I am so, so, so sorry for the delay. Real life and all that, I won't go into details. I feel really guilty for the long wait. This was meant to be up ages ago. The closer I get to finishing, the longer it takes to write, I guess.

Also, thanks to everyone who volunteered to do German translations if needed. As of now, I've decided against actually including the German – maybe only a couple of individual words at most – but I do appreciate it, and if I change my mind I'll know who to contact. Anyway, no more talking, onto the story everyone has been waiting for.

The play is done
The curtain's down

Where are the wolves, the underwater moon
The elvenpath, the haven of youth
Lagoons of the starlit sea

Have I felt enough for one man's deed?
Or is it time to challenge the Ancient of Days
- Nightwish, "Dead Gardens"

Here we stand
Somewhere in between this moment and the end
Will we bend
Or will we open up and take this whole thing in
-Rob Thomas, "Mockingbird"

Not long after realizing that Fawkes would be unavailable to accompany Albus and himself to Germany, Harry almost manically checked and double-checked his mental list of necessary supplies. He was sure Albus was as prepared as he could be, being both intelligent and strategic, but Harry was also fairly sure that he was the only one of the two to have ever been forced to experience life on the run. Never mind the fact that Albus did not yet know that he would not be setting off alone.

True, he did not know exactly how the older wizard planned to find or confront Grindelwald, and Harry did not know exactly how this sort of warfare worked, but he refused to betray Albus' trust by rifling through sensitive, confidential documents, quite apart from his fear of bringing the wrong attention down upon him. He had no idea whether or not Albus planned to blend into the crowds of the cities or camp through the countryside, but he thought that his skills at survival and guerrilla techniques would be useful regardless. As the one of the couple with experience, Harry felt more than a little responsible for Albus' safety.

For several days now, Harry had been searching for a healing potion or potions that could be used as an inferior-but-better-than-nothing substitute for phoenix tears. Those who were familiar with phoenixes knew that their tears, while extremely potent when first shed, lost that potency over time if kept or stored. The degradation was based on two factors: the amount of time since the tears had been shed, and the amount of distance from the phoenix that shed them. And as Harry was certain that Albus' mission would be both time-consuming and take them to Germany, far from Fawkes, he could not depend on a vial of his tears.

"I'm heading to Etansmere," Harry informed Albus one weekend from the doorway of the Transfiguration office. Etansmere was a tiny, all-magical town that Harry suspected had ceased to exist for one reason or another sometime before his introduction to the Wizarding World. "There are a few shops I want to check out." Specifically, the specialty potions supply/apothecary.

"Be careful," Albus said, looking up from his grading, a faint crease between his brows.

Harry smiled and turned to go, planning to take his leave from Hogsmeade. "I will."

He mused on his situation during the familiar walk into town, shivering a bit and burrowing into his jacket when a chilly gust of wind blew by. Here he was in the past, in the UK during World War II, and he had seen so little of it. So little of the struggling people and the bombed out cities. He had stuck mainly to Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and Albus' cottage when there was so much to see, to experience. It would be sad and undoubtedly horrifying, but…this was history. His history. And – this was his saving-people thing kicking in – so many who needed help.

Perhaps he would take a look around London before heading to Etansmere. It was still light out; there was plenty of time to take a quick look around before night – and the bombs – fell.

When Harry did finally arrive in Etansmere, it was to find himself surveying the tail-end of a battle.

Invasion, he thought. It hadn't occurred to him that the small town could be considered a strategic point by Grindelwald's forces, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. As one of the few all-magical towns left in Britain, it would be devastating to lose it.

Not only that, it would have numerous ties to important political figures and aristocracy/pureblood families in the Wizarding world. Few would live there, preferring a more isolated location with the acreage befitting a stately manor home, but a combination of constituents, patronage, and even vacation homes would prove to be quite a blow to Wizarding Britain's morale, if not the economy.

Never mind how difficult it would be to uproot enemy forces once they had found a foothold, a base in enemy territory.

Luckily, the battle appeared as though it were being won by the British Aurors and allies. Actually, having missed the height of the fighting, Harry found that his luck had been unusually good in this instance. It was a bit unheard of for him to appear when the battle was practically over.

If it didn't erupt around him, he generally found himself right in the middle of the chaos.

The apothecary caught his eye, and he sprinted toward it. It was the most dangerous area, at the moment, considering the numerous extremely flammable materials and potentially toxic fumes. They would probably need the most defending that particular area.

And if he so happened to find the potions he was looking for, well, that had been the whole point of this trip.

Minerva's eye caught on an airborne chunk of debris – part of a roof, perhaps, or a corner of a shop – and she let her shield drop the instant her opponent's curse ricocheted off at an angle that caused a nearby invader to duck. She flicked her wand the instant the object was above "Pox" – so dubbed for the myriad small, circular scars on his exposed skin – and a snarling leopard dropped onto his startled head. Unfortunately, he had managed to get off one last deadly-looking curse, and Minerva wasn't in a very good position to defend herself.

Her heart skipped a beat, mind cataloging just how painful her death would be as she twisted, throwing herself back and to the side. Rolling clumsily out of the way and back onto her feet, she closed her eyes briefly as she overpowered a "lumos".

"Move your feet!" Harry had shouted in many of their training sessions. "They aren't nailed to the ground. Shields won't stop everything, maybe not even most of the spells you'll come up against, but that doesn't matter if you can dodge. It's a hell of a lot harder to hit a moving target. So move! This isn't a formal duel, for Merlin's sake."

The move, off balance as she had been, was ugly and awkward, and closing her eyes had probably been a bad idea. It wasn't even very dark out, so it would be more difficult to blind the enemy with bright lights. Still, her dive, at least, had worked. Minerva was alive and alert, and her Transfigured leopard had managed to break "Pox's" neck.

Of course, another enemy soldier had replaced him from the mass of wizards and witches battling in the streets. "Teeth" she decided his nickname would be, noting how large and unnaturally white they were, and knowing that if she didn't finish this one off quickly she'd be outnumbered again. The young Auror just barely managing to summon a stray cobblestone as a defense against a spell more commonly used to cauterize wounds, and took a deep breath as she retaliated.

There was a certain...almost formulaic quality to the moves of the enemy soldiers she faced. Minerva felt so far beyond stressed she had come right around to cool and calm, and she had to remind herself not to fall into the trap of overconfidence or complacency at their moves. She was more used to Harry's unusual creativity and off-the-wall thinking.

"Use everything, anything at your disposal. Know your surroundings and use them. Remember that even the simplest of spells have their uses in battle. It's a matter of timing and creativity, and it'll really throw off a lot of your opponents. A stream of ink or paint, for example, aimed at your opponents eyes."

However, luck, power, and experience would still do a lot of damage, and she had the chest pains to prove it. The enemy might underestimate Minerva, but she couldn't afford to underestimate them if she wanted to survive.

Several rocks in her area once again became a small menagerie of predators, and one broken statue nearby stood up and bounded forward, giving the injured witch a moment to breathe and take in her surroundings. Minerva barely had time to notice that the invaders were on the verge of retreating – was that familiar figure down the road Professor Dumbledore? – when shattering glass and a deafening roar signaled an explosion.

Startled, she pressed herself against the stone wall of the shop at her back. Her opponent had, fortunately, likewise been distracted, although she fell quickly into a crouch to dodge a curse sent from a witch in the opposite direction. A jab of her wand, and quicksand tripped the witch that rushed her. Thick, sharp briars entwined "Teeth" just as he managed to behead her last Transfigured viper, and he screamed in pain, toppling to the ground with his punctured arms trapped to his sides.

Ignoring him for the moment, she blocked the hex the recovered witch sent at her, and chained a series of spells, slipping a banished dagger in at the end. The other witch had only a little trouble shielding or countering Minerva's spells, but the physical weapon took her by surprise, finding its home in her chest. Minerva brushed aside the pang of regret to be dealt with later, and quickly knocked "Teeth" unconscious.

She cautiously evaluated her surroundings; apparently a retreat had been called by the invaders, as those left were Aurors, townspeople, or too injured to be moved.

"Don't let your guard down in enemy territory," Harry had stressed, time and again.

She made her way carefully down the street, wand at the ready as she looked for a superior to report to. The burnt out shell of the apothecary caught her eye, flames still shooting outward as what few flammable materials left ignited. She remembered seeing a few wizards dousing the building and guarding the exterior earlier, attempting to keep it from exploding. It seemed they had done a fairly good job of it, if it had only just exploded.

She bit her lip at the bodies that littered the ground.

"Minerva!" a familiar voice called out, and she turned, rather alarmed to see Professor Dumbledore almost running in her direction.

"Yes?" she replied a bit breathlessly, a hand moving to her ribs. Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, her various injuries had begun to throb.

"Have you seen Harry?"

"Harry?" she repeated blankly.

"He was meant to be here. He said he was going to…he said he would be here," Albus said with an uncharacteristic stutter.

Minerva frowned, struggling to think. "I don't remember seeing him. And his style of fighting ought to have stood out," she murmured.

The apothecary ruins caught her eye once again, sparking a faint memory. "Wait," she said suddenly. "Wait. I think… I'm not sure if it was actually him, I hadn't even considered he might be here, but I think…" She trailed off, unable to keep the look of horror from her face as she stared squarely at the scatter of bodies around the apothecary.

Albus paled, and almost stumbled as his knees buckled. "No," he whispered, barely able to hear himself over the rushing of his pulse in his ears. He'd thought his heart had stopped when he'd been alerted to the battle in Etansmere, but now… His thoughts were a jumble, Harry and dead and no and warGellerthisfaultmyfaultstophavetostopHaveToStopIt.

His resolve hardened. No more. Gellert had gone too far. Albus had been a coward for far too long, but it was past time for Gellert to be stopped, and he would be the one to end it. Soon, if not immediately.

"Albus! Minerva!"

The pair spun around immediately, almost unable to believe it.

"Harry!" Minerva exclaimed, while Albus could only sag in relief.

"Thank Merlin!" the younger witch exclaimed, throwing herself at the figure that had jogged over to them.

"You're alive," Albus whispered.

Harry understood immediately, returning Minerva's embrace after only the smallest flinch, and then pulling Albus into a hug.

The taller man gripped him desperately, eyes squeezed shut, the younger wizard's head tucked under his chin. "You're alive."

"Can't get rid of me." Harry's reply was muffled by Albus' robed chest, and for the first time in years, no bitterness crept into the phrase.

At long last, Albus pulled back, gaze intent as he studied his companion.

Harry gazed back, and noticed there was something different about Albus, hidden in his stance or behind his eyes. There was a new sort of resolve about him. Regarding what, he did not yet know.

A few weeks later Harry was practically assaulted by the sound of Fawkes' loud cry the moment he entered their rooms. He jerked slightly in surprise, almost missing a step, before closing the door behind him and hurrying over to the phoenix's perch. "What is it?" he queried, alarmed and wondering where Albus was.

Fawkes, looking particularly haggard as his burning day drew closer, attempted to flap his wings, shedding a few feathers in the process. The young wizard quickly presented an arm for the bird to settle on, and then followed Fawkes' gaze, bringing the two of them to his bedroom. He hesitantly opened his closet, all the while wondering what the phoenix was attempting to tell him.

His heart skipped a beat when Fawkes hopped down to the floor and pecked at his travel bag. "Now?" he breathed. "He's gone now?"

Fawkes screeched a negative, but looked at him expectantly.

"Tonight?"

Fawkes bobbed his head in agreement, and Harry's gaze hardened in determination.

"Thank you, Fawkes. I'll be with your companion and protect him as best as I can." He grinned a little wryly. "Whether he likes it or not."

The warm, feathered head nuzzled his hand, dark eyes watching him sadly.

"I wish you could come too," he whispered, running his fingers along the fragile neck. He carefully picked up the wizened phoenix and placed him back on his perch, his mind sorting through everything that needed to be done. First, the kitchens, to pick up the more perishable food supplies.

By the time night fell, Harry was wishing for rest. It had taken a greater toll on him than he thought, to act as though nothing was wrong or changed, while completing his last minute preparations. He knew better than to give Albus any warning of his plans; the older wizard would object strenuously, and who knew what he might manage to delay or stop Harry, if given sufficient time for planning and implementation. The man was a genius, after all. Although, given Albus' unusual state of distraction, Harry suspected he had some leeway for mistakes.

"Harry?" Albus had said not long before dinner, as the two sat before the fireplace in their rooms.

Harry had been at the table, bent over the last of his progress reports describing what had been covered during his tutoring. He felt a little guilty at leaving Galatea and his students so suddenly, only a month or so until the final tests.

"Hmm?" he murmured hazily, looking up at his companion on the couch and blinking away the afterimages of the scrawl of words on parchment.

The flickering firelight caught in Albus' eyes as Harry watched, abruptly ensnaring him as the bright blue seemed to glow and gain depth. Something – something important – niggled at Harry's mind. He watched, captivated, as Albus drew breath to speak. There was something he should know, something he did know, subconsciously, but he could not draw it out. Albus would help, as he always did. Albus could give him clarity.

"I – " the older wizard began, and then stopped. "I…" He laughed, then, a soft huff of breath without mirth. "Even now," he murmured too quietly for Harry to catch, and berated himself for a coward in his mind.

"Albus?" Harry asked, torn between curiosity and concern.

The Transfiguration Professor shook his head. "I am glad," he said at last, quietly, sincerely, "to have you in my life. I can think of no one else who means as much to me."

Harry's expression softened, and he smiled in return. So that was to be Albus' good bye to him. It's not so easy to leave me behind, Harry thought, and for once his mind did not turn to the friends who had not hesitated to sacrifice themselves, so that at last he was the only one left of them.

"I feel much the same," Harry replied, and for a long moment their gazes were bound, blue and green.

Then the dark-haired wizard bent once more over his parchment, and Albus returned to his book.

Curfew was near and the halls were deserted when he entered Galatea's office. This was his last errand, and then all that would be left to do was wait for Albus to leave.

Harry leaned back against the door for a moment in the darkened room, taking in the heavy wooden desk and sturdy bookshelves, the DADA artifacts, pile of homework assignments and overflow of texts. Then he crossed the room to lay an envelope in an empty space near the center of Galatea's desk.

The letter gave his apologies for leaving so suddenly and without warning, a vague explanation for his actions, and his thanks for the chance to teach and for her friendship. If all goes well, and if you and Headmaster Dippet will still have me, I would be most grateful and happy to once again assist in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in the new term.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded as he exited the office and closed the door.

"You're off, then?"

He whirled to face Galatea Merryweather, leaning against the stone wall across from the door and watching him with a raised brow.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered.

She snorted. "I'm no idiot, Harry. I've noticed the way you've shifted your workload and deadlines."

Harry quite obviously did not know how to reply. His gaze darted from the witch to the hallway, as though searching for an escape.

"Does Albus know?"

The twitch of Harry's features gave him away before his reply. "Not yet."

Galatea huffed a laugh. To be a fly on the wall for that conversation. "Come here, kid," she sighed, and reached out to ruffle his hair when he obeyed. Her eyes narrowed, her hand holding his head in place as she met his gaze. "You take care of yourself," she said seriously.

There was a pause as Harry eyed her.

"I will," he said.

"Better than you've been doing, I hope," was her final comment as her hand slid from his head, and the older woman turned and walked away.

Albus crept quietly out of his bedroom, a travel bag resting on his back as he maneuvered easily through the darkened sitting room.

"Good bye, my friend," he murmured quietly to Fawkes, brushing a finger along the phoenix's back.

Fawkes trilled sleepily, and nudged his hand in farewell.

The wizard turned to look at Harry's closed bedroom door. He hadn't joined the younger man that night, didn't even dare to peek in now for fear of waking him, for fear of what might be said, of perhaps having to lie, of a possible confrontation. Albus had said his goodbyes, although Harry wouldn't have known it. That would have to be enough.

He was sorry for what Harry might go through when he realized Albus had disappeared.

It was the middle of the night; this late, with nothing stirring, it seemed as though the whole castle was empty. The click of the closing door as he backed into the stone hall and eased it shut seemed unnaturally loud.

With a sigh, Albus turned to go and stopped short. Harry leaned against the wall opposite, wearing a travelling cloak, a small, sturdy bag attached to his belt. In an instant, he knew why.

"No."

"Yes," Harry replied, his body language unwavering in the face of Albus' disapproval verging on anger.

"You are not coming with me," Albus hissed. Harry was not following him into war. It was far too dangerous, and Harry had suffered more than enough.

"I'm going."

"You aren't authorized," he said, struggling for words as his throat tightened in panic and fury at the younger wizard's inability to stay safe. "You don't have the clearance, and not only will I be handling sensitive information, I will be going into areas that you do not have the training for."

"You seem very sure of that," Harry observed, knowing that his calm, blunt demeanor was infuriating his companion. "And so far, you're doing a very good job of convincing me not to let you go haring off without me."

"Harry, for once – " Albus caught himself raising his voice and stopped, breathing deeply. "This is my mission. You are not allowed to become part of it. There are laws and regulations that must be followed, particularly in something as delicate and dangerous as this." His fingers twitched slightly, mind turning to his wand hidden in its holster. It would be akin to a betrayal, but if he was quick enough at least Harry would be safe.

"Don't even think about it," Harry said as if reading his mind, eyes narrowed as he straightened.

Albus raised an eyebrow, watching his roommate.

"I'm not confidant enough to say I'd beat you in a duel. Maybe you'd win, or maybe I would. But it wouldn't be fast, and it wouldn't be quiet, and both of us would end up seriously injured in the Hospital Wing for quite some time. Because the force it would take to completely subdue me would have to be violent, and I cannot go down without a fight. Not even if I wanted to, I think."

Albus winced, and the hard green gaze softened slightly as Harry stepped closer. "Harry," he said weakly.

"Even if you recovered before I did, or tried to sneak away while I'm not around, there would be nothing to prevent me from following you. Except, I have no idea where you're going, so I would be blundering into Germany completely alone, without allies or contacts." Harry pressed his point almost brutally, but he would not be left behind. It was his turn, his decision to be the one who fought at another's side, who sacrificed so that another might live in his stead. He was not the hero here, and there was a guilty edge to his relief. Because that role was hard and painful, and he would not wish it upon Albus. But at least now, he could do for Albus what his friends had done for him. Support him, prop him up, encourage him, defend him, and die for him if necessary. Albus was worth it. He was…everything.

"And, I don't speak German." Not fluently. "So it's your choice whether you fight to keep me here and waste days, possibly weeks, as we both recover, or leave now, with me. But I'm not staying behind."

"And if you're a liability? What then?" Albus snapped, hands clenched into fists in sheer frustration as he desperately searched for an argument to convince Harry to stay. Even words he knew were lies.

"I'm not," was all he said.

Silence, then, as Albus ground his teeth and Harry lifted his stubborn chin.

"Fine," the Transfiguration Master said sourly. "Let's be off quickly, then."

And Albus hated himself a little for the relief he felt that he would not be alone. He would prefer Harry safe, but he would always desire the younger wizard to be at his side.