The Deceiver's Distillation
by Jardyn39
Chapter 2 - A Lakeside Run
It was midmorning in the middle of July when the sound of an argument from across the Hogwarts lake reached the ears of Sergeant Bateman and four of his subordinates who were currently relaxing on an odd assortment of outsized, broken and burnt furniture.
Bateman scanned the far side of the lake and soon caught sight of his remaining two men and their rather reluctant charge, who was currently objecting loudly to being taken on a forced run.
Duke sniggered as they watched.
"Get your bayonets out," muttered Careem to more sniggers.
No sooner than he said that there was a flash of bright metal in the distance. The sound of the argument instantly ceased and the run continued.
"Isn't he going the wrong way?" commented Hope with a laugh, brushing a hand over her close cropped scalp.
"Tosser," added Carlyle derisively.
"Language," warned Bateman with a smile on his face.
As the three runners cleared the last clump of trees, Bateman's eyes fell on the boy sitting in the enormous blackened armchair a few feet away from them.
Bateman studied him as he read intently, occasionally making notes.
Bateman was no stranger to carrying out unusual and covert tasks, but even he had difficulty getting his mind around their current situation.
Their orders were simple.
Protect the boy at all costs. Follow the boy's orders if possible. Lethal force authorised until further notice. Keep no records. Operate outside the chain of command. Report only to PM's private office.
There was nothing new in this kind of orders, as such, except perhaps for taking orders from the principal.
What was very unusual were the circumstances in which they had been given their orders.
No less than five covert operations cells had undergone physical and mental testing for this assignment. In the end his team was expanded to include a female operative and a weapons specialist.
This wasn't that unusual, but Bateman never liked splitting the teams up. Everyone had to trust one another, especially when instant orders had to be issued and complied with.
Still, it made sense. Two people with responsibility to protect one person, and Bateman providing additional support as needed.
Bateman was himself the eldest of the group by far, but his experience more than made up for slightly longer times on the training circuits.
It often amused him to think back on his times in the regular army. He hadn't exactly been an ideal soldier, constantly at odds with his so called superiors. He had only applied to the special forces Regiment on an off chance, but once he was in he found himself totally at home.
In this Regiment, suggestions and criticisms of planned actions were actually invited, within reason.
It rather shocked him to realise that he was actually becoming used to being around people who could do magic. He suspected, though, that he may have encountered magic before. His best friend of some years, Jack Gurnet had carried the wounded Bateman out of the African savanna to demand treatment form a tribal witch doctor. Both of them had expected his wounds to be fatal, but somehow he survived. Even his symptoms of malaria, which he'd contracted many years before, appeared to have eased after that.
Bateman looked down at his watch, but he knew the time before he saw the face.
"The train is due in half and hour," he said quietly, but he was pleased to see that Hope and Carlyle were already sorting themselves out to meet the train.
They jogged off, Carlyle smiling and looking backwards hoping to catch the end of the forced run.
Bateman's mind wandered back to a fortnight ago. His five strong team had been ordered to attend one of Her Majesty's Prisons to test some new security features installed. This didn't happen that often, but it was often a laugh from their point of view.
At the time, Bateman had been concerned though. Why on earth select a team so rigorously when even your poorest team could do the job just as well.
Bateman should have known there was something weird about this latest assignment. Why on earth would you need Special Forces to protect someone in England? Didn't Special Branch do that kind of thing?
And why did the Prime Minister of all people insist upon making sure every individual was up for the task, even serving them teas in the staff canteen and answering every question he was able to. These were mostly about football, of course, but he didn't seem to mind that much.
Mind you, Bateman reflected, some of his team were possible a little more confused that they should be, wondering why a football manager was giving them orders to kill if necessary on home soil.
Harry Potter closed his book and looked up, staring across the lake to the white marble tomb.
Bateman thought the boy looked fit to drop. He was sure he hadn't slept properly in days, but he wore an attitude of fierce determination. Whatever this boy was fighting had better watch out.
Harry hitched a grin on his face just as his red headed friend dropped heavily at his feet, panting with exhaustion.
"Harry," he gasped, "these people are insane. That one actually threatened to bayonet me!"
His two running companions looked down at the prone figure looking utterly unimpressed.
Harry leaned forward and said in what he clearly hoped was an encouraging voice, "Don't worry, Ron. The first lap was the hardest for me too. The next five will be much easier."
"Five!?"
The other two grabbed a protesting Ron and lifted him to his feet to continue their run.
Bateman watched Harry's slightly pained expression as they set off again.
Just then, a large shadow made its way down to the water line.
"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry, this time with a genuine smile.
"Alright, you lot," he replied.
"I hope you don't mind us borrowing your furniture like this," said Harry, getting up.
"No problem. No' much left, is there?" said Hagrid with half a laugh. "Slughorn says everything will be ready in the Great Hall for lunchtime. If it's okay, I'd like to meet Hermione from the train. She might be a li'l upset being met by strangers."
"Good idea, Hagrid. Thanks. I'm going back up to the castle."
Duke and Careem jumped to their feet at these words.
"No, it's okay, guys," said Harry. "Stay and enjoy the sun while you can. I'll be safe in the castle."
"No," said Bateman quietly. "They go with you. You need to get used to them and they need to learn from you."
Harry shrugged and walked off. His two shadows followed at a discrete distance, hands almost lazily resting on loaded automatic weapons, and constantly looking around.
Bateman turned to see Hagrid grinning at him.
"Kingsley said you lot could 'andle yourselves. I recon 'es right."
Bateman smiled.
"Now, you are goin' t' go easier on, Hermione, aren't you? I know Harry's become suddenly keen on runs before dawn an' stuff, but our Hermione has always put brains afore brawn."
Bateman's smile faltered. Bateman was not known for going easy on anybody, but it was rather tempting to agree to anything when the person asking happened to be as large as Hagrid was.
"Um, I have my orders."
"Well," said Hagrid turning, "you do as you see fit. Mind you, we may have to have words later. Keep tha' in mind."
As Hagrid walked off, Bateman once again thought, as he generally did with everybody he met, how best to kill him. Of course, Bateman had no intention of hurting anyone, but it never hurt to be prepared. Usually, he decided his kill method within seconds.
He was still pondering with Hagrid.
*
Harry climbed all the way up to the Seventh Floor. Duke and Careem followed quietly, having correctly assumed that Harry wouldn't tolerate their antics this morning.
Ever since Kingsley had turned up with these men, nothing had been simple.
He couldn't even go into a room without them checking it out first, guns out. Invariably, something always got broken.
Since the things that had been broken had been at Privet Drive and belonged to the Dursleys, Harry wasn't too bothered. Number Four had appeared to become rather smaller when seven fully armed and equipped soldiers moved in with Harry.
He knew he should be grateful.
Kingsley had explained that the Prime Minister had demanded to know what was really going on and had offered the services of some of the country's best service personnel.
Harry was grateful, really.
He'd been especially grateful that the first thing they did was to pack the Dursleys off somewhere. That was just as well. Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she had seen the tripod mounted machine gun stripped down on her pristine dining room table.
He was also grateful of some company, even if they did insist upon trying to teach him martial arts and gun use.
This actually achieved little apart from cause even more damage, particularly as they couldn't practise outdoors. As large as the living room was, even after Kingsley magically expanded it, it really wasn't suitable for combat training.
In the beginning, Harry had repaired the worst of the damage, but after a while he gave up. Still, at least he wasn't bothered about Ministry warnings now. He still was underage, technically, but Rufus Scrimgeour himself had agreed to ignore any transgressions from now on.
Every evening and every morning, Kingsley would come to the house unannounced and attempt to attack Harry.
Harry and his protectors had no forewarning of this. Bateman had applauded this approach, but Harry wasn't so sure.
He had been mortified to see Kingsley lying in the middle of the living room, hit by two gunshot wounds, a knife stab and Harry's own combination of stunning hexes. Blood was everywhere, but Kingsley was howling with laughter as he quickly repaired his own injuries.
"You could have been killed," Harry had said furiously. "I'm not ready to lose you so soon after-"
"You have to be ready," said Kingsley defiantly. "What?"
Bateman had been staring at them both, looking utterly stunned at what Harry had done as well as the fact that Kingsley was apparently able to cure himself.
"We weren't aiming to wound," he admitted. "We were trying to kill you."
"Quite right too," agreed Kingsley, letting Harry help him up.
"How on earth did you get in here, anyway?"
Kingsley looked at Harry with a curious expression.
"I haven't told them about Apparition," admitted Harry.
Kingsley had placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and said gently, "They have to know what it is they are fighting against. I suggest you tell them everything."
Up on the Seventh floor, Harry paused and thought.
"I need Dumbledore's messages for me."
Instantly, a highly polished door appeared.
Duke swore, still totally unaccustomed to seeing such things.
"Will you two be okay waiting outside for me?" asked Harry. "You can come in but some of what's in there is very delicate and irreplaceable. This is the only exit, although it may vanish once I'm inside."
Careem and Duke assumed their positions either side of the door and Harry entered.
Inside was a single desk and table. The walls were lined with dozens of shelves, each holding several glowing glass orbs.
On the desk was Dumbledore's Pensieve, an ink bottle and some quills and a small stack of red notebooks.
Harry sat and opened the top notebook. He checked a date from a list inside the front cover and then retrieved the dated orb from a shelf behind him.
Taking out his wand, Harry broke the seal and allowed the memory to flow into the Pensieve.
Harry put down the glass orb and sighed. There weren't many memories left. He'd been here almost every chance he had. He had hoped to get some greater insight, but he had been disappointed so far. Clearly, Dumbledore didn't feel that Harry needed to know all his confidences and suspicions.
Harry had found several broken orbs too. Presumably these were memories that were too sensitive or too dangerous to leave lying around.
He wondered once again if they had once contained what he was looking for.