Final Report from the Account of Gilbert Ostkaiser-Beilschmidt, Age 21, Quidditch Keeper

To be Filed for Immediate Review

Dated: 3 May 1998

Location: A Favourite Pub in Magical Berlin

Three and a half years ago I engraved my parent's names into a tombstone and placed my most beloved possession, an antiquated, nonfunctioning Quidditch broomstick from the Soviet days, beside it. I walked away that day and vowed that I would not return for it.

So far, I have kept that promise. I do, however, return to that place from time to time, usually when the weather is particularly nice or nostalgic, and lay flowers down in memory of my parents. I am able to put a spell upon them now, I have learned that, so that they may last forever, however I choose not to and let the flowers die. It gives me an excuse to return again.

I have a new family now; or at least that's what I called them. The original Berlin Badgers team from 1994. Johann the Seeker, Kurstin, Frederick, and Wolfgang the Chasers, Max the Beater, and the one I'm closest to of all – Ludwig the Beater, and team captain. Ludwig had warned me, back then, that even though we were close at that time, teams do not last forever. He was correct. In three years it was only me, him, Kurstin, and Wolfgang still on the team. Johann had to move back to his hometown of Hamburg in order to take care of his ailing mother; he accepted a draft on the Hamburg professional team two years ago, and we still see him in the skies when we play one another.

Frederick had suffered a debilitating spinal injury during a match one year ago that left him paralyzed from the waist down. The situation looked grim, however through the power of magic, rehabilitation, and (mostly) his own stubbornness and determination, he was on his feet again within six months. Though he was expected to walk normally again, it would take a very long time, and his doctor forbade him from being on a broomstick for longer than two hours. Thus, he was forced into an early retirement. Nowadays he entertains children and walks with a cane, usually with his arm linked with his brother's for support. Max, as he does, did not take the news of his brother's injuries very well at all. Only two matches after Frederick's retirement was finalized, Max resigned as well. It was too difficult to be in the air without his brother, he had said. Even though we pleaded with him and offered him a salary raise, he refused. No compensation would be able to replace his brother on the team with him. Now, we still heard his voice over the loudspeakers, as he had taken his side-hobby of endlessly commenting on Quidditch matches into a career – he was our lovable, local Quidditch announcer.

Lives change, but our companionship to one another did not have to. Every weekend, we met at our favourite pub and shared drinks.

That's where we were, on this night. The pub was unusually full, even for a Saturday night, and it was loud with conversation. Just the night before had been a terrible event that swept through the international wizarding community – a battle had taken place in Britain. A school had been attacked in the highlands of Scotland – a school, of all places! A "dark wizard" calling himself "Voldemort" had attacked with his minions. Many had fought, and died, and in the end thank God, he had been among the fatal.

By this point, nobody was stranger to this "Voldemort" character. Not necessarily because he was any kind of threat to the community, but rather because Britain's response to this terrorist, his minions, and his message had gone down as one of the most disastrous in recorded history. Not only had the British Ministry of Magic outright refused to acknowledge his growing presence up until the very last moment, they had allowed him to roam free, killing as he pleased and recruiting for his cause. For a time, neither magic nor muggle were safe in Britain.

This opened up a fair bit of dialogue amongst the magical governing bodies across the globe. How would a threat like this be treated in other countries? It was clear that Voldemort himself was not largely powerful, merely reckless, and stopping him early would have been simple in another environment. America had plans to send aide in the form of their own highly-trained wizards, but by the time the call could be placed to London, it fell upon enemy ears. Switzerland was more than ready if Voldemort had plans to leave the British Isles – after all, military service was compulsory in Switzerland, and this did not exclude the magical population. France was making steps as well, and whether it was because they perceived an actual threat of a Dark Wizard crossing the English Channel, or simply to outdo their historic rival in any aspect of governing is unclear.

Months of academic talk and speculation had led up to a tragic battle in the dorms of school children, and any wizard with a radio or any other kind of public communication device was listening raptly as reports of massive explosions, lost family members, and the miracles of survival began to stream out of the hills of Scotland and to the rest of the world. The morning after, the Berlin magical newspaper proclaimed "THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS" was a turning point in wizarding history. British history, at least.

Even the next night in our pub, it was all people would talk about. Stories of legendary magic, rising from the dead, and evil snakes were amongst the rumours and fantastical stories that may or may not have occurred the previous night fluttered around the room like a freshly-released Snitch. Though we all tried to ignore it by conversing about other things, we all were distracted. Kurstin, Frederick, Wolfgang, Max, Ludwig, and Johann – they were all distracted. Myself as well. We had never told anyone about our more personal touch with the events happening in Britain.

Christian.

The more we heard about dark wizards, torture, murder, government takeovers, and terrorism, the more we wondered to ourselves – is that Christian, amongst all that? We had not heard a single word from him since his letter three years ago, announcing that he was leaving his life in Germany behind to relive his time as a Death Eater.

We had heard of many Death Eaters killed, or committing suicide after their master lost his battle, or becoming imprisoned. What had happened to Christian? I suppose we tried not to care – he not only betrayed and left us, but for some low-life terrorists, at that! – but it was difficult not to. We had all known him on some personal, intimate level. Ludwig had told me that he was the only one to volunteer to come with him to get me enrolled in school, and had pressured Ludwig to go through with it. So, for that, I suppose I owe him for changing my life.

Just as the news of the carnage in Scotland had reached the forefront of our brains again, a sound from the fireplace diverted our attention. A POP, followed by shuffling footsteps and frenzied coughing. I turned to see the commotion, as did the rest, but from my seat I could only see the glow of the fire turn briefly green before returning to normal.

The pub went immediately silent. A few people shuffled around, and I slid off my seat to get a better view. From the smell and sound towards the fireplace I knew that somebody had just used Floo Powder – from standing, I could see exactly who it was. I gasped.

Christian.

The man himself, who had been on all of our minds these very turbulent months, had just come staggering into the pub from the fireplace, looking worse for wear. He wore a tattered black cloak that Death Eaters commonly wore, ripped and faded, and his skin carried on it days' worth of grime, blood, and gunpowder. If there was any doubt that Christian had been in that battle, there was none anymore. We all knew then that he had travelled directly from Scotland.

"You have a lot of courage, showing up here," the bartender said from his position at my left, aggressively rubbing a tankard clean. Those in the way of Christian and us, his former teammates, quickly moved aside so there was a vast, uninterrupted space between us.

"Or perhaps none at all," replied Kurstin, her gaze unusually steely. She stood at my side, fists clenched. "Weren't the surviving Death Eaters arrested?"

"Please, I had nowhere else to go," Christian finally said. His voice was different from what I remembered; it was quieter, and his years of speaking English had thickened his accent. There was no confidence in his speech. At that moment, he more resembled a child begging his mother for forgiveness after breaking an expensive vase. "We lost, and-"

"Of course you lost, you imbecile," Ludwig said dangerously. "Every human that owns a wand knows what happened up there last night. What did you expect? Your master was a joke. His 'vision' was nothing short of laughable and pathetic. You can only credit your successes to the incompetency of the government you took over. Now that you've lost, you come crawling back here, begging for refuge and forgiveness? Why should we?"

"You threatened my life," Johann spoke up. "I never forgot that. Your master wanted me dead only because of my lineage, and you were okay with that."

"Really, you're brave for coming here," Frederick said with a scoff, pointing his cane threateningly at him from his spot on the barstool. "Right now, to me, you seem no better than the Neo-Nazis who parade through towns with their hateful, outdated messages."

Christian feared for his life; I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of what would happen to him in Britain, surely, but it was foolish for him to return to Berlin thinking he would be welcomed with open arms. Sure he had been our friend, companion, and teammate, but did he expect us to just not care about what he had been doing for the past three years?

When I looked at his eyes I saw some part of me in them. A frightened, lost individual who was between the safety and comfort of two nations. That was me, many years ago. As joyous as I had been when East Germany fell and was absorbed into one nation, there was a part of me that did not exactly belong to this new, powerful Germany. A bit of me was still behind that wall, and though I never wanted to go back to the way things were, there was a sort of pride that I felt, for having fought so hard and for surviving so long. Many of the benefits that came to East German citizens never came to me; after all, I had no formal identification (the Stasi had destroyed even my birth certificate), so I could not receive much assistance. I had been pushed out of a world that no longer existed, yet unable to enter the world that replaced it.

Christian, I felt, was experiencing that now. Despite the evil intentions of the world he had come from, it no longer existed, and the new world that replaced it wanted nothing to do with him. Though I did condone what he did or supported, and I was not sad to hear about what happened to his master and followers, I pitied the position that he was in.

People were beginning to get more heated, and started to close in on him. Poor Christian stumbled back, reaching for his wand, but several bystanders already had theirs out in their hands, and pointed dangerously. Either Christian was going to fall into the fireplace – which had no protective magic in it at the moment – or he would become victim to someone's spell. Either way, I could only foresee him winding up as a pile of ashes before the end of the night.

"Stop this!" I shouted, going forward and standing in front of Christian. I faced him, mostly because I didn't trust him enough to turn my back to him at that moment. "I won't allow anybody to be hurt tonight. There's been enough bloodshed already."

I sounded like some brave martyr out of some cheesy 80's film, and I realized that. However, I still meant what I said – I didn't want a complete brawl over a runaway Death Eater when there were dead schoolchildren in Britain. The quickest thing to do would be to apprehend him and then turn him into the authorities, but yet…

"I'll take care of this," I said as I stepped forward. Ludwig was next to me, and he reached out to grab my arm and stop me.

"No you don't," he said. "That man is dangerous."

"Ludwig." I gave him a look that told him to calmly shut up. He knew that look by now. He didn't question it, even though I could tell that a retort was on the tip of his tongue.

"Christian, come with me," I said bravely, taking a deep breath.

He stepped forward, and the crowd around him stepped back. With a sigh, he lifted his hands. "I will not harm anybody, I promise. My wand is destroyed, and I am weak enough as it is."

He walked to me, and I gently ushered him to follow. "I'll return in a little bit," I called to them behind me. Together, Christian and I left the pub and headed down the street. It was dark, just past eleven at night, and the street was surprisingly still and quiet, with only a few people coming and going from the few establishments still open. Magical Berlin had its own nightlife, of course, but it wasn't here. This stretch of road was mostly shops and pubs.

Christian didn't speak. He merely walked with me, fidgeting every now and then and obviously still rather anxious.

Why did I take it upon myself to take Christian from the pub and walk with him? I didn't even know what to talk to him about. I had never imagined that he would show up in Germany again, especially so soon after defeat. I wasn't exactly prepared with a list. At the moment, I believe, my only desire was to avoid some sort of horrible gang fight.

"Why did you leave?" I finally asked. I suppose that was the question that had plagued me the most. "You had a life here. You had friends, and people who loved you. You were a professional Quidditch player - you lived a life that people only dreamed of. You gave all of that up."

I looked directly at Christian, who was visibly conflicted by this. "I was born in Belfast," he began. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for Christian's inevitable lifestory. "You know what was going in Northern Ireland back then, in the seventies? What is still going on now?"

I nodded slowly. "I've been up to date with The Troubles, as much as I can."

"I wanted a free, unified Ireland," he said passionately. "I still want that. And it wasn't a conflict you could just…ignore if you were magical. It effected everybody. The IRA had their own division of wizards and witches, and the the Ministry of Magic in London had to constantly send over their own men to help clean up the damage and implement their own policies." He spoke of the latter with disgust. "My da was passionate. My grandda even fought in the Irish Civil War! He fought for Belfast, and so I grew up with that. When I went to school at Hogwarts, far away in the Scottish Highlands…nobody knew. Nobody cared. I even had some Irish classmates, and some Irish professors! But all they said were 'focus on your studies', and 'let the experienced wizards deal with it'." He clenched his fists, visibly seething. I wanted to reach a hand out to calm him, but decided it was best not to.

"In the summertime and Christmastime, I would go back to Belfast and join the protests. I did work for the Irish Republican Army, and when I graduated I was anxious to become involved. I dabbled with the IRA a bit more but one day, in a pub…a man approached me while I was reading the paper in London. It was 1976, and the Guildford Four had just been framed for the Guildford Bombings two years prior. I was heated, and he saw that. He told me of a man in Britain who could help, who could bring justice to Northern Ireland and restore order."

"You mean Volde…whoever."

"Voldemort, yes."

What a stupid name. I didn't say that, though. "So you joined him in the name of Ireland."

"I spoke to him directly!" Christian said with an animate gesture. "He said he'd be delighted to work in Ireland! He said that he, too, wanted to 'give Ireland back to the Irish', as we worded it."

I tried to remember if I heard any news about Dark Wizards in Ireland in recent history. I couldn't think of a single thing - but yet, it wasn't something I didn't keep too close on my mind. "Did he?"

Christian slumped his shoulders, a weary face coming over his features. I took the time to notice just how disheveled he looked. His black hair - usually kept so neat and out of the way - was long and shaggy, and his black robes still even had dust on it from the battle. "No. I kept getting excuses, kept being told 'just do what you're told, and it'll come'. And I continued to watch my brothers and sisters in Ireland continuing to suffer. But once you join, you can't just leave. You really can't. He doesn't take well to deserters. He kills them, actually."

He winced. "After his fall in 1981, I tried to go back to Ireland and resume where I had left off, but at that time I was already branded. I couldn't do anything without constantly looking over my shoulder. I was afraid to even join Muggle protests…so I went to Germany, left my bad life behind, and watched their own, successful, revolution."

Christian finally signed and stopped in his tracks, looking at me desperately and reaching out to grab my wrists. I tensed, expecting something violent, but there was only pleading in his eyes. "I swear, when I went to London for the World Cup, I intended to return. I honestly did. But when I was there, I ran into a few of the Death Eaters again, and they told me that Voldemort was returning. I thought…if I returned, because so many others had fled and given up hope, that if I returned he would finally rally around my cause."

"So you did not align with Voldemort's vision at all? Of some…mugggle-free world, or some such nonsense."

Christian pursed his lips and glanced away before shaking his head. "No, not really. I've always been against witches and wizards hiding from Muggles, but always kept them to myself. And right now, in my whole teenage years and into my adult life, Ireland has been my number one priority. I was also afraid, that if I didn't return - if he was successful and ended up coming to Germany - that he would find me, and kill me. The team, too!"

His words angered me, and I pulled away from him. Christian was being a coward, and if there was one thing I hated, it was cowardice. "Don't pull that 'I was just protecting you' bullshit. I hate that excuse. You know damn well if Voldemort for some reason had his eyes set on Germany, he'd be eliminated immediately. After all the shit this country has been through, we don't have any tolerance for 'dark lords' who want to dictate and oppress our people. We wouldn't pussyfoot around and deny, deny, deny like the British did. Someone would take him out, and if he ever stepped off the island of Britain, he'd have to answer to the rest of Europe." I started walking again at an angry pace.

Christian followed behind me still. "Where are we going?" he asked.

I hadn't known up until that point. But now I did. "You'll see. Why did you come back?" I figured he came back because he had lost, and was hoping we'd welcome him back and shelter him with open arms.

He was quiet for several minutes, and I didn't look back to see what his reaction might have been. Finally, he spoke very quietly, and I almost missed it: "I killed someone."

I stopped again at that and looked back at him in shock. There was so much anguish in his face. It surprised me less to hear that he had killed someone, and more that he had, well, killed only 'someone'. I suppose we all naturally assumed that Christian was involved in or on the scene of any destruction and carnage we heard about in the news regarding the Death Eaters. In a morbid way, it shocked me that he only had one body count to his name. "Who?"

"I don't know...it was in the battle. Some ginger kid…God, I feel so awful about it." He glanced away, tearing up. "He was standing guard against a room, and I had set a bomb nearby – I just wanted to take down the room! Not anybody near it! And he was with his brother, or something, I don't know, and he was laughing at some stupid joke and – I meant to call out to them, I did, I honestly did, but it was too late, it went off and…" Christian took a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "I never wanted to kill anybody. That entire time, I just disarmed, or stunned, or assisted the others. I never willingly took a life. But I saw this kid die in something I had caused, and that's when everything hit me. I just…needed to go back to some place I knew was safe, and familiar."

As eternally disappointed with Christian as I was - given that he was not only a terrorist but also a murderer now – I could relate, in an odd sense, to his feeling of needing a familiar, friendly place for support. The abandoned warehouse – now a hub for cocaine addicts and midnight hookups – had been my place of refuge and comfort for a long time. Unfortunately for him, my reasons for need had been vastly different from his.

We had arrived where I wanted to take him – around a corner from a popular sweets shop was, on the side of the building, a fireplace. It was a bit of a random fireplace, outside of a building for one thing, but it had a specific purpose – namely, it was one of the more convenient ways in and out of the district with Floo Powder. The fireplace was tall, big enough to fit three grown men, and perpetually lit for easy access in and out.

"Here." I pulled out of my pocket the small bag of Floo Powder I kept with me, and handed it to him. "I really shouldn't. But you have helped me in the past. You accepted me, arguably before anyone else did, and you were one of the first people in a long time that I called my friend. You helped me get into school – mostly by making sure that Ludwig didn't go back on his promise to do so – and, indirectly, if you hadn't had left, I would not have made the team." If I could have had a choice, however, I would have preferred for Christian to stay with us.

He took the Floo Powder with surprise. Grimy, dirt-covered fingers curled around the bag protectively, and he drew it close to his chest. "Floo Powder?"

"This is your chance to start over," I instructed. "I won't turn you in, or tell anybody that I saw you. Go to Belfast. Keep fighting for Ireland – just, in a safe way. Protest, don't retaliate. You know?" I sighed. "Dispose of your robes. Get rid of your Dark Mark tattoo. Just…move on. Please. Don't come back to Germany, not for a long, long time. We can't accept you right now, not when it's this soon."

He took a deep breath and pulled out a small handful of the dust. "Thank you, Gilbert. You are a good person."

"No," I said firmly. "If I were a good person, I'd turn you in, and make you face the consequences of what you've done. I'd let the family of that boy you killed get justice, and closure. But I'm selfish, and admittedly a terrible person. Maybe if you feel enough guilt, you'll turn yourself in. I am giving you that opportunity."

With a few more words, he took the Floo Powder, threw it into the fire, and jumped in, calling the name of a pub in Belfast. As the fire returned to its normal orange and yellow from the magical emerald green, I heard footsteps behind me.

"You've come a long way from the kid I had to stop from assaulting a person for insulting his broomstick." Ludwig's voice cut through the darkness behind me.

I smiled and turned on my heels to face the entire team approaching me. "I would still assault a person for insulting my broomstick," I smirked. "What are you all doing here?"

"As if we'd leave you alone in the hands of a damn criminal," Frederick answered. "We followed you, of course. Wands at the ready."

They stood with me and we all gazed into the fire, contemplating the return (and subsequent departure) of our former teammate. "Do you think we'll see him again?" Kurstin asked.

"For his sake, I hope not," I said with a sigh. How unfortunate. The way he spoke about what he wanted for Ireland…he was so passionate. If only that passion and energy had been channeled to something less destructive.

"Why did you let him go?" Ludwig asked, obviously peeved by this. "We could have used that reward money to buy new broomsticks for the team."

I shrugged, not particularly caring at that moment about such matters. It was in Ludwig's nature as a captain, however, to care. "He helped me out once. I was returning the favour. Maybe he'll learn something from it, and end up doing good. Or maybe he won't, in which case he'll no doubt be arrested and tried for his crimes. He felt way too much guilt to be sneaky and manipulative."

Ludwig sighed and took my hand. "You're maddening sometimes. I don't get you."

"And I don't get you either," I grinned. I supposed that's what made us, simply, get each other.

"We're turning in for the night," Frederick said, linking his arm with his brother's and starting to tug the man away. "I'm bushed."

That seemed like the end of our eventful night out. Everyone started to disperse, and I took one more look at the fireplace.

I helped Christian because he reminded me of myself many years ago – passionate, determined, and reckless. We were both born during times of turbulence and revolution. Perhaps the only difference between him and I were our birth places – if I were like him; voiceless, angry, and determined to make a difference – and somebody approached me with the promise of power, liberation, and assistance towards my cause…who's to say I would have enough foresight to recognize a threat and decline? I was desperate at times. Hungry, scared, alone, and with absolutely nothing to lose. I may very well have been susceptible to the invitation of a powerful wizard making empty promises.

But I could not dwell on this. As I turned and walked away, hand-in-hand with Ludwig, I closed that chapter of my life. A chapter of dark wizards, Death Eaters, and the betrayal of family. A new chapter in the life of Christian had just begun, starting at a pub in Belfast. Perhaps he returned to Berlin truly seeking comfort and shelter, or perhaps he returned in order to attain closure. I could not say for certain either way, but I truly hoped that he would move forward, and that we would never see him again.

End of Account

A/N: And that's a wrap! I wrote this chapter not intending to write about international wizarding politics around the turn of the century but I ENDED UP DOING THAT A LOT, and for that I apologize. Nobody hate me for Christian's confession!

I hope you all enjoyed it! My next fic will be another AU, set in the "Fate" universe. It'll be Germancest, but also have some USUK and some PruHun in it as well! So take a look for that. It'll be a lot darker, with lots of magic, angst, and action. To those who don't want to read it - Again, thank you for making it this far with me. You all are wonderful!