’s shoulder, “You can, and you will.” There was a finger right under Bellum’s nose, “Do not, test me.”

Cruor sighed, “Let Bellum blow up a couple things, he deserves the enrichment.” He looked to the man. A pang of regret stabbed itself through his heart as it always did when he spent too much time looking at a shadow of the boy he used to cripple.

“Though I must ask,” he kept his calm facade because he needed to, “I thought we agreed to not do any more big events with Regina? They always twist these happy memories into worse nightmares, we saw how bad it got when we celebrated her birthday.”

Bellum suddenly looked uncomfortable, more uncomfortable then he looked in a tight leather dress, caked in makeup and with more hair product in his hair than common sense should allow. There were the twitching signs of “emotions too big to hide” racking Bellum’s body. If the master of emotional masks was having trouble hiding his true feelings, Cruor wondered what was causing such turmoil. Should he be concerned?

Caecia leaned back from her scrutiny, “Look Bagnus Mellum, none of us want to practice legilimency more than is absolutely necessary, speak up.”

Bellum sighed, “I promised her, that if I ever needed help with this,” his face screwed up into something decidedly non-Bellum, “ subject , I would come to her for help. She wanted to do it to feel like a normal teenager, back at Durmstrang I mean, back when we would talk in medical. Yesterday, I asked her if she still wanted to help. She said yes.”

Cruor squinted at the man in front of him. What was causing Bellum to shut down so completely? The last time he hid something of this scale from their little quintet was his little crush on-

Oh.

Caecia’s bored look shifted into one of pure glee, she started giggling, “See Bellum? Even Cruor recognises the signs!”

He looked from Bellum’s incredulous face, and Caecia’s charming laughter. Was this supposed to be a surprise? He had many a rant directed at him about “Magnus’s awful taste in music” and “Magnus’s stupid fascination with muggle joke ties”, it was surprising Bellum had only just mustered the courage to do something about it. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed? No, that was impossible!

Bellum started to sink into the overstuffed armchair. Caecia slapped his hand and Bellum righted himself, “No blowing up anything, and no ruining my hard work.” She paused, “Unless a certain someone breaks those rules, I won’t stop their fun.”

“See!” Bellum exclaimed to no one in particular, “This is why I don’t tell you guys anything.”

Regina gave them a hard look, all focused assessment. They held their breath, feeling the old dread of a drill sergeant was coming to check their bed. Despite Regina’s assessment being based on her own work and completely out of Blake’s hands, the chill still remained. Cold, blue eyes stared at them, but they dared not stare back. Then Regina smiled, and pulled them into a hug. 

“You look beautiful, if you don’t stun him, then I’ll punch him myself.”

They tried to blink away tears that were suddenly forming. Why, they were suddenly determined to cry, they had no clue. 

Ah, no they had a clue. 

That was what their sister had said before they had taken their then-boyfriend to a masquerade ball in New York. She had been so young, and yet somehow the most level headed of the family. She had always known what to say. Blake remembered what they had said in response to their sister, and so they now said, 

“I feel beautiful.”

Regina pulled away with a smile, and Blake met it with an equivalent warmth. Then the Lord sighed and plopped onto a suddenly summoned couch, “It’s a shame we only got to know each other for one night. See, I remember when I first made this deal with Bellum, I thought I would give this super intimidating shovel talk. The whole “You hurt him and I’ll turn you into a fine paste” thing.”

They didn’t flinch when her eyes turned to them, definitely not.

“But I’m looking at you, and I can’t imagine a world where you’d hurt him. No more than me I guess, hell let’s be serious, anything I did would be ten times worse. And I like you, and I’m sorry I’m not entirely here, that I’m always on high alert. I really would love to be your friend, but as you’ve probably realized, I don’t stay myself for very long. I haven’t really been myself, I haven’t stopped swapping between hardened battle killer and a 5 year old on a sugar rush since, oh I don’t know, Durmstrang?”

Regina’s hand reached out, and grasped theirs,

“Protect him for me, whether it’s from Grindelwald or the Alliance, or hell, even me. Please, keep Alex safe, for me. I’ll let you know a little secret, yeah? I’ve loved him since 3rd year I think? Still do, very much.”

The word sank into them and Blake urged themselves to pull away, they knew the dangers of jealous lovers. Yet Regina pulled their hands closer to her.

“Don’t get me wrong, I give you my blessing. I give you my blessing because whenever he talks about you, I hear his world light up like a star coming to life. I give you my blessing because whenever he looks at me, all he sees is his failures and weaknesses and the things he could have done to save me. He looks at me like I’m broken, and the truth is, I am. I’m not fit to be with Alex, but you are, and the both of you together are unstoppable. So don’t hang by on my account alright?”

Her hand was on their cheek, brushing stray hairs out of their face, wiping away imaginary tears. They took it with a gasp. They felt like they should be sobbing, breaking down like they did in their bunk, back on the ship headed back to America, back when they ran away from the crumbling France. They didn’t want their relationship with these three, these four , to crumble like it did with their family, like it did with France. 

They didn’t know how to respond, so they said the first thing that came to mind, “How come I’m not crying?”

Regina blinked, and then laughed an excited little laugh, “Makeup charms silly! We can’t have you ruining my hard work!”

Chapter Text

The three of them sat on the edge of a roof, just overlooking Paris. The city lit up the night sky. It could've been romantic.

Maybe in another life, the three of them would be in some restaurant, wining and dining. Maybe they would press a kiss to Magnus's cheek while Caecia stole rolls from the bread basket. Maybe in that other life, Caecia would roll her eyes when Magnus got down and proposed under the moon. Maybe in another life, Regina would be here, dragging Blake away, telling them about her childhood crush and how Blake better treat her Alex right. Maybe in another life they would welcome Regina in, and the three of them would toss Caecia out so they could spend the rest of the night in private.

Maybe in another life, Cruor wouldn't be dead.

Maybe in another life, Cruor wouldn't have been lowered into a grave three hours ago, under a thunderous downpour.

The three of them sat, and instead of any charming wine in a charming glass in a charming restaurant, the three of them passed around a bottle of something corrosive.

They had long exhausted their tears, but still there was a rock in their heart, dragging down and down and Merlin they couldn't stop the grief. The other two weren't doing much better, Caecia was lying down on the roof, spreading eagle, not-staring into the sky above. Blake wondered for a moment, how hard it must be, with Caecia unable to cry. How she managed to deal with the curling, squirming heaviness that was this grief.

"How fucked up is it," Magnus was drunk as hell, somehow he was able to chug the corrosive shit, so he was now in charge of the bottle, "that I feel bad that my fucking! Tormentor! Died. I hated him so much at Durmstrang, he- he was worse than shit. He's the reason I hated wizards so damn much. Motherfucker went and kicked me around like i was a fucking ball. He said there was no one from our side in Ithaca, and then when he turned out to be wrong! He has the audacity to fucking die to my attack. He just had to run into the gas to save some-"

"You loved him though" Caecia chirped up with a sing-song tone, arms still spread, "Not like your Blake, but you loved him in the end. I'm blind and I still saw how much you gave a shit when he first got you those Ethiopian Fire Opals. He fucking regretted everything he did to you, you daft bastard."

Blake snorted, falling against Magnus's shoulder "He would've made a great Catholic, he was top tier priest material. Actually remorseful." They started playing around with their lover's hair.

Caecia continued, "No matter how good Fortis would've been playing muggle, he did give a shit about them in the end. He gave a shit about you after his time in Greece, and you clearly reciprocated after he saved your doll."

Blake made a noise, and curled further into Magnus's side, "I liked him. He was annoying as hell, forcing me to spend hours in that damned bed. But he was nice, and was more interested in learning about me than my first girlfriend ever did. The first conversation we had was about the limitations of a muggle."

"You had a girlfriend? So I had competition in the whole romance department after all?"

Caecia groaned, "Go fuck yourself Bellum."

Blake felt the rumbling chuckles of their human pillow, an arm wrapped around their side, pulling them into Magnus's lap. Fingers found themselves carding through their hair, they tilted their head to kiss the hand cradling their cheek, "Never Alex, Never."

Silence fell upon the group again, but the grief wasn't so dense, just a floating presence, instead of a suffocating wave. The bottle of whatever had been abandoned, instead they got drunk on what little human contact they had left.

There was a deep breath from Magnus, "I killed him. I ordered the gassing. I oversaw the whole operation, and still I couldn't stop him from getting in. I wasn't watching the entrances enough, he managed to slip through and-"

The fingers were leaving their hair, they bit down on the hand next to their cheek, "I must be a fucking monster then. I suggested the gas in the first place, I was the one who supervised development of it cause I had first hand experience with chemical weapons. Not only did I help make the thing that got my friend killed, but I also brought chemical weapons to the wizarding world."

They could feel Magnus's eyes on them, big, sad. Like some abused puppy, "But you could never've known. You're-"

"A muggle I know." They sat up, rubbing their red-rimmed eyes , "That doesn't change that before I knew about magic, I saw my comrade's faces get melted off with gas . That doesn't change that in order to stay in Gellert's good graces, I handed him the blueprints to one of the most horrific things us muggles could come up with. If anything that makes me more responsible, I gave a whole other society the keys to Hell."

Caecia pulled herself up to her elbows, "You both are idiots who want to adopt Fortis's guilt complex. You're both war criminals now. Everyone is going to see you as such, and unlike Dumbledore, you're on the losing side."

Magnus's hand was back in their hair, they sighed against it. Blindly, they reached for Caecia's arm. She saw their plight, and lay her head into their lap. They started scratching her scalp, "Maybe" the two other attention focused on them, "Maybe we don't need to be on the losing side. Create our own, ditch Vinda and Gellert, run away from the Alliance. It's what got Cruor killed, got Regina in 're-education', gave you all such lovely childhoods"

Caecia snorted, "Fortis would hate that. His death led to us ditching the Alliance, he'd curse us all."

"No, he never cared for the Alliance that much." Magnus sighed, "He cared for Grindelwald. Trailed after him like a lost puppy."

"Like every last one of us didn't"

"Like you were any better Caecia. I for one, did not trail after him like a "Lost Puppy" I-"

"Oh please, I wasn't immune to Grindelwald's charms. Apparently even Dumbledore fell for his passionate speeches. I think Regina was the only one truly free of our Dark Lord's pull."

"Honestly" Blake interjected, "Gellert wasn't the same man by the end. I can't imagine the man Dumbledore dueled, sitting down beside me and telling me that in the wizarding world, I wouldn't need to worry whether or not my parents found the boy in my closet."

Again, silence fell over them. Paris really was beautiful.

"I wish Regina was here."

They both looked at Caecia.

"She deserves to be here. She was the lover of us all, she deserved to say goodbye, even if she still held a grudge. She doesn't deserve to be in the dungeons getting tortured into submission."

There was a thought, forming in the back of their mind. The same sort of spark that flickered into existence when Bellum first brought up the idea of attacking Ithaca. Memories of a drunken Bellum in bed, recounting the heroic tale of getting one Cruor Fortis out of the most secure places in the IWC. "Then let's break her out"

The other two looked at them. A plan was coming together, slowly, "Let's break her out, and then run. The Butcher of Ithaca, Grindelwald's Muggle Liaison, The Lighting Mistress, The Prophet of the Alps, all on the loose. We can run, be on the run. Maybe we'll live as muggles, or we can head to Peru or something. Maybe you, Magnus, can get your Ethiopian Fire Opals first hand. We could sell mildly magical things to muggles. We could be the local witch doctors, come to us if you really need to and we'll give you a magical cure. Muggles would eat that up."

They could feel the way the hope wracked through the other twos' bodies. They wanted it, and Blake was not going to let them snuff this light out, "We break her out, and we'll be free! Free from the Brass, free from anybody else. They can track us down, but we can keep running. We can live a quaint little life, all domestic and such. It might be tiring but-"

"I can't." Caecia's words were quiet.

Blake looked at her, "Why?" she wanted it so damn bad, they could see it in the way her shoulders scrunched and her lips pursed. The anxious, coiled want-

"I can't, I have ambitions, and I can't complete them on the run. I'll help you break Regina out, but I'll have to leave from there. You are serving yourselves, but I have different goals. I'll help you, but that's as far as I'll go for your group."

There was a lump in their throat. It was when everyone was together, having those little domestic moments, that everyone was the happiest. Caecia only let out her barking laugh when another muggleborn was near, when they were doing something domestic, something that didn't aid in the war effort. It was when Regina came out of confinement that a true smile graced Magnus's lips. It was when the five of them were together that Cruor last smiled. It was when Regina was picking dresses for the next ball she would never attend, with Magnus and Cruor holding bags and bags of fashion that she let out that gleeful laugh.

Why snub that? Why keep yourself away from that joy?

"That's all we need" Magnus spoke above them.

Caecia nodded, and stood. Magnus sighed and cracked his neck, joining Caecia. Blake joined them both, looking over at the happy Paris lights. Maybe in another life Caecia would join them, maybe in another life she would be happy.

"Shall we let Fortis enjoy one last drink beyond the veil?"

Magnus nodded, and from his robes pulled a half empty bottle of vodka. The alcohol splashed to the ground beneath the roof.

"Poor bastard never finished his drink."

The three of them walked away from the Parisian lights. It may not have been a romantic evening, but the flame of hope that had long since been smothered by the years of war, was sparkling to light, starting to glow, just like those lights in Paris.

Maybe in another life, they would all be muggles, or bakers or school teachers. Maybe in another life, they were never captured by Grindelwald's forces. Maybe in another life, the Alliance won the war. Maybe in another life they were happy.

But they lived in this life. They only had this life. And Merlin be damned if they weren't going to take control of it.