1. Chapter 1

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

Chapter One:

Thanks to Veronica for editing and revising this!

The man sat at the driver's seat, idly tapping the steering wheel with his fingertips. His right arm was resting on the scarred surface of his 89’ Volkswagen. The radio faintly hummed a concerto in the background. After he got tired of the classics, he moved to turn the aged dial to something more like him; heavy metal. But as he fiddled with the knob in a fruitless attempt to change the station, it fell off.

Growling in contempt, the man pulled out a cigarette and offered one to the guy next to him. ‘What was his name again?’ Slit was a strange person. They had met in an alley near the Tattoo parlor. Slit sounded young and quiet over phone, but the thought was pushed to the back of his mind. In their secret rendezvous, Noman was shocked to see a man no older than 25 under the streetlight. He had an impassive mask in place and shook his hand with confidence. It had been a week since that meeting.

“No thanks,” Slit muttered, adjusting his gun holster, which was strapped on the left side of his hip. Noman gave a shrug, lit the cigarette, and puffed. Then, deciding a drink was needed, he pulled out a small canteen of whiskey. Just before the rim touched his mouth, a hand roughly pulled the bottle away. Noman looked at Slit incredulously.

“No drinking on duty,” was all the guy said, not even bothering to spare his partner a glace. Noman muttered offensive expletives under his breath but did not protest otherwise.

“Geez, don’t like to drink either? What, are you a virgin?”

Slit didn’t answer, but instead, opened the car door and stepped out. He made sure to close it quietly. Not having the slightest clue of what he was doing, Noman kicked the door open and followed.

“What? Did you see anything?”

“And you call yourself an assassin?” Slit grumbled, casting him a disdainful look.

“Hey, I’ve been in this business longer than you so why don’t you let me do my job.”

“Be my guest. But I advise you to pay more attention. A boy was watching from a room above. I suspect he spotted us.” Slit pointed toward the window with bars, scanning for any other movement.

“So? We’ll kill him too.”

“Our orders were to kill Vernon Dursley and his wife and son.”

“And that could have been his son.”

“His figure was too narrow. The picture that Boss provided showed a wider figure.”

“Well, aren’t you smart? Hey, I have a question. If he saw us, what would we do with him? He saw us and can snitch. We can’t just let him blab his mouth to the constables!” Noman said.

Slit chose to ignore his inquiry and asked, “Why is our target Vernon Dursley?”

“Thanks for answering, buddy,” Noman said. Thinking it wouldn’t hurt, he added, “Boss said he owed him money. Dursleys’ a big spender and he promised Boss to pay him back. But Boss didn’t get nothing. And now he’s mad.”

“Interesting.” Slit said sarcastically as he pulled out his .45 caliber. He gestured for Noman to go ahead.

Once they bypassed the security systems, the door opened willingly. They walked on the floors without a noise; their boots were specialized for this particular task. The clock ticked in a lazy rhythm and light snoring could be heard from upstairs. They scanned the other rooms, but no one seemed to be around. The scent of Lysol hovered in the air and Noman's eyes watered.

Slit traipsed up the stairs, keeping his back against the wall. Noman followed suit, his gun in one hand and a stiletto in the other. They made it across the narrow hallway smoothly, save for one creak as they passed a door with locks on them. The snoring grew louder as the two men came closer to a room with its door ajar.

Abandoning the silent mode, Noman kicked the door open. With a bang, the piece of wood collided against the wall. A man with a mustache jerked from his slumber, his eyes widening when he saw Slit and Noman.

“Hi Dursley.”

“Vernon, who are they?” An anorexic looking woman asked from Dursley’s side.

“Doesn’t matter, milady. We’re gonna kill you and everything’s going to be just fine.” Noman raised his gun, finger on the trigger, but a small squeaky voice interrupted.

“Mummy?”

Everyone turned around; it was just an obese boy holding a teddy bear. It was a disturbing sight, but Noman shook it away. He roughly grabbed the kid by the collar of his pajamas and pushed him onto the bed.

“All the merrier. You’ll all die as a family!” Noman said with an austere tone. The woman wrapped her arms around her son and buried her head into Vernon’s shoulder. The guy was whimpering himself, embracing his family with his eyes closed. The grip on Slit’s gun tensed and he waited.

“Excuse me.”

Noman let out a frustrated sigh and turned around again.

A boy, the one Slit had seen before, was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His manner appeared bored and curious at the same time. His hair, though the darkness limited Slit’s sight, was the color of black and was sticking up on all sides. The light from the full moon glinted off his round glasses. Dark bags were hanging underneath his eyes, but the boy looked wide awake. Slit was slightly impressed.

“Well. A guest, eh? Join the fun and get killed kid!” Noman made a move to grab the boy, but with surprising speed, he sidestepped the outstretched arm.

“No thanks. I’d rather watch,” The boy answered warily. He took a seat in a vacant chair next to Slit and crossed his ankles. Slit felt a smirk starting to form, but his grip was still trained firmly the Dursleys. Noman gritted his teeth and pointed the gun at the boy. He didn’t even flinch. Feeling even more furious, Noman applied a bit more pressure to the trigger and--

BAM!

-------------

“Well, that changes everything,” commented the boy unnecessarily. He stared at the body near his feet with slight fascination. Slit lowered his gun, smoke leaking from its tip. The woman screamed again and hugged her boy closer. Vernon was spluttering, words unable of being formed.

Blood slowly leaked out from Noman’s skull, forming a small puddle. The blood spread along the floor, nearly touching the boy’s bare feet. Slit glanced down at the body of Noman for a second and then back up, only to find himself with a piece of wood between his eyes.

“Who. Sent. You.” The boy demanded; his face was filled with fury. The change was a great contrast from his look of boredom from before.

“No.” Slit answered, though it wasn’t really an answer. Vernon mumbled angrily to his wife and son.

“Was it Voldemort? If so, then his awesome mastering skills are really in fact idiotic! Why not kill me first and then the Dursleys? It’s not like they’re going to want to save me!”

Slit was confused but did not dare show it. The boy continued to point the stick at him, but he could see his hand was shaking slightly.

“Who are you?” Slit asked in a calm voice, his hands still raised.

“Harry Potter. You’re a really bad assassin if you don’t even know my name.”

“Who says I’m trying to kill you? That dead man at your feet was trying to snuff that big loaf over there.” Slit jerked his head in Vernon’s direction. The man immediately froze. Harry was trying to resist a laugh when he saw his uncle’s expression.

“Who are you?” Harry asked in return.

“Slit.” The assassin answered monotonously.

“Why were you trying to kill Uncle Vernon?”

“I’m not, as I said before. I was merely tagging along. Those were my only orders.”

“Orders from who?” Harry asked, curiously.

“Whom. Okay, enough interrogation Detective. I have a gun…so move.”

Harry did not listen, but instead pressed his stick with more force.

“You know I can cut that piece of shit in less than a second.” The boy seemed to react to this sentence because he lowered the stick. In his mind, Slit wondered why Harry had done that; let his defenses down. Would he rather risk his life than getting his stick or whatever destroyed?

“Now listen here, kid. I’m going to leave. No one heard anything, no one saw anything, and no one will remember anything. Dursley, if you say a word, I will come back and finish that guy's job. Got it?” Slit stared fiercely at Dursley, and he nodded stiffly.

Satisfied, Slit turned without a word and walked quickly out of the room.

But Harry was not finished.

Slit let out a long breath as he raced towards the stairs. ‘Thank god, this is done. All I want is to get in the car and—‘

He froze. No literally. Slit found himself looking at the ceiling, arms by his side, legs snapped together, head straight up. The only thing moving was his eyes. What was happening? Was he paralyzed?

“Bloody hell, the Ministry’s going to get me,” Slit heard from a voice near the end of the hallway. He felt the movement of footsteps and then saw Harry’s face looking down at him. There was no surprise in his eyes as to the reason why Slit had suddenly found himself unable to move. Only determination.

“Listen, I get that you’re not one of Voldemort’s cronies. But who are you, really?” Harry stared at the guy’s face, waiting for him to answer. Only then did he realize he just Petrificus Totalused the guy. With a wave of the wooden stick again, Slit heard him mutter some sort of Latin. Then, his arms, legs, and fingers were in his control again.

Slit jumped up, quickly backing away from Harry as if he was a ribald creature. Harry found it strange because all of his movements suggested hysteria and fear; but his face continued to remain void of emotions.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

From afar, police sirens rang into the night. Blue and red flashes shined through one of the windows and a little later, the sounds of slamming doors were heard.

"Look I'll explain. But the only way is for you to take me with you. Wherever you're going I don't care."

Slit's eyes widened. "N-No, there's absolutely no way for escape. The police are outside, there's not secret escape route. Nothing unless one of us could--I don't know--magically disappear in the thin air!"

Harry seemed to be contemplating this idea (which Slit thought was slightly freaky). Then--he did it again!--a parchment, a large trunk, and a cage with a white creature inside of it floated out of the room with locks on its doors. With another combination of waves, all of the items shrunk into the palm of Harry's hand.

Slit stood there and if he had been able to express emotions, his jaw would have been on the floor. "Sayonara, Dursley!" he yelled.

Harry grabbed a hold of Slit's arm.

"Look, if you're missing any body parts, don't blame me. You're the one who suggested it."

It was like a fucking time-traveling vortex. Harry had closed his eyes and looked like he was constipated. Suddenly, Slit felt a pull at his navel and he stopped thinking. Blue, red, green, yellow, and all of the other possible colors formed in his mind and he couldn't breathe. They were spinning around and around and around and around...

"Oof!" Harry landed unceremoniously on Slit. The man below had his face pressed against a field of yellow grass and he was currently eating dirt. Harry finally realized this and quickly got off him.

"What did you just do?" Again no emotion on his face or in his tone. Harry was wondering if he should ask him the trick to that.

"Huh?" A gun appeared in front of his face. Somehow Slit had withdrawn the weapon without Harry noticing, and now had him under his control. The teenager froze, fear written all over his face.

"I can kill you in mere seconds. Who...no what are you?" Slit had his weapon trained on Harry. His grip was strong and he really could pull the trigger without hesitation.

"Don't shoot! Please..."

"Answer the question then," said Slit, his voice threatening. Harry stopped shaking and his breathing slowed down.

"Okay. I will..." He leisurely lowered his hands to his side. Slit detruded his arms, thinking the boy was surrendering. But suddenly, he yelled something like "Expelling arm must" and the gun was soaring through the air. It landed with a thud about twenty feet away from where Slit was standing. "I'm not a threat. Believe me. I'm just Harry, a seventeen year-old boy. But I don't know who or what you are. Are you some sort of agent? An assassin?"

Slit peered at the gun from the corner of his eyes. It would be impossible to get it from here...

"I'm not trying to kill you! I just want to know what you were doing at the Dursleys."

"The Dursleys? Are they not your family?" Slit was not afraid anymore. He could read Harry's body language, and it only gave signs of self defense. Harry stopped pointing the stick and averted his gaze. He looked across the fields, staring into the setting sun. When his spoke, his voice was soft and regretful.

"No. Vernon is nothing of family to me. Neither is Dudley. Petunia's my real aunt per se; my mother's side, you see. But they don't give a damn about me so they're not family...are they? I just live in their home."

Slit considered his options for a moment and found he had none. The guy had some sort of magic on him, and Slit couldn’t do anything.

"I was undercover. Noman --that was the dead man's name-- was a real assassin. He was working for a man named Boss. Your uncle borrowed money for him, but did not pay him back. He was mad and sent for Noman to finish the job. I was merely a trail along, as I said before. I had no intention of hurting your uncle. Only Noman."

"So you're an assassin?"

"No!" Slit yelled, feeling offended that someone would call him that. Assassins were much different from what he worked as. Assassins were ruthless-- could kill in an instant—and occasionally careless. He wasn't. Well, not until now...

"If you feel so unsure about me, why not just zap me away?"

"I could, but then they would know and I'd be in trouble," Harry gave the rejoinder with a nonchalant tone.

"They?"

Harry shrugged. Slit could see he was not willing to answer (for some reason).

"My name is Slit. And I'm not an assassin. I'm--"

The phone in his trousers began to vibrate. Slit pulled out the Razor and checked the screen. Holding up a finger to Harry, he turned and walked away.

"Slit. Mission completed?"

"Affirmative, but Elaine..."

"Yes?" Her tone was foreboding.

"Noman is dead and the family is fine, but how many people were there really?"

“ Vernon Dursley: Father, Petunia Evans-Dursley: Wife, Dudley Dursley: Son. Why?"

"There is another kid too. He says his name is Harry Potter."

"Another kid living there? There wasn't any evidence of that in the Dursley's observation. Only son was Dudley Dursley and occasionally the wife and father would be seen outside of the home."

"But Potter lives there. All of his belongings were at the Dursleys."

"Strange, I can tell you that. I'll look up the kid's personal records."

"I don't think you have to. He's with me now and appears harmless, and he can do this stuff...

"Slit?" Elaine's voice was skeptical.

"Never mind. Look, I will bring him along to the headquarters--"

"Slit, it's a major violation to E415--

"Confidentiality of Operation CoJacks. Yes, I am aware, Elaine. But I'm thinking we have a new agent in deck."

"How old is the trainee in question?"

"He appears to be around 16 or 17 years."

"That's too young!"

"Elaine, we were that age when we were recruited," Slit reasoned.

"Yeah, but we were already aware of the organization. This kid comes out of nowhere and now you're thinking of involving him in the murder, espionage, and all the other dangers we go through at CoJacks?"

"Precisely."

"Slit..."

------------------

Harry ripped the Extendable Ears from his ears. The inventions of the Weasley twins were a gift, and it had proven to be useful. He had heard the conversation between Slit and “Elaine", but somehow the words were hard to believe. Operation CoJacks? Was it some kind of underground operation in the British government? Did the British parliament really have assassins running around as their agents? And him, Harry, a trainee?

Harry felt a small ripple in the left pocket of his coat and his heart gave a little jump. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the miniaturized cage of Hedwig.

"Sorry, Hedwig." He muttered the countercharm and a full-size snowy white owl in a cage appeared in front of Harry.

Slit, who was pocketing his cell phone, was just in time to see Harry do the "trick" again.

"Don't do that when we arrive at headquarters."

"Headquarters?" Harry asked as innocently as possible.

"I know you eavesdropped. You're a teenager; it's what you do when you're bored." Slit looked around the empty field that they had landed in and decided to add, "Or when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, embarrassed that he was caught. Slit didn't seem to care for an apology.

"What I ask of you is to not do that thingy..."

"Magic?"

"Whatever. Just don't do it at headquarters, trust me."

Harry nodded, understanding his words. If he claimed he could do magic, they would surely put him in a psychiatric hospital. Also, he would get into big trouble with the Ministry of Magic. Even though Harry was officially of age as of last week, they could still track his location. And right now, Harry didn't want to be found.

Slit cleared his throat and took out some sort of device. It resembled one of those hand TVs that Dudley used to carry around. He surveyed the area with a combination of buttons and the screen suddenly came to life.

“ Nevada? You transported us to the states?" Slit asked, not exactly surprised but more inquisitive.

"I was thinking of a place where no one can find us. I guess this was the product of my imagination."

Slit cleared his throat again. Harry could tell he was getting uncomfortable. He didn't blame the guy though. You don't meet a wizard every day when you're on an assassin mission.

"So...how will your people find us?"

Slit held up his hand in response. Harry took a few steps closer, but still could not see anything tangible.

"Your hand?"

"A chip was implanted into my palm when I was first recruited. This chip allows me access through the headquarters' security. It can also tell the people in the navigation room of my current location."

"What if you don't want to work with--?"

"With Operation CoJacks? Well, we get the chip removed manually. Some tweezers and scissors."

"Cor, that sounds extremely harsh. It sounds like not a lot of people retire."

Slit glanced at Harry with a humorous glint in his eyes. "That's the point." Harry shuffled his feet.

A brief gust caressed their faces. Some sand got into Harry's eyes and he gasped at the sudden sting. Slit didn't react.

“Well, aren't you going to ask?" Harry finally entreated. Slit turned around to face the teenager. This time, some traces of emotions were seen on his face. He looked anxious but at the same time cautious. He seemed to choose his words very carefully.

"Your past is not my business. Neither is mine. I can't deny that I'm curious about your..."powers", but you don't have to tell me."

Harry was perplexed. Minutes ago, a gun was trained at Harry's face and Slit was the one demanding an explanation. He shrugged to himself and watched an opaque shape in the sky as it came closer and closer to Harry and Slit's location.

The pilot had introduced himself as Bill. Whether his name was a pseudonym, Harry didn't know, and nor did he care. Basically, all of the events that had happened in the past hours were blurred and squiggly lines. First he was holed up in a house where his family made his life miserable. Next, two guys came and tried to assassinate his Uncle Vernon because of some illegal activities. Thirdly, one guy killed the other and Harry found himself stranded on a piece of land with an agent from an organization called Operation CoJacks.

Now he was on a jet plane that was flying 35,000 feet above land and at 0.75 to 0.85 Mach. Slit, who was sitting next to him, was looking out the window and admiring the view. Harry decided to do the same.

And immediately found himself feeling nauseous.

It was strange; he could fly some hundred feet in the air on a wooden stick and a bundle of bristle without fear, but on a secure plane, he was scared.

“Hermione would be glad to hear that,” he said out loud.

“What?” Slit shouted above the disturbances around them. Harry mutely shook his head.

‘Merlin, I forgot all about Hermione and Ron and everything. Dumbledore's death...the Horcruxes...damn it! What will I tell them? Hey you guys. I’m flying to Operation CoJacks because I’m going to be a secret agent. Yeah, I know, I’m flying with a guy who just killed another guy, but that’s alright.

Fuck.’

The entire Ministry probably knew Harry did magic in front of muggles. Most likely, they would have traced the magic to the Dursleys' residence and since Harry was the only wizard there, they'd know it was him. Right then and there, he decided to restrict himself from magic unless it was pertinent for it to be used. That way no one could find him. Harry hoped there wasn't anyone at Headquarters who would recognize his real identity as a wizard.

He decided to mail Hermione and Ron later. They were assumedly at the Burrow since the wedding was coming up. He knew he would miss the wedding of Bill and Fleur and he hoped they'd be able to forgive him once he saw them again.

Harry turned his head to get a good look at Slit. His brown hair was shaven nearly to his scalp, and he was able to see a long, red slash trailing from Slit's right ear to the beginning of his neck. His jaw was burly set, and he was clenching his teeth. The clothes he had donned were odd looking tool. Slit had on some combat fatigues. A black strap was worn at the shoulder and metallic bullets were stored there. A gun holster, like the ones Harry would see in western movies, was visible at Slit's hip. Apparently, Slit had picked up the gun after he pointed it at Harry and then Harry had disarmed him. His face was set like stone and his eyes surveyed the land below.

Slit, who had noticed Harry thanks to his peripheral vision, asked rather bluntly, "What?"

Harry jumped; it was scary how in tune Slit's senses were. "Uh...well, I was just wondering why I'm going with you to...Operation CoJacks?"

The man sighed and leaned back against the seat. "I don't know either, but I sense something from you. Something big. When I shot that Noman, you didn't react when you saw the blood. Maybe you had seen some worse stuff, maybe not. But I believe you're capable of becoming an agent...just like me."

Harry nodded and looked away. He couldn't believe it either. When he saw Noman, the sight felt familiar; as if he saw a man get shot in front of him everyday. He was getting too accustomed to death, he conceived.

"34 minutes and 56 seconds until landing," Bill informed in a brisk manner.

"Copy that. Hear that, Potter?"

Harry dipped his head in reply. The thought seemed absurd. He, Harry Potter, Chosen One and the Boy to defeat Voldemort, was about to land at a top secret organization and begin training as an agent. He had discovered two worlds in his life. The civilian Muggle and Wizarding world. Now, Harry would discover the world of espionage and dangers that most people just hear or read about.

Harry only hoped that he could survive the challenges in the world better. All three of them.

2. Chapter 2

OPERATION COJACKS

(Title subjected to change)

By: Viopathartic

Disclaimer: Duh, I own it all.

A/N: By and large, the dead aren't very talented. They can't play water polo or lace up their boots, or maximize market share. They can't tell a joke, and they can't dance for beats. There is something dead people excel at. They're very good at handling pain. Especially in car crash dummy tests.

"Stiff" by Mary Roach

"Operation CoJacks was founded in the midst of World War II in 1942. Its founder was a man by the name of Martin Harmon. His family fled from their home in Berlin, Germany, in order to the escape the wrath of Adolf Hitler. They were not Jewish, but were afraid of being punished for not agreeing with Hitler's bylaws. Harmon was born in 1925. He grew up in Oxford, England and later went to attend the University of Oxford under a business major. He married after he graduated at top 20 of his class and had two children. Harmon was involved with many businesses located in many areas of the world. Tokyo, Paris, and Punjab were just a few locations for his many businesses. He sold such things ranging from toilet paper to expensive automobiles. However, along with the profits, Harmon made plenty of enemies,” Slit recounted in a solemn tone.

Harry listened intently from his seat opposite Slit. Bill was currently chatting with someone over the communicator.

“What did Harmon do?”

“He ran. Both him and his family. Threw away their old lives and picked up new ones. They had plenty of aliases, but his wife soon got tired of running. It was a decision he was going to regret later. When Harmon was working as Jason Verdez at a car dealership, a bomb was set off at their house in a small town. The body parts of his wife and children were buried together under a single tombstone. As you can tell, Harmon was furious. He lost his family; his life. Soon after, he contacted a friend from the government and they set up a small group of specialized agents. This was the beginning of Operation CoJacks. At first it was a branch of MI6 but soon Operation CoJacks established its own name and went underground. Only a few of today’s MI6 know about our headquarters. They’re our connections to leading cases.”

“But I still don’t get it. What does Operation CoJacks really do?”

Slit leaned forward and cleared his throat. Harry could see that the answer was not that simple. “If you think Operation CoJacks is an organization of assassins, you’re wrong. If you think we’re the bad guys, you’re wrong and right. We seek revenge no matter what the cost. And I admit, sometimes we have to kill. But I think of it as ridding the world of a sinner.”

Oh Merlin, what am I getting into? What will Hermione and Ron think when—oh shit. Hermione and Ron. They must worried sick about me! And angry to, actually. They’ll think I abandoned them and the Horcruxes. Oh, and Voldemort! Damn, I should have thought this through. If I’m going to go train at Operation CoJacks, who will fight Voldemort?

Slit seemed to interpret Harry’s worried frown for something else. “You know Potter, we can turn around. You don’t have to join us. Granted we want you to but—“

“No,” Harry said with force. “I want to join Operation CoJacks but…my friends and family…”

“I thought you said you don’t have a family?”

“Not the Dursleys. There are people…my friends, who are very important to me. They need me! They’re depending on me.”

“For what?” Harry gave Slit a look that clearly said he wasn’t going to tell. “Right. Okay…then are you staying or going?”

‘Being Harry Potter sucks. Will they understand? Hermione and Ron are my best friends…will they—yes, actually…I think they’ll understand. They want what’s best for me, right? And training here will probably help me when I have to fight Voldemort again…’

“Staying.”

Slit nodded and talked to Bill through his handless walkie-talkie attached to his helmet. “Alright. 45 seconds ‘til landing.”

Harry sat back with his belt strapped across his waist. He felt the plane tip downward and slowing along the way. Screeching sounds indicted that the jet was on the ground and the wheels turned to a stop. Harry remained in his spot and opened his eyes, deciding that the broom was much better as transportation. Bill’s head poked in from up front and he smiled warmly.

“Welcome to the Headquarters of Operation CoJacks.”

Harry smiled nervously, following Slit down the stairs. The sun was beginning to rise; the sky was the color of orange with parts of indigo and magenta. The weather was fair; not too cold nor too hot. A brief gale ruffled his perpetually untidy hair, making it stand up at the ends. Slit nodded to his fellow mates and lead the way through the helipad. Different types of aircrafts were parked in orderly lots and some workers were tending to them. These aircrafts reminded Harry of the ones he used to see in Dudley’s least favorite movie Top Gun.

Bill had already left Slit and Harry's side and most likely entered the building. "How long has Bill worked for Operation CoJacks?"

"A very long time. Maybe two decades or more. He's a senior agent so he's very experienced in many fields, but Bill has retired from agent work. He said it was too dangerous. So now he's the organization's transporter."

Out of the dozen or so of the aircrafts Harry had seen, only one really captured his attention. He had a frontal view of the plane as he was standing in front of it. It was the biggest by far and even he could tell it was a valuable part of Operation CoJacks. The coating of black appeared newly applied and it was so shiny, Harry could see his reflection in it. The top curved downward as it moved back and the wing span looked like the width of the Dursleys’ home in Little Whinging.

“Ah, this baby here is the Lockheed SR-71 or SR-71 Blackbird. It’s an advanced, long-range, Mach 3 strategic reconnaissance aircraft developed from the Lockheed YF-12A. It’s usually used a spy plane in certain missions. Though it could only fit two people, it can carry 172, 000 pounds. Its wing span is 55 feet and 7 inches. Blackbird’s length is 107 feet and 5 inches. It could fly up to 2, 200 miles per hour at 80, 000 feet!” Slit explained, not even hesitating. Harry didn’t have to be a genius to know Slit was very fond of the Blackbird.

“Have you ever flown it?”

“I’m not specialized in that area, though I would like to one day. But you still have to learn about them in your classes.”

“Classes!” exclaimed Harry. He turned away from the Blackbird and faced Slit.

He looked amused. “Of course. We wouldn’t just throw our agents into the real world. You’ll have to learn about the safety precautions while on the Blackbird. You need to know the basic types of combats our typical agents use. You’ll learn about everything about the world and the organizations that we should look out for.”

Harry sighed. He could never escape school and homework.

“C’mon, Potter.” Slit saluted to another person, grabbed the handle of a steel door, and entered an unknown area. Harry found himself on the balcony of a stairwell. The walls were painted a dull gray and the steps were the same. The banister felt cold as he let his hand slide down after each step. He wondered why they couldn’t just use an elevator; it was a long way down. But he didn’t ask and let Slit lead him.

Once he reached the last step, Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that the stairs had disappeared. A sheet of metal acted as a wall. He gave Slit a questioning look.

“Our system automatically covers up the stair once the person has stepped off. The door we just entered through was built with a scan. Each person who passes through has their profile in the system. That way, if an intruder trespasses the security around the helipad, they wouldn’t be able to get in at all. When it comes down to the protection of our Headquarters, we are very meticulous of the way we do things.”

Slit and Harry came to an automatic sliding door which had a pad attached to the wall. Slit waved his hand over the pad and it lit up the color of green. Harry realized that the system had analyzed their agent by the chip that he was talking about before. The door slid open to let the two pass.

They entered a corridor with a reception desk in the part where four corridors intersected. It felt like being in a science fiction setting. The walls were painted white, the ceiling was the same, and the floor was decorated with a white carpet. Harry looked up, seeing cameras in the corners of the corridors. They followed his direction until he was out of range. He would have bet anything that there were more cameras hidden in odd places. Harry felt uncomfortable in his surroundings. The men and women—the agents—were dressed in tailored suits with a white blouse or shirt beneath. The men were wearing polished loafers and the women had on relatively high heels. Harry walked past them, dressed in his humongous t-shirt (hand-me-downs from Dudley of course) and baggy trousers.

The two reached the reception desk and a woman of Asian background looked up. She gave a wary smile at the sight of Slit, but raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“Agent Panther.”

“Hey Slit. Who’s he?”

“Trainee. His name is Harry Potter.”

“But Slit, our last recruit was two months and three days ago.”

“Ah, well…he was a surprise.” Agent Panther raised both eyebrows,

“Does Elaine know?” Slit ignored her inquiry and said, “Can you just add him to the list. I spoke with some people yesterday and they said I could bring him in.”

Panther shrugged but handed Slit a clipboard. He examined it quickly and turned to the right corridor, moving ahead without a word. Harry had to jog to keep up. He observed that there was a piece of paper and a pen attached to the clipboard and an idea came to mind.

"Wait! I was wondering if I could do something first?" Slit stared at him, but said yes. Harry grabbed the items and hurriedly wrote down a message. Knowing what he was doing, Slit guided him to the letterbox that was built inside the Headquarters. A stack of envelopes were located there too.

"Uh...what's the address?" Slit took the pen out of Harry's grip and scribbled the words to the front of the envelope. Harry looked questionably at the address.

Slit explained, "Obviously we cannot reveal the real address of our Headquarters. We established a make-shift address and any mail sent to and from there goes without notice. On the plus side, the service is fast." He slid the envelope inside the box and they continued on.

"We're heading towards the Authentic Room," said Slit matter-of-factly. Harry wanted to ask what exactly the room was for, but decided to wait until they arrived. They came into another corridor but at its end was huge black door. There was a keypad below the handle and Slit entered the secret combination. The light switched from red to green and a sound like a tire having its air compressed could be heard. It automatically slid open and allowed the two access.

They came into a room with a large mirror built into the wall. The only furniture that could be seen was a mahogany chair in the center. Apart from that, everything was white. It appeared that Operation CoJacks was very fond of white…

“Sit down, Potter. Someone will be here to ask you questions,” commanded Slit, still reading the clipboard. “I have to attend the training room. They’re practicing gun control and aim.” He began to walk away.

“Wait, b-but will I see you again, Slit?” Harry asked fearfully.

Apart from the slight encounter with Panther and Bill, Slit was the only one he knew at Operation CoJacks.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see me again. Probably in a month or so, but you’ll see me,” He assured. Then he gave Harry a smile that went away as fast as it came. Harry watched him leave, his apprehension growing larger.

For the last ten years, Operation CoJacks had created a secret research effort to find out when someone was not telling the truth. This wasn't measured with a voice analyzer or polygraph machine like most people presume. Polygraphs only records a person's breathing rate and blood pressure, tracking its changes. Fear could distort the results of the test, and it was found to not be completely accurate. CIA agents, or Central Intelligence Agency, were trained to control their body's subconscious functions, and they could pass the test easily.

However, here, the agents didn’t examine the body reactions and language of the person; they observed the brain. The room in which Harry was currently in was nothing but a large MRI chamber. Naturally, the person was not aware of Operation CoJacks' real purpose of the Authentic Room (hence the title). While watching this person's brain as he answered questions, it was possible to see how different sectors of tissue reacted to what was being asked. The scientists and analyzers discovered it was easier to examine the brain; it was more dependable. When a person was lying, his left prefrontal cortex and the anterior cingulate gyrus would light up like green patches of grass in the summer.

Bill sat in front of four 32" televisions, a carton of Chinese noodles on the seat next to him. True to what Slit had said, Bill was the headquarters' transporter. However, he didn't explain the rest. Bill did retire from field work, but was still part of the less precarious and more mentally challenging cases.

The Authentic Room required an experienced agent to work as both the controller and analyzer of the subject. Bill was the perfect candidate.

Observing Harry through one of the television screens reminded him of Slit's first interview. His father was co-president of the major branches in the British government.

His father, his mother, his 16-month-old sister, and he were driving on the highway in their Citroën DS. They were driving Slit to his university when the car began to produce odd noises. They veered onto the side of the road, and Slit decided to step outside and stretch. His father had opened the hood of the car and his mother cradled Amy in her arms. Slit was plenty of feet away, admiring the scenery and revering his college life. Suddenly, a distinct clicking sound could be heard by the father, but before he could utter a sound, the car exploded.

Slit was walking back to the car and was blown back by the explosion. Shards of glass and scraps of metal flew in all direction. Unfortunately, Slit had experienced second and third degree burns all over; his clothes could not beat the ravaging heat from the fire. A strapping of metal embedded the mastoid portion of the temporal bone. The conflagration from the explosion had spread towards a small village and that was what alerted the authorities and Operation CoJacks. The medical team immediately rushed to the site of the accident (but many suspected assassination) and Slit underwent surgery. Today, the red scar remained near Slit's right ear, as a reminder of what had happened.

The accident had partially damaged Slit's hearing but that did not stop his ability to perform missions.

It was evident that his father had had a spot reserved for his son in Operation CoJacks ever since his birth. Slit was expertly trained in self-defensive combat such as Kung Fu, tae kwon doe, and Shaolin Kung Fu. His native tongue was English, but he was also fluent in German, French, and Latin. His other expertises revolved around the art of swords and ballistics.

Slit had dominated the field since the age of 17, the youngest age for a trainee...until now. Instead, Harry would be given the title.

A knock on the door disturbed Bill from his thoughts, but his annoyance was quickly replaced with anticipation. The file of Harry Potter has arrived.

Another senior agent entered the Authentic Room. He was finely built and walked with an air of authority. His once black hair had faded into gray, but that did not say anything about him except his age. The man was also a retired field agent and worked inside the Headquarters. Currently, his hands were tangled behind his back and his eyes were pinned on the boy in the seat. A small earpiece was located in his right ear which allowed communication between him and the analyzer.

Harry gulped, immediately intimidated by him. His shoes echoed from the walls as he came closer to where Harry sat. He stuck out a hand and for a minute there, Harry forgot how to move his arms.

"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Agent Collins. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Sure." Harry sat down once more, wiping his palms on his trousers. Collins walked slowly in a circle around the seat, cogitating his words.

"You were brought to the Headquarters of Operation CoJacks by Agent Tanners, correct?"

"Tanners? Do you mean Slit?"

"Yes." Harry nodded in return. Collins paused in his steps, listening to Bill. "He's telling the truth, George."

"Alright. Can you recount the events that had lead up to your arrival at Headquarters?"

"Yes, sir. Um...at night, I couldn't sleep so I was up in the attic. I saw two men outside in an old car and they appeared to be watching the house. I decided that maybe I was just paranoid so I went back to my bedroom. About fifteen minutes later, I heard my Uncle Vernon yelling so I went to see what was going on. When I came to their room, there was this guy—Slit told me his name was Noman—holding up a gun to my uncle, my aunt, and their son. He told me to sit down so I did and he was pointing the gun at me. I thought I was gonna die but then when I opened my eyes, he was the one dead. Slit had killed him. I was scared so Slit and I ran away from the scene."

Collins listened to the earpiece again, but this time his face was set in stone. Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.

"Why would he lie about that?"

Bill shook his head, typing on the keyboard while only looking at the screens. A file came up and his eyes scanned the text. Collins waited impatiently, arms crossed and eyes still on Harry in the Authentic Room.

"What does he have to hide? Why not say the truth about how he met Slit?"

"I don't know, George, but this kid is pretty weird." Bill leafed through the stack of files on the boy.

"How?"

"Well first off, do you know where I had to pick them up from?"

"No," said Collins exasperatedly, "Where did you pick them up?"

"Nevada. And it said that at 1AM, they were at the Dursleys’ and then at 1:30 Am, they were in Nevada." The man almost fell in shock. That was impossible. Slit was scheduled for his mission on Saturday, August 8 at approximately midnight. Today was August 9, 6:32 A.M. How could Slit and Harry have traveled from England to Nevada in half an hour?

Collins vigorously shook his head. "No, it must be a glitch in the system."

"The system is fine! It's the new recruit who is not. Look, here's the history we have on him. Harry Potter was born on July 31st, 1980 to Lily Evans and James Potter. A year later, he was placed under the care of Vernon and Petunia Evans-Dursley--that's Lily Evans' sister. Harry attended Delmont primary school and was about to go to Delmont Junior High School. Except...except, at age eleven to thirteen, there were no records from Delmont stating his presence at the school. Why is that? He couldn't have just vanished from Earth like that!

Bill was on a roll while Collins gawked. "A month after his thirteenth birthday, he was listed under St. Brutus School for Criminal Boys. But we contacted the institution and no one even heard of him. Our agents were sent to investigate. So technically, he hasn't been in school in 6 years! We must have used an outdated version of the Dursleys' file because Harry Potter was not included in the family for the mission."

Collins wasn't sure if he should be mad at his agents' lack of work ethnics or intrigued by this sudden discovery. "But what about his parents? Why was he sent to live with the Dursleys at the age of one?"

"Lily Evans and James Potter died in a car crash. Harry survived with only that weird scar on his forehead."

"Oh, well that explains it then," Collins said. Bill shook his head once more and slid his chair down to the last computer screen.

"No it doesn't. Lily Evans, sister of Petunia Evans and daughter of Rose Evans and Robert Evans, has the same record as Harry. She attended primary school but disappeared for the next decade or so. And when I searched for James Potter..." Bill typed a series of letters on PeopleSearch and forcefully pressed the ENTER button.

The screen revealed it all. NO SUCH NAME EXISTS IN THE DATABASE.

"James Potter never existed. And George, you know our system. Every single name in the whole world is in this database. It's fool-proof."

Collins had to sit down for a moment. Bill turned from his seat and stared through the mirror-window, descrying the boy with black hair.

There were many mysteries in the world. Harry Potter was one of them.

Once the Ministry of Magic had gotten a hold of a magical field at Little Whinging Drive, they immediately apparated to the scene. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks, Aurors in that department, quickly alerted the Order of Phoenix. Within a half hour, Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, all of the Weasleys (after Ginny and Ron’s excessive complains about how they were Harry’s friends too), and nearly half of the Hogwarts professors appeared in the Dursleys’ home to find Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley cowering in the master bedroom. Shacklebolt had to cast numerous amounts of memory charms to send the Muggle police away. An unknown man lay in a pool of blood near the door. Mrs. Weasley let out a cry at the sight while the rest just stared at the body in shock.

Lupin, though he despised the Dursleys’ for the mistreatment towards Harry, was kind and approached the family in small steps. “Erm…Petunia. Petunia, what happened?”

“Don’t come near my wife, you f-freak!” growled Vernon as his arms closed around his trembling wife and son.

“We’re not here to hurt you. All we need is Harry. Do you know where he is?”

At the mention of his nephew’s name, Vernon flinched. “He went with that assassin.”

Lupin’s face paled at Vernon’s answer. Tonks approached her boyfriend, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Assassin?” she whispered in his ear.

“Mr. Dursley, what assassin?”

“H-he shot that man on the floor,” Vernon said, pointing at the body but not looking at it. “Then the boy had his w-w-stick thing out and pointed it at his face. He asked if Voldycort had sent him.”

“Voldemort?” Lupin asked, not even going try to correct Vernon’s use of “the Boy” as a substitute for Harry. The wizards and witches who knew of His name gasped while Vernon continued on, answering with an aggravated sigh. “Yes, whatever. Then the assassin walked out but the boy ran after him. Later, we heard the police cars and now he’s gone.

“He must have apparated, Remus!” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, both shocked and scared of Harry’s dangerous acts. Ginny tugged on her mom’s cloak sleeve.

“Mum, he’s gone?”

Soon enough the Weasley children attacked their parents and the other Order members with questions.

“Mum, where would Harry go?” asked Ron.

“Whoa, Harry escaped with an assassin?” Fred and George looked at each other and despite the situation exclaimed simultaneously, “Cool!”

Bill had the decency to slap the back of his little brothers’ heads before turning to Lupin again. “What happens now?”

The former DADA professor ran a hand through his gray hair. The situation was very odd; why would Harry escape with an assassin. True, he could have done so to escape the Dursleys, but apparition around muggles was a precarious thing to do.

“Nothing, I suppose.” At this time, Harry was no where to be found. They would just have to wait until he decided to contact them.

(Not sure of the time, but just after Harry's interview. Remember service is really fast.)

Hermione looked up from her book Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov just in time to see the mailman leaving something in their mailbox. It was Sunday afternoon; a perfect day to just sit around the house and do her favorite thing: read. She was currently on page 133 and was deeply fascinated by the narrator's personality and way of telling his story. Reading almost made her forget about everything that happened in sixth year. Won Won, her fights with Harry, and Dumbledore's death failed to evade her thoughts for 2 hours and 34 minutes.

Her mother and father were currently at work at their dentistry clinic, leaving Hermione alone with her book and Crookshanks. She sat at the windowsill with her knees touching her chest and a cushy pillow to support her back. After seeing the mailman, she put down her book, gave her cat an affectionate pat, and jumped down from her seat. The front door was near so she was outside in a matter of seconds. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, letting the summer sun shine its rays on her cheeks. It was a nice day to go out for a swim. Or play Quidditch. She quickly shook her head, deciding she had spent too much time with her boys, Ron and Harry.

Her flowery skirt flowed with the light breeze as Hermione walked leisurely to her mailbox. She smiled neighborly at the woman across the street. Reaching into the rectangular thing, her hands made contact with a stack of envelopes. She began to sort them out while she made her way back inside.

Ah, bill, bill, unnecessary junk, bill, a letter from Uncle Sylvester, postcard from Aunt Myrna in Florida, and…Harry? Shutting the door, she abandoned the rest of the mail received and checked the manila envelope in her hands. Yes, it said Harry Potter; however the address was different. It was not Privet Drive as Hermione would expect, but a familiar address. Curious, as she always was, she tore the seal and pulled out the piece of parchment inside.

3. Chapter 3

Shutting the door, she abandoned the rest of the mail received and checked the manila covered envelope in her hands. Yes, it said Harry Potter; however the address was different. It was not Privet drive as Hermione would expect, yet it was a familiar address. Curious, as she always was, she tore the seal and pulled out the piece of paper.

Dear Hermione,

If the Order contacts you and say that I’m missing, DO NOT PANIC. I’m safe and away from my mum’s sister and her wretched family. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you where I am exactly but I was NOT kidnapped by HIS cronies. I’m terribly sorry for scaring you (if you were already alerted) and once I return (don’t know when), you can hex me. The Order and everyone is probably at my old house at this very moment. But right now, what I’m doing is not stupid. I’m training and I WILL find the missing pieces during my spare time. I can’t write anymore because my time is limited. If you want to contact me again, then send another letter back to the address on the left hand corner.

Love,

H.J.P

P.S: You can tell the others I’m safe but that is all. I’m counting on you.

"Hello, Granger Dentistry Clinic, Dr. Emma Granger speaking."

"Mum," Hermione said, finally being able to reach her mother. Crookshanks, woken up by her voice, stretched his back and yawned. He promenaded over to his owner and rubbed against her leg. Hermione moved away, the cordless phone still in hand. "I was wondering if you had Uncle Benny's address."

"Ben? I haven't heard from Ben in a week. You know, honey, he's quite busy in his work."

"Yeah I know, but I was just wondering. His address isn't in our book so I would think you might have it at the office."

"Hermione, dear, hold on, a patient has come in for his appointment. Wait for just a moment."

Hermione obeyed, and after a split second, a clip of Four Seasons began to play. She sighed and made her way towards the refrigerator. She grabbed a bottle of Ice Tea and popped the cap. Crookshanks was resting besides his water dish, near the screen doors that led to their backyard. Seeing that the water was running low, Hermione bent down, phone still in hand, and picked up the dish, bringing it over to the sink. Crookshanks followed her movement with sharp eyes.

Just as the dish was halfway full, her mum's voice could be heard.

"Hermione?" She turned off the faucet and adjusted her grip on the phone. "Yes?"

"Uncle Benny's address is 15310 Colby Union Road. Why?" Emma Granger asked in a suspicious tone.

"Oh, I was just thinking of mailing Uncle Benny a letter. He is my favorite uncle after all." Hermione had gotten better at lying since she started hanging out with some "bad influences" by the names of Ron and Harry.

"Okay Hermione."

"Oh and mum, before you go...can I drive the Mini Cooper to the convenience store? We ran out of envelopes."

"Sure. The keys are in my drawer."

After Hermione hung up the phone and placed the dish back on the floor (to which Crookshanks purred contently), she immediately ran upstairs to get the keys.

Now that she was positive Harry was at Uncle Benny’s address, she decided to pay a visit to the Dursleys. Harry said something happened there so she wanted to know “what” exactly. She passed Harry's letter which lay abandoned on the floor and went into her mum and dad's room. The keys were there, but just as she turned away, a picture caught her attention.

It was photograph of her mum and her mum's brother, Ben, who was Hermione's uncle. The picture was taken recently; it was July 4th when the family had gotten together. By far, Uncle Benny was her dearest uncle. He was quite intelligent but very modest. He was the one who introduced Hermione to the works of her favorite authors such as Charles Dickens and James Patterson. However, she rarely got to see him because of his profession as a businessman. It was even worse since she spent most of her time at Hogwarts, but Uncle Benny wasn’t aware of her being a witch. Sometimes Hermione wonder whether she should tell him, but her practical side would always get in the way. Ben Lester would never believe her; he was one who sided with science. Everything had to have a precise explanation and adequate reasoning.

Hermione checked her pocket for her license (which she earned a year ago) and started the engine of the Mini Cooper. She pulled out of her driveway and was on her way.

The directions to Harry’s house were easy to find thanks to the GPS system the car was built with. As she drove through, a gang of police cars were leaving. Her worry was growing larger. The door was conveniently left open so Hermione just stepped through. She searched around, all the while yelling out an apprehensive “Is anyone there?”, but no one answered.

A popping sound from behind made Hermione whirl around in alarm. It was only Tonks.

“Hermione! What are you doing here?”

“Harry’s missing.”

“Yeah,” Tonks answered in a surprised tone. “How’d you know?”

“Harry sent me a letter.”

“What?!?” Tonks grabbed her arm, pulling her upstairs to where the rest of the Order was located. When she saw the body, she cried out and would have fallen if it weren’t for Bill, who caught her. Once she was properly placed onto her feet, she caught sight of the Dursleys on the bed and everyone looking at her.

“What happened?”

“We'll tell you later. Now, you said you got a letter from Harry. What did he say?”

“Harry sent her a letter?” Ginny asked, incredulously. She stepped in front of everyone and looked Hermione in the eyes. “Why would he send you a letter?”

Hermione just gazed back at her with an disbelieving look. Ginny had certainly changed from her shy demeanor in 4th year. Ever since she and Harry had gotten to together, Hermione couldn’t help but feel that Ginny held a certain dislike towards her. She managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

“Yes, Ginny. He did. Now, I won’t tell any of you what Harry said until you tell me what happened!” Hermione said with earnest.

So Remus and Tonks alternated in telling her the story of the assassin and Harry’s escape. When they were done, Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face. Why was Harry with Uncle Benny? Did they know each other?

“Hermione, what did Harry say to you?” Ron asked.

“Oh,” she replied, pausing for a moment, “he said he was safe.”

They continued to stare, expecting a longer summary. “And? That’s all?”

“Yeah.” Hermione lied, trying to keep straight face. She read somewhere that there were people who could spot a lie by the look in the liar’s eyes.

Remus did not seem to accept her answer, but he said nothing.

"Is that a gunshot wound?" Hermione's eyes opened wide once her eyes landed on the body. “Is Harry hurt?”

“You should know. He did send you a letter,” Ginny said scathingly. Her mother gave her a severe look and chastised, “Ginerva Weasley, mind your manners!”

“Yeah Ginny, just because Harry was the one who broke up with you doesn’t mean you should take it out on Hermione here,” George said half-jokingly and half-seriously.

“He probably realized you’re just Ron’s little sister.” Fred joined in, coming to his twin’s side. Hermione suppressed a smirk, and Ron, who was standing next to her, was smiling. Ginny looked furiously at her twin brothers and stormed out of the room, her feet stomping against the floor. Ron turned to her and smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. Ginny’s PMSing ‘because she has like Harry for a long time. She still hasn’t gotten over the fact Harry broke up with her.”

Hermione shook her head, pitying and worrying for Ginny at the same time. That girl has had a crush on Harry before they even met. Hermione supposed the crush had gone deeper when Harry had saved her from the Chamber of Secrets. Ever since she realized what Ginny had become once she had Harry as a boyfriend, Hermione knew that the shy and soft-spoken Ginny was long gone. And so was her friend.

“Yes, last year was a bit of a rush.”

Ron nodded guiltily. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”

Hermione groaned softly. “Oh Ron, please no.” Please don’t ask me on a date. I DON”T like you.

“Look. Okay, I admit I was a bit jealous last year when you and Lavender…”went steady” and I apologize for my behavior, especially the birds. And I also confess that I had a slight crush on you for sometime. But this summer, I’ve realized that a relationship cannot be built on lust or jealousy, so therefore, I don’t want to date you, Ronald Bilius Wealsey.” Her voice was strong, but not harsh; just enough to say what she wanted.

Ron blinked, not expecting his friend to babble out 65 words less than 15 seconds. He ran a hand through his red hair and breathed out. Hermione gazed up, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Ron?”

“Um…Hermione, I’ve realized the same thing during the summer and just wanted to ask if you had Luna’s owl address.” His friend did a double take and her mouth fell open.

“Oh! Well…doesn’t Ginny have it?” Hermione put on a smile as her body began to relax. Now that that is over with…

“Ginny? Hermione, remember what I told you before? Well, Ginny was also mad at me. She wanted me to talk to Harry about getting back together with her but I flat out refused. He has enough going on in his life; he doesn’t need my annoying little sister. So, when I asked for Luna’s address, she basically told me to fuck off.”

“Oh dear.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t bother to correct Ron’s use of such colorful language as she was still getting over the fact that Ron liked Luna.

“Luna, Ron? I didn’t know you liked her!”

“We used to play together all the time until her mum died. Then she sorta got weird and I stayed away from her.”

“Ron, you know weirdness doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” Ron said softly, his hands in his pocket. “Me and Luna used to play together all the time. I had a crush on her when I was younger, but never told a soul. We kind of drifted apart though…”

“And now you regret it because you could have been snogging her right now.”

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed incredulously. He had never heard his friend talk in such a way. When Hermione stopped laughing, both realized how strange it was without Harry. But they didn’t feel worried for some reason.

“So, you think Harry likes it there? He went willingly, you know.”

“Of course, my—“ Hermione was about to tell Ron about her uncle’s address and the strange coincidence, but decided she would need to dig some more for solid evidence.

“Your…”

“Oh no, I forgot!” She lied, avoiding his eyes again. Ron smiled at her, accepting her lie, and they decided to return to the room.

“So what should we do with him?”

“Send him back?”

“Then why did Slit bring him in?”

Question after question, the two senior agents remained in the Analysis Room. Should they allow this unknown teenager into their program? What if he was a spy for a rival organization?

But if Jameson had brought Harry Potter in, he really had to be something. It wasn’t everyday when Slit, the youngest agent of Operation CoJacks, brought in a random teenager. Slit was known for all of his successfully completed missions. He had brought in 76 out of 200 from their Most Wanted List, with no help from anyone. His father had certainly trained him well in the areas of defense in mental and physical standards.

Back in the Authentic Room, Harry was getting anxious, waiting for Collins to come back. What did he find out that was so important for him to rush out of the room without a word?

The sound of the door sliding open was heard and Harry looked up. There Collins was again, his back straight and hands behind his back. His eyes were tracing his footsteps and his forehead was wrinkled in worry.

“Harry Potter.” He waited for the man to just kick him out and be rid of the humiliation. The ringing in ears suddenly got louder and blocked out all sound. Harry saw Collins’ lips move but somehow, the sound couldn’t reach his ears. Harry found it was hard to focus on Collins. The man looked far away and very small, as if Harry could pick him up with tweezers and drop him in a pocket.

“….expect you to follow every single rule of Operation CoJacks. Agent Sarah Panther will fill you in on basic procedures.” Collins held out a hand in which Harry just stared at it as if seeing it for the first time. “Harry Potter?”

“Uh…what—oh!” Harry quickly stood from his seat and took his hand. He couldn’t comprehend that he was finally a member of Operation CoJacks. The man’s next words made him flush with pride.

‘If Slit brought you, I’m sure you’re something special.” And he didn’t know the half of it…

Next thing he knew, he was being escorted to his dormitory by Agent Panther or “Sarah, Sarah Panther”, the woman from the reception desk.

When he asked how recruits were chosen, Sarah answered briskly.

“Operation CoJacks need people from wide backgrounds and specialty in areas. Genius computer hacker, star athlete, achieving mathematician…you know stuff like that.

The dormitories were separated by gender for obvious reasons. Female trainees report to the south wing of OJHQ while male trainees go through the north. A rule strictly stated no alcohol, partying, or use of narcotics would be allowed in the rooms. On weekdays, the rooms would be empty; all trainees have to report to combat training in the morning. But since today was a Sunday, the trainees were allowed two hours of extra sleep. Out of 224 of the recruits brought it, only 60 remained. Harry was the 61st.

The hallway was plainly decorated; red carpet and white walls. The two stopped at a door with the number 203 on it. Sarah pulled out a card and slid it through the gadget connected to the handle. A soft click could be heard and Sarah turned the knob. The smell of sweat immediately filled Harry’s nostrils. It was like the changing room after Quidditch except Harry wasn’t sure whether he could deal with this smell 24-7. Clothes were scattered all over the floor and desks were stacked with books and errant pieces of paper.

The walls were decorated with posters of football teams and motorcycles. He blushed when he saw a nearly exposed woman on one poster; Sarah was still standing next to him. Random drawers were left open with socks and underwear poking out. In total there were only 4 beds, but three of them were occupied by sleeping men. They began to stir once the light reached their eyes. Quickly, Harry went to the only vacant bed and sat down, carefully checking to see if his stuff were there was well. His trunk and Hedwig sat in the corner of the room.

“It’s Agent Panther!” gasped a man and at once all three scampered out of bed and aligned themselves in an organized line.

“No need. I am just showing your new roommate to his room.” She turned to Harry as the men eyed their roommate. Mixed looks of disdain and curiosity were shot in Harry’s direction.

Sarah scrunched her nose in attempt to ignore the awful smell. “As you can see, the staff of Operation CoJacks doesn’t care about how tidy or messy your room is. We like to think of dormitories as the trainees’ property since everything else they use is ours. You’re expected to head down to the breakfast hall at 7:00 every morning save for Saturdays and Sundays. We recommend you go to bed by ten. If you’re unable to report to training on time, we will reschedule for an individual session and speaking from experience, it is not recommended. So set your alarm clock on time.”

“Here’s a handbook you need to cover from first page to last.” Sarah pulled out a thick white book from her jacket and threw it onto the bed Harry was sitting on. He picked it up, examining its title: RULES AND OBLIGATIONS.

“What?”

Sarah gave him a look. The tallest man scoffed. “Trust me; they’re being easy on you.” Seeing the glum expression on his face, Sarah sighed.

“Potter. I’m sorry, but this is not high school anymore. What you’re getting yourself into is much more than silly homework. Some of the assignments range in life or death. You’ll learn how to deal with all sorts of danger and how to survive in our world so don’t expect to get some slack. If you fail to be able to carry out training, you won’t be able to stay here. Operation CoJacks protects others from life threatening situation, but if you’re not able to do protect yourself, it’s best to just go back to civilian life.”

Harry nodded soberly, the words sinking in. Sarah stood up from her seat and continued on with her lecture.

“Since you just got here, you won’t be joining the rest. You’ll have private sessions with different instructors for each area. Classes you will take include the Study of Ballistics, self defense, military history, and Reading and Analyzing. You will only attend one class today and the scheduled class is Reading and Analyzing. The time is currently 7:23. You have to report to room 453 in 45 minutes.” Once she was done, she shot Harry a small smile. “Good luck Harry Potter.”

Two of the three men had immediately gone to bed after the lights shut off. The one who scoffed before remained awake and was situated on the bed across from Harry’s.

“How old are you, kid?”

“Just turned seventeen. You?”

“24. How in the world did you get into Operation CoJacks?” His question was not meant as an insult. It was more of curiosity.

“Slit—I mean Agent Tanners-- brought me in.”

“Agent Tanners?” The man nearly exclaimed.

“Yes?” Harry answered though it sounded like a question.

The man grinned and offered a handshake. “Name’s Forest Argon, and if Agent Tanner brought you in, you must be something.”

“Everyone keeps on saying that!”

“Well why not? Agent Tanners or Slit as you call him is the youngest agent to ever work for Operation CoJacks. If he recruited you personally than you are something. What are you? A computer nerd? You look like it and all, you know with the glasses.” Forest did not mean to sound offensive; the words just came out without much thought. He distinctly reminded Harry of Ron…

“Oh, well no…” Forest continued to look at him, expecting an answer. Harry decided to just not answer. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and he was able to at least set up his bed.

“Okay…” His new friend said, realizing maybe he shouldn’t nose around in that area. “Well, the ones asleep are Jasper Edwards and Malcolm Wood.”

“And what are they here for?”

“Jasper was a star baseball athlete. He could have gotten into any Ivy League, but he couldn’t turn down Operation CoJacks. Malcolm is training as a computer analyst and/or forensic scientist. He excels in both.”

“And you?”

“Mathematician. One of the best back in college.” Forest answered with pride. Harry smirked.

“Oh. I thought you were a jock since you look like it and all…”

“Oh, yeah sorry. Left my daisy dukes at home.” Forest said sarcastically, but he smiled. Harry grinned, grateful that he had made at least two friends. Checking his watch, he saw that he had twenty minutes to get to “Reading and Analyzing”. He looked back at Forest.

“Can you show me to room 453?”

“Yeah sure, I’m already awake.”

“So?” A man turned his chair around and faced his fellow mate. They were watching as two men walked down the halls, talking animatedly. The room was unlit, but the light from the computers enabled them to see.

"I'm interested in him. Who he is and what he does. Let's give him a couple of months. Watch him closely."

If Harry had looked through the handbook, he would have found a small map of Operation CoJacks, but he would only realize that later. Now, Forest was chatting with him as they walked through a corridor similar to the dungeon at Hogwarts save for the gloomy ambience. Portraits (perfectly still ones, mind you) lined on the walls and according to their plaques, the subjects were mostly former instructors. They reached a large wooden door with a metal knob.

“Huh. I’ve never taken this class…maybe it’s because I’m not training under here. Welp, I’ll let you go to your first lesson…sort of like the first day of school, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry swallowed, gave a small wave of goodbye, and turned the knob. The lights automatically turned on and the first things in sight were books. Lots and lots of books. If Harry didn’t know better, he could have stepped into the library. The room was classroom sized, equipped with a lengthy chalkboard, projector, globes, and desks.

Harry hesitantly made his way to the last row of desks, picked one, and sat down.

“Hello, you must be Harry Potter, our new recruit!” A short, stout man with a bald spot on top of his head and white hair covering the rest walked quickly into the room from the same door Harry entered through. He held a mug of coffee in one hand and a video tape in the other. Harry stood up, originally planning to give a proper introduction, but found it was not necessary. The man stopped some feet away from the door and gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully. Unsure of what exactly he was doing, Harry lifted his head as well, curious to find what was so fascinating about the ceiling. But there was nothing.

“Ah, yes, that’s what I forgot. No worries, sit tight and I’ll be right back.” The white haired instructor turned on his heels and reached the entrance before turning a 360 and simply saying, “Oh and my name is Professor Hendrick Boulevard Wegener Sheitzycumizensky. But you can address me as Cricket.”

Cricket, such an eccentric man he was, left the room before Harry could utter a single syllable.

Harry wondered what he was doing here while sitting in a room, alone, once again. Cricket had left the room minutes ago. With a sigh, he stood up from his seat and approached one of the bookcases. Hermione would certainly love this room as much as the library. There were bookcases on every four walls, covering every amount of space save for a small spot for a window. Books covering the basis of Psychology and Philosophy were only a few Harry could name.

He pulled out a very thick book with mild interest. On its spine was the title “Conveying the Human Body Language”.

“Interesting title I would say.”

Harry snapped the book shut and turned to see Cricket. The man was rolling in a television set. He didn’t seem to notice Harry’s alarm as he was inserting the tape into the VCR.

“What’s that?” The boy asked. The agent sipped his coffee and gestured for him to take a seat.

“I want you to watch something and answer my questions as you’re doing so.”

An image of a man flickered to life on the screen. He seemed to be standing in line at what appeared to be a bank. He wore a business suit and was clutching a suitcase. Once in a while, he would check his watch, but that only showed that he was in a hurry. The man did not seem to be an outstanding person, and the only reason Harry noticed him was because a small white box was outlining his location.

After another sip of black coffee, Cricket set the cup down and hopped onto a desk. He swung his feet above the ground like a child would do and looked expectantly at Harry.

“What do you see?”

“Er...a business man.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because he’s wearing a tie and a business suit.”

“What do you suppose he’s doing?”

“Withdrawing money?”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s at a bank.” The questions did not mean anything to Harry and he was only stating the obvious.

Cricket continued to stare as if he was waiting for Harry to add something else.

Click. The projection screen slid down and he pressed another remote. A still image suddenly appeared, produced by the projector in the back of the room. Cricket pressed the remote again. It was same man, but he was on the ground…with blood pouring from his skull.

“If you were to say that while on a mission, you would be dismissed from Operation CoJacks,”

Harry said nothing, his gaze glued to the image. The projector flickered off and Cricket turned on the television once more.

“One little detail can change everything. Now, I want you to observe closely. Tell me all the little things you see.”

“Er…,” Harry cleared his throat, “The subject seems to be nervous. He’s looking around very often. His fists are clenched by his side.”

“Good…and?”

“He’s also touching the right side of his hip often. At first I thought he was patting for his wallet, but I guess not. A constable just passed by and the subject appears alarmed. And—“Harry squinted, making sure he was seeing right, “the woman besides him, she’s backing away. Sir, what about the—“

Cricket fast forwarded the video. Harry managed to observe that the man had pulled out a gun and grabbed the woman nearby. He was yelling something but there was not sound; the television was on mute. With another click, the television shut off.

“Unfortunately, the person on duty had not observed what you observed and our snipers were too late to rescue the unfortunate victims. If you had been on the mission, I say we would have had a chance.”

Cricket picked up his mug and took a long slurp. He then wiped his mouth and hopped down from his desk.

“You’re probably wondering the purpose of this lesson. It’s about body language. Body language is communication using body movements instead of sounds, verbal language, or other forms of communication. Although they are generally not aware of it, many people send and receive non-verbal signals all the time. These signals indicate what they are truly feeling. The technique of 'reading' people is used frequently, especially in psychology and sometimes when examining suspected perpetrators.”

In these lessons, you’ll learn basic techniques to maintain your emotions and using different expressions to mask your true ones. In addition, you’ll be given videos, such as the one you have seen today, and you’re expected to analyze every body movement and supposedly, the subject’s next movement.”

Cricket briefly glanced at his wristwatch. “Keep the book for future references. Read until page 125. I’ll be questioning you on certain information in our next meeting which is tomorrow, same time. Good luck,” Cricket said in a brisk tone. He left without hearing a word of response from Harry which was something he obviously did all the time.

Harry looked down at his watch. 8:14. Nearly 15 minutes of class. Great lesson, he thought with annoyance. This is gonna be hard.

4. Chapter 4

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: I copied some quotes from HBP for the first section. In order to get information on weapons, combat techniques, and military history, I searched the internet and paraphased some of them. One of the joys of writing a novel is researching along the way. I admit I'm learning a lot of facts and even though they might not be pertinent in daily life, they're still quite interesting to learn.

This chapter may seem very boring to some because it is basically training classes. In some fics, the author decides to skip the training (skip a year) and briefly mentions Harry learning a ton of stuff. Then later on he's this big macho man. I hate that. No, in my story, Harry's like any other person and I'm going to make him work his ass off.

Hermione will soon make an actual appearance. It's just I have to build the plot a bit more.

I learned about Hero's Adventure by Joseph Campbell in World Literature a few days ago (we finished reading The Odyssey) and realized whether subconsciously or not, I was using the phases that we learned for this fic.

This one is Phase One: The Separation (from the known)

Step 1: The Call (last chapters)

-Opportunity to face unknown

Step 2: The threshold (this chapter is this one!!)

-Hero (that is Harry) interacts with a helper or guardian (Slit!) who will either keep the hero from taking a journey for which he is unprepared or will step aside and point the way

-Helper may supply a "talisman-- a guide (text books, handbooks hint hint)

-Mentor keeps hero focused on goal or a psychological stability when danger is greatest

So yeah, I thought that was something interesting to share with you. You can go on and read, but please remember to review!

Dear Harry,

I think you are an idiot.

Hermione winced when she realized how harsh it sounded. Especially to Harry. The pencil eraser hovered above the piece of paper before she decided to erase it. She didn’t want to patronize Harry like she had done last year. Ginny’s words continued to run through her mind.

Hermione was only worried about her best friend. After he had cursed Malfoy, she thought Harry was going to be expelled.

He said he was going to get his book back. Angry and disappointed at his lack of sensibility, she said, “Are you telling me that you’re going to go back--?”

He turned to look at her with an impatient glare. “And get the book? Yeah, I am. Listen, without the Prince I’d never have won the Felix Felicis. I’d never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I’d never have—“

Hermione had shot back that it was only because the book had helped him.

Then Ginny joined into their argument, making Hermione look like a fool. “Give it a rest, Hermione!”

Harry had turned to look at her with a grateful expression, as if he’d rather listen to Ginny than Hermione. She stood without saying much, not stung by Ginny’s words, but Harry’s look. Who was his best friend now?

“Oh and don’t start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Hermione produced a new piece of parchment and dipped her feather pen into the ink bottle. She sat at her desk, alone in the Granger household; her only companion Crookshanks and a couple of bookshelves stocked with books. After exchanging a few words with Ron (and giving him Luna’s number), she managed to escape before more questions bombarded her. She wanted to avoid Ginny’s crap as much as she could. She reached home in a short while, pulling into the driveway, and leaving the Mini Cooper in the garage.

Dear Harry,

Your decision to leave the Dursleys was not very smart, I must say. I know that you’ve never liked the Dursleys and probably wanted to get out of there as soon as you turned of age, but leaving with a stranger is quite dangerous. What if he was an uncover for Riddle the first time you met him? You could have been killed! You have to choose who you can trust, not just any person who walks through the door!

I was not notified of your “disappearance” until I drove to your old home and found a body there! A body?!?! Merlin, Harry, what are you getting yourself into? Please be careful, whatever you’re doing.

I’m terribly worried about you, Harry. I admit last year was a bit rough for us, but I want to talk to you about it face to face one day.

As for the missing pieces, I have to say they are most important. How will we(that’s right, not you alone, Potter) find the missing pieces when you’re somewhere else? I’ll be researching a bit to help but that’s only part of the task. We have to retrieve them and destroy.

Your hex will be waiting for you until next time I see you.

Love from,

H.J.G

P.S: My uncle works at the address you’re at. Do you know a Ben Lester?

Hermione pursed her lips as she reread her letter to Harry. Yes, she thought, it’s appropriate enough.

“Ballistics. Do you know what that is, Potter?”

Harry sat up in his seat in Room 245. Professor Titi, a woman, stood in front of his desk in perfect posture. Her skin was a sultry color of tan, absent of any makeup. Her wavy black hair was tied into a strict bun with a few strands falling loose around her oval-shaped face. She was dressed down in a sophisticated black blazer that looked as if it was recently pressed. Professor Titi reminded him of McGonagall but in muggle attire and 30 (Muggle) years younger. Her hands arranged the same as Collins; hands intertwined behind the back, but her eyes were twice as scary. Narrowed dark brown eyes probed Harry’s light green.

It had taken some time to find Room 245, and Harry had to ask several agents to find the way. When he did, the agents asked what he was doing in their headquarters, only to be surprised when he answered that he was trainee.

The professor was doing what appeared to be paperwork in the front of the room and so, showing a polite gesture, Harry knocked. She had answered with a short “come in” and Harry tentatively carried his textbook to the closest desk in the front. He waited for her to say something but she continued to scratch out sentences with her pen and wrote something else.

Harry busied himself with his textbook and was on the second paragraph of the introduction when the person spoke to him. He looked up at her. He replayed the question in his mind.

“Uh…guns?” He answered doubtfully.

“Actually, you’re partly correct. Ballistics is the science that studies with the motion, the behavior, and speed of certain projectiles. Some examples are guns, bombs, and rockets. Operation CoJacks finds this study extremely useful with cases involving firearms, ammunitions, and tool mark evidence in order to discover whether a particular firearm was utilized in the crime. However, that is a whole side of Operation CoJacks that you will not be involved with until you’re an official Agent,” Professor Titi explained in a “no-nonsense” sort of tone. She proceeded to her desk which stood in front of the small room. A petite black suitcase sat on it and she began to unlock.

Harry stretched his neck, trying to see what was in the case. He heard a series of clicks and believed the professor was putting together an object. His suspense was ruined when she turned around….with a gun in her hand. Harry jerked back.

“Oh no, Potter, do not be frightened. I am merely demonstrating what you will be learning in this class.” Then she raised the weapon in her hand, aimed at Harry, and pulled the trigger.

Harry actually felt the wind when the bullet flew passed his right cheek and embedded itself into the wall.

“Professor! What if the others think—“

“This is a soundproof room. And no, we will not be practicing in here. This was just for our first meeting,” Professor Titi answered. Smoke mounted from the gun in her hands, but she gave no notice. “Our first objective in this session is for you to learn the basic parts and functions of a gun. She stopped at the side of Harry’s desk and turned to the front of the room with an outstretched hand. In her grasp was a slim, petite remote—similar to Cricket’s device.

Click. A white screen smoothly slid its way down to cover the center of the chalkboard. It was only then did Harry realize his surroundings. The room was not as impressive as Cricket’s. There were no posters or such decorating the walls or windows. No clue of what was being taught in the room. Only one poster of a red target in the back, a green chalkboard and rows of desks.

An overhead of a gun was viewed by Harry. The professor took out a laser and pointed it to different parts as she spoke.

“This, here, is a gun or pistol, specifically a semi-automatic pistol. Most agents of Operation CoJacks use this gun because it is lightweight and easy to control. A semi-automatic is a type of handgun that can be fired in semi-automatic mode meaning bullets can be fired repeatedly without the need to refill. This type of firearm uses a single chamber and a single barrel which remain in a fixed linear orientation relative to each other while being fired and reloaded semi-automatically.

The gun recocks itself every time it is fired as the slide or bolt automatically travels back to load another cartridge into the firing chamber and recock the gun. The trigger must be pulled again in order to fire the gun and recock the gun and reload the chamber.

Single action automatic handguns may often be decocked in a number of ways, and must be recocked in order to fire if one has been decocked. Only the hammer must be manually pulled back in order to recock the gun if it has been decocked. These types of guns usually have a safety lever that prevents the cocked gun from firing if the trigger is pulled while the safety is engaged (called "on safe")…” Her voice trailed in and out of Harry’s hearing. She mentioned series of type of guns that Harry couldn’t even pronounce.

Once done, Professor got rid of her laser, the screen pulled up, and the lights were turned on again.

Harry sat still, his eyes somewhat wide. He couldn’t understand anything the teacher was saying. Chamber, hammer, single barrel…what is all of it?

“And I can see you are having a hard time processing this information. Therefore, here is a textbook. Read up to page 15 and you’re set with the structure of a basic handgun.” A large textbook was thrown onto his desk and Harry grabbed it. “You still seem confused.”

“Professor, no offense but I don’t think I can—“

“Then you aren’t worthy for Operation CoJacks,” said the professor immediately, her eyes burning holes into his head. Harry’s face burned in embarrassment but a part of him was vexed. He allowed himself to breathe and examined the textbook in his hands.

“It’s just…the lesson is so quick and I feel like the words are going through one ear and out the other!”

“Well this isn’t high school,” Professor Titi repeated Sarah’s words. “Teachers stop in order for you to learn something new. We don’t. We’ll keep piling and piling all of the information until stays permanent in your brain like you ABC”s. Most of stuff you learn in the class will also be studied outside of classes and in your dorms. Study well and you’ll probably survive in our world.”

“Probably?”

“Most of the stuff you learn at Operation CoJacks will help you through your missions. But that’s only half of what you need. You need your own talents and your own confidence to survive as well.” Professor Titi said, briskly. She picked up the gun from her case, pried open Harry’s hand so that the palm was showing, and slapped the weapon onto his hand. Harry stared at it dumbly, still trying to comprehend that he was holding a gun in his hand. Something that can kill.

“Shoot it.” Harry almost dropped it. He looked incredulously at his professor.

“Shoot it at the target behind you.” The woman repeated, gesturing towards the poster he had noticed before.

Harry gulped and stood from his seat, turning around to face the back. There it was. He glanced back at the gun he was currently holding and raised it to eye level. His hand naturally curled around the bottom of the gun and his finger hovered over the trigger. He moved the point a little to the left and aimed it towards the center. His feet were slightly spread as he shifted his position. Harry blinked rapidly and before he could even register it, his index finger pulled the trigger.

“Perfect.”

Harry was slightly thrown off his balance when he felt the bullet being released. His eyes flew open and he swiveled to face Professor Titi. She was smiling, and it was the first time Harry had seen her show any facial expression. She nodded in approval. Harry faced the target again and saw his doing.

The bullet had hit the target at dead center.

“Good, this tells me you have good eye coordination. In future lessons, we will practice how to move with a gun at hand. I expect you to read the rules and proper usage of guns for the next session.”

Harry stifled another groan, not yet realizing that he was given a gun to keep.

9:30

His schedule told him an half and hour break would proceed after Ballistics. Harry decided he would return to his dormitory to store his books. Luckily, he was able to remember his room number, and once he entered, all of his roommates still remained.

“Hi.” He said as passed two men and Forest. Forest smiled and continued to read from his textbook. One of the men guy ignored Harry’s greeting. The last guy lay prone on his bed entrenched in a game of solitaire. He abandoned the game once he saw his new roommate.

“Oh hey, I’m Malcolm Wood.” He reached out a hand and Harry took it gratefully. The textbooks and his newly obtained gun lay abandoned on his desk.

“Aren’t you guys going to head over to training?” asked Harry once he checked his watch again.

“We got 15 minutes till the session starts. I’m taking the shower first.” Jasper said in a cold tone. He stood up, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom without another word. Harry stared after him, confused. What did he do?

“Sorry, Jasper doesn’t like new trainees,” Malcolm apologized, his head actuating Jasper’s direction, “he thinks of them as competition. And especially you. Aren’t you—what—18 or 19 years of age?”

“Actually I recently turned 17 on the 31st.” Harry answered in an abashed tone. He hated when people looked at him like some sort of attraction. Malcolm nodded impressively at him.

“Nice,” his eyes widened when he saw the gun, “where’d you get that?”

“Class,” was Harry’s reply.

“Must be some class. We don’t get ours until we’re classified agents. The only guns we use are Operation CoJacks’. What are you under for?”

“Under…?” Harry was still baffled on why he had received a gun. Maybe it was a mistake?

“What specialty? Field work, forensics, or what?”

“I-I don’t know.” Harry answered truthfully. Was he supposed to know? Slit never mentioned it when he had told Harry of the program. “What? They couldn’t have to just recruit you!”

“Yeah. Actually it was just hours ago.”

“What happened?”

Harry peered over at Forest who appeared to be listening in. “I don’t think I should say.” Malcolm just shrugged at his friend who immediately disengaged his attention. He looked around the room for a few seconds, finally letting his eyes land on a cage and a trunk in the corner.

“So…uh, what’s with the bird?” asked Malcolm, gesturing to the cage in the corner. Hedwig stared back through the bars, giving Harry a contemptuous look for leaving her with strangers. He had forgotten about his pet ever since he arrived.

“Sorry, she’s my pet. Her name is Hedwig by the way,” explained Harry dismissively, hoping to avoid a potential conflict.

“I’ve heard of dogs, cats, and rats before. What kind of messed up kid has a bird for a pet?” sneered Jasper, his voice dripping with animosity. He came back in from the shower room donned in an undershirt and plaid boxers.

“Shut up!” Harry growled back, opening Hedwig cage and beckoning for her to cling to his arms. Jasper was probably around his mid 20’s but his behavior towards him reflected a 10 year old. “She won’t bother anyone when you guys are sleeping; she’ll be out hunting.”

Jasper, appearing a little peeved because of Harry’s retort, said sarcastically, “Oh yeah, much better!”

Forest stepped into the conversation, “Hey, it’s okay if he has a pet with him. I’m sure Hedwig is an okay bird.” To that statement, Hedwig let out a hoot of agreement and appreciation. She spread her wings and flew across the room to land on Forest’s shoulder. The man was shocked to find a bird right on his shoulders but adjusted nonetheless. Harry grinned. Hedwig did not easily warm up to strangers but knowing she had a soft spot for Forest made the situation of keeping her much easier.

A knock on the door was heard a moment later and once he was given permission by Malcolm, an agent in uniform stepped into the room.

“Hermione Granger to Harry Potter?” With a perplexing look, Harry got up and retrieved the letter. The mailperson closed the door after he left.

“Wow…service is fast,” he mumbled, reading the return address.

“Hermione Granger? Ooh, the rookie has a girlfriend!” mocked Jasper as he dried his hair with his towel. Harry glared at him; he really didn’t like the guy.

Why couldn’t she just have sent an owl? Then it hit him. Harry was no longer at the Privet Drive. Hermione must have noticed his new address and quickly caught on. Of course. Leave Hermione to decide what situations to use Muggle ways instead of Wizardry ways.

“What does it say?” asked Forest, putting away his textbook. Harry ignored him and began to unseal the envelope.

“Okay, then we’re heading to practice.” Unfolding the parchment, Harry merely lifted a hand in reply. Forest shrugged at Jasper, dismissing his curiosity to find out what was being said in the letter. He grabbed his water bottle and opened the door. But someone was already there.

“Agent Tanner!”

At the sound of Slit’s formal mention, Harry put down the parchment and stood adjacent with his roommates. “Wood, Edwards, and Argon. I suppose you two are heading to training.”

“Yes sir,” they replied in unison. Slit nodded brusquely and the two trainees left (with Malcolm giving Harry two “thumbs up” behind Slit’s back).

“Slit—I mean Agent Tanners—why are you here, sir?” Agent Tanners seemed to approve of Harry’s formal address and answered,

“I am here as an instructor for your next class.”

Harry, having not memorized his schedule yet, grabbed the sheet and read the times.

CALISTHENICS/COMBAT: 10.00

Instructor: Pending

“You’re going to teach me how to fight?”

“Yes. Now I ask you to reach into the top drawer of your wardrobe,” he paused to let Harry do as he was told, “and there you will find some loose fitting clothes.” Harry held them up for Slit to see.

“Good. I will let you dress and once you are finished, leave the room.”

Facing the mirror, Harry examined his current appearance. He exchanged Dudley’s old mustard-colored t-shirt and elongated trousers for loose, but still quite fitting, sweat pant and a blank white t-shirt. On its front, in big letters and bold, was TRAINEE.

Harry supposed that Operation CoJacks was an organization of status. And with status were two groups. Trainees were still viewed as merely civilians. They were only in the middle until they’d be regarded as somebody. Agents were more important because they were no longer trainees, but people with certain expertise who work for and in Operation CoJacks. The service made it apparent that they would separate the twoHarry was not embarrassed to have that word across his chest, but that did not stop his increasing desire to obtain the title of AGENT one day.

The letter lay forgotten besides his bed and Hedwig gave a hoot of disapproval when seeing her master leave once again.

“Drop your ass down, trainee!”

Harry gritted his teeth as Slit’s voice echoed across the room. It didn’t help that Slit was also mere feet from where Harry was doing push ups. The combat training had begun slowly, a pace that he was most comfortable with. But as an hour passed on, the difficulty of the activities and constant demand from Slit to do everything began to exhaust on him.

He just wanted to give up. Let his arms give way and feel the smooth texture of the mat underneath. But Slit kept pushing him and pushing him and if Harry were to fail, he’d have to repeat the command from the start. Practices with Wood back at Hogwarts were merely games compared to the torture regimen Slit had arranged for Harry.

In the beginning, Harry was instructed to do 5 laps around the room. Fair enough, he had thought. The room was about the size of the Room of Requirement and he had easily completed the five laps, needing to catch his breath for only a few minutes. However, Slit was not finished. The room was designed for intense workouts. It was combination of a gymnastic center, fitness center, and track center.

He and Slit had headed over to the gymnastic area after the run. It was located in the center of a winding track. Large, comforting mats acted as a floor below a set of uneven bars, parallel bars, and still rings. A balance beam that stood 3 feet off the ground was also included.

“Do you know how to do a somersault?”

Harry nodded. He was asked to execute that move and did so without error. After that were backward rolls, handstands, and cartwheel. Due to the fact that he never learned how to or even gave one thought about doing those moves, he…well, he failed miserably. But Slit, once he helped Harry up, said his flexibility was “adequate” and that was enough for Harry.

“But that doesn’t you’re off the hook!” Slit had added quickly. As a result, he timed Harry as he balanced himself up against the wall and head was parallel to the floor. His arms struggled to support his weight upside down, and he feared he might fall while doing the handstand. After two minutes, Harry let himself fall, not caring that his face was pressed against the mat. His whole body was cover in perspiration and ached for a warm shower.

Slit was not easily deterred from the lesson. Following the handstand, Harry tried the still rings. He held himself up, his arms shaking all the while, for 30 seconds before collapsing. Once he was on the ground again, Slit explained that everything he had done measured his flexibility, coordination, and upper body strength.

“You will focus on building your body before moving on to combat. Everyday, you will work on your arms and your legs so they would be able to support you while in combat. You will do as many laps as I tell you to, hold yourself for as long as I tell you, and only stop when I tell you to. Don't expect me to go easy on you since you're a newbie!" said Slit, his voice loud and stern.

When did you ever, Harry had thought, his body bent over as he caught a stitch in his side.

Once he heard Slit yell “stop”, he picked himself up from the ground. Harry was given a five minute break, and as much as he detested the limited time, he took it without saying. Slit was mostly supervising Harry so he did not even break a sweat. He watched as Harry imbibed his water bottle like a savage who had gone days without food.

“Don’t take such long sips. You’ll get cramps,” advised the 25-year-old, but Harry just glared abominably at him. He finished his bottle and stood with his hands by his side and an expression that clearly said “now what?”

"Hit me."

Before Harry could register Slit's new command, he took a shot at the teenager, swinging his fist from the left side to right. Harry managed to duck it in time and fell back in surprise. Slit stood above, his hands curled in fists and body in boxing stance; knees slightly bent, right foot out and left foot behind, and shoulders raised, facing his opponent's direction.

"Hit me," he commanded, repeating it once again after Harry failed to listen, "HIT ME, YOU STUPID ASS!"

Harry quickly got himself off the floor and swung his left fist with all his might, hoping to strike his opponent in the head. Apparently his agility was not up to speed since Slit deftly dodged his body to the farthest right. Harry caught himself when he realized Slit had moved. Just when he had turned around, he felt a sharp pain at the lower end of his back, and fell face first to the ground.

He rolled onto his back after the stinging pain had passed and merely looked at Slit as if he was a wild animal.

Slit stood in a standard boxing stance, his face arranged in calm, almost tranquil state. Harry gritted his teeth again, wondering what the devil's he had done to deserve a beat up.

"So Harry, I heard you got a letter from Hermione Granger. Is she your girlfriend?" asked the man, alternatively bouncing on the toes of right and left feet. Harry made himself get up. He wiped a trail of blood from his mouth. The impact of the floor against his jaw had caused the inside of his mouth to bleed. But he ignored the pain. All he wanted to do was hurt the bastard standing in front of him.

Harry copied the way Slit held his fists. They were slightly raised above his chest and he kept his elbows in place. Slit began to walk around Harry in a circle, taunting him with his words. Asked him about Hermione. Wondered if she was a slut. Wondered how Harry had landed her. If they had--

Inside, Harry's blood boiled to its maximum degree. Slit was only tempting him, he knew, but what he said reminded him of a certain blond ferret. He eyed Slit's careful steps as he moved around Harry in a circle. His fists were raised, but his feet still remained planted to the ground. Slit faked a lunge at him which made Harry lose his concentration for a moment. A moment was all Slit needed. As Harry was trying to pull himself together, the agent grabbed a hold of his shoulders and gave a knee-kick to the stomach.

Harry gasped in pain and groaned as he fell to his knees, hands cradling his injured area.

"Get up," the man said quietly. With unshed tears of pain, the trainee tiresomely got to his feet. Secretly, Slit pitied Harry as he struggled. His father had done the same to him when he was much younger. While most fathers would teach their sons to ride a bike or how to catch a baseball, Slit's father had taught him how to fight. The first day which was the day after his seventh birthday, his father had brought a punching bag into his bedroom. Before Slit could thank him for the gift, his father had punched him.

Hard.

Slit remembered he had cried. And all his father had done was watch as he stood above his son in the attic. With tears still streaming down his young cheeks, his father had ordered him to stand up and stand up like a man. He had taught him how to curl his hand in a fist. After, his father told him to hit him in the stomach. That he did. It was his first punch. Of course, being a young boy, the punch did not affect his father at all.

His father had kissed his forehead when they were done, hugged him with his arms, and apologized for hitting him.

"I'm teaching you, son" was what he said to ease Slit's tears. Back then, Slit did not have the sense to question what his father was teaching him.

"You're holding your hand wrong," Slit said, approaching Harry in small steps. Harry lowered his arms with hesitancy and then looked at the way his hand was curled.

"What you're going to learn is striking. The first is the uppercut. Bend your knees and rotate your torso. Your fists should be raised towards the target: the chin or the nose. An uppercut is a power punch that can cause more damage at close range." He waited until his trainee was arranged in the right position. "Good. Now, practice it. Start from the belly an upward motion--like a hook-- and then land it on the opponent’s face or body. I'll watch."

Slit stepped away so he could observe Harry.

The boy had learned quickly. He did exactly as he was told and did even better when he was moved to the punching bag.

For another hour or so, Harry learned types of strikes --basically punches and kicks--and when to use them. Hook was another one, for example. Slit demonstrated by bending the elbow, bringing the arm to a parallel position with the ground, and then twisting the upper body away from the target. He swung his arm and hit the air. Harry executed the move after a few times. Along with the different punches he learned straight, jab, and hammerfist.

The kicks were harder at first, but eventually Harry managed to catch up. Used in stand-up fighting, a kick was delivered by the elbow, the knee, or the leg. The first one he learned was the front kick. It was simply the motion of lifting his feet to the front and thrusting it at his opponent. In combat, it would be used to bring the opponent to the ground or to kick at the groin. Harry could either strike with the heel or quickly snapping it.

"Don't lose your balance there. Keep your left leg stiff if you're going to strike with your right. Don't kick it too high either because you'll want to focus all the energy on the impact."

For the side kick, Slit had kicked out like he would for the front kick but instead of thrusting up; he pivoted his body and kicked outward. Side kicks were mostly used one directing towards the chest area, he had said. Harry copied the exact move and was able to do it perfectly.

"That was a pretty good lesson. You were able to keep up very well. Have you ever been involved in fight?"

"Erm...well something like that," answered Harry, his mind drifting to the duels with Voldemort and his Deatheaters in fifth year. But perhaps it wasn't best to mention that to Slit just yet. Harry just made it into Operation CoJacks, and he didn't want to get kicked out after the first day.

If Slit was bothered by Harry's reluctance to elaborate on his past, he did not show it. But then again, Slit never really showed any expression; he always had on a neutral stare.

"Hey Agent Tanners--"

"Slit."

Harry suppressed a grin. So he was on the good side of Slit, eh?

"Slit, how do you manage to keep such an impassive face all the time?"

He turned to look at him in what Harry would imagine as a surprised tone. "Impassive?"

"Every heard of smiling? Laughing? While you were fighting me you looked really calm, while I wanted to kill you."

"Practice. Years and years of it. You should try it. Stand in front of the mirror and observe how you show your emotion. Then hide with another," Slit answered succinctly, slinging his coat jacket over his shoulders. Harry put his towel around his neck and followed him out of the training room, thinking he just might take his trainer's advice.

5. Chapter 5

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

Emma Granger sat in her office, a half-bitten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hands. She chewed with a leisurely pace and stared at nothing in particular. She happened to notice that her painting was crooked when her eyes swept the room. The carpet needed to be redone. Brown spots covered various areas where she accidentally spilled her coffee and the sight of them made her nauseous. The walls would probably need replacement too; a room can never have mismatched walls and carpets. Emma was thinking wood but her husband, Dan, wanted plain wall paper. Wood would cost more but--

Why would Hermione want Ben's address?

Clearing her throat, she set the sandwich down and backed her chair away from the desk. She busied herself with reorganizing her books, her back turned away from the picture frames that were perched on her desk. The reason why she did so was because Ben was present in nearly half of them. Ben Lester is her oldest brother--her only brother. He was the boy who protected her from jeers and teasing which usually included nonsense about her hair. He was the boy who chased her old boyfriends away (though at that time she despised Ben for it) and threatened them if they ever tried to get back together with his sister. And he was the man who set off to some faraway business in the town of London, only coming back home to greet his sister and her family on holidays.

She loved Ben, she really did. But sometimes, Emma wonders if he loved her back. His quiet nature always infuriated Emma and at certain moments she wanted to shout at him to tell his secret. She found it odd how he never discussed work with her or mention any of his girlfriends. How he'd always promise to write and to call her, but never keep his promise. How every time she tried to call him, no one answers.

It was like her brother appears once in a while and later vanishes off the face of Earth.

Hermione called her a few hours ago and suddenly asked for Ben's address. Surprised beyond comprehension, Emma put her daughter on hold and sat in her chair for a while. Did Hermione know something that she doesn't know? If so, why won't she tell her mother or father?

The hours dragged on while the clinic emptied and refilled with patients. Toothaches, root canal, and usual routines passed through Emma's mind without a single thought. Dan had asked several times if she was alright, but she'd always reassured him with one of her smiles.

Emma was in her office again, using a headache as an excuse, and she was holding Ben's current phone number in her hands. With hesitancy, she dialed the 10 digits and his area code and listened as the shrill ringing reached her ears.

Ring.

She twisted the phone cord around her fingers, moving around the corner of her desk.

Ring.

The painting was still crooked. She'd have to fix that.

Ring.

Come on, Ben. Please, she thought.

We're sorry. The number you had just dialed is invalid. Please try again.

Emma Granger put down her phone and the room was silent.

The prime minister let out a growl of frustration and slammed the remote onto the floor. The device bounced into the air and crashed below with crack

"...authorities are continuing investigation at this very moment, but no clue has turned up. The department are utterly baffled at the scene of the crime. The security system was found to be undamaged and the locks of every door and window in the home of Evelyn Turpin were locked from the inside. Investigators say they found her with her husband and one of their children in the living quarters. All were dead. An autopsy will be performed sometime today. This is Kate Morgenroth, WFIS. Back to you, Jim."

The prime minister pinched the ridge of his nose in frustration and sat down in his chair. Kingsley Shacklebolt watched his "boss" and said nothing.

"So you think this is the work of V-You-Know-Who?"

"We know for sure."

"But why attack Evelyn? She worked for me as an assessor. She had nothing to do with all this magic nonsense!" The minister shouted as he jumped to his feet, but a realization dawned as he did so. In a quiet, weary manner he asked, "Was she a witch?"

"No," The British prime minister sat back down, relieved, "but her daughter is. Lisa is currently at our Ministry of Magic."

"B-but she was killed--!"

"One of their children, the woman had said. Lisa's younger sister was killed." Shacklebolt answered with his voice solemn.

"Dear Lord, but what have we done to You-Know-Who. We were fine until-until he came back. Why did you not stop him?" The prime minister shouted at the Auror, even though he knew it was impossible. Lord Voldemort, Rufus Scrimengour had told him, was an evil, ruthless man. Every man and woman who crossed his path was dead.

Only until Harry Potter.

"You know very well why we can't. We are just as vulnerable as your muggles. Even if we combined all of our powers, Voldemort would still be able to defeat us. Our world is falling apart, Mr. Prime Minister. All of the families stay inside, businesses are closing down, and even Hogwarts will close for the term! Don't blame it on us."

The prime minster gazed contemptuously at the wizard, but did not argue.

"Where is this boy, this Harry Potter?"

Kingsley lost his fierce demeanor and his face clouded in shame. "We don't know."

"WHAT?"

"Your muggle police were notified of certain disturbances at the home of Harry Potter. Since our business concerns Potter’s business, we followed your police. Once we got rid of the muggles, we found the Dursleys. Alive, but with a dead body in the master bedroom. They mumbled nonsense of all sorts and only told us of the assassin."

At the moment, the prime minister felt as if he was in a very suspenseful movie where the answer seemed impossible to find.

"The work of Voldemort?" asked the muggle, ignoring the wizard's flinch.

"No. His guardians had said he left with the man at will. Potter wanted to go."

"Where?"

"We're not sure."

"But don't you need him?" He shouted incredulously, "The boy's supposed to defeat this evil man and save the world."

"Potter isn't the type to just abandon something. He'll come back soon." The phone rang and the prime minister was quick to answer it. Shacklebolt turned away, reached for the doorknob, and once he exited the room, he let out a deep breath.

At least we hope he comes back.

Harry noticed that he had dimples when he smiled. Funny, all his life he never really cared how he looked. It was a smile after all. But as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror at the moment, he found that his face looked a little weird. Harry changed his expression to a frown, noting how his eyebrows scrunched together and wrinkles formed below his chin. When he replaced the frown with a look of shock, his eyes widened and his mouth stretched open.

With a sigh, Harry decided he would work on the technique Slit had mentioned later on. The textbooks he received in class needed to be read, and it was nearly seven. Classes start at seven in the morning tomorrow.

That leaves me with nearly 4 hours to study and to sleep. I need at least eight…

“What are you doing?”

Harry was interrupted from his thinking, and he twisted around to where the voice had come from. Seeing who it was, he turned to face the mirror, answering in a chilled tone, “Nothing.”

“What’s this?” Through the mirror, Harry saw Jasper bending down to pick up something…the letter!

“Drop it!” He quickly exited the bathroom to retrieve Hermione’s letter, worrying she might have cast a security charm on it, but also annoyed at his self for leaving something like this unattended.

“Hey, I’m not five, you know!”

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re two,” mumbled Harry, snatching the parchment right out of Jasper’s hand. The man scowled and returned to his own activities. After looking over his shoulders to check that no one was around, Harry sat down on his bed.

For one, he was glad that Hermione was not extremely angry at him and accepted (well, not really since she promised him a hex) that he had gone away for a worthy reason. Something inside him soared when he read her apology. He agreed that last year was not the highlight of his and her friendship. They bickered constantly; almost like Ron and Hermione, which scared him sometimes. They used to be close, but jealousy and the prospect of growing up had created a rift between each other.

When Hermione mentioned the Horcruxes, Harry realized with a start how the missing pieces had not crossed his mind since he arrived in the morning. While he was living with the Dursleys, he would memorize missing pieces, chanting it in his mind, telling himself that he will find it. Knowing that he still had Hermione to help with such a difficult task proved the bond the two had—still—shared.

He read the end of the paragraphs she had written, almost completely overlooking her post script.

P.S: My uncle works at the address you’re at. Do you know a Ben Lester?

If her uncle works here, does that mean…?” Harry decided not to dwell on it and figured he would find out tomorrow.

After he finished the letter, Harry carefully folded the paper until it fit perfectly in his palm and tucked it inside his pillowcase. Then, he grabbed one of the large textbooks, noticing the title “Ballistics” in bold, and sighed.

This is gonna to be a long night…

Hermione dog-eared her current book and set it aside. She jotted down a few details as her Kneazle following her scurrying feather pen with narrow, yellow eyes. Crookshanks never seemed to leave his master’s side whenever she was at home.

“Crookshanks, aren’t you getting bored, watching me do my work?”

Her cat purred in reply and leapt onto her lap. Hermione laughed and continued to scratch her loyal friend behind his ears.

So far, her research was bringing no result. All she knew were facts that Harry had told her last year. She looked back down at her notes.

NOTES:8/09

Horcruxes are safeguards against mortality. An extraordinarily powerful witch or wizard like Voldemort can preserve a fragment of his or her soul in the object. However, this can only be done by committing murder. By killing the other being, Voldemort’s soul was cleaved into six parts. Technically it is seven because the seventh is his soul. Voldemort stored one of these fragments in a Horcrux using an as yet unspecified spell. This assures him that if he dies his soul would still remain on Earth (Was this how he was able to come back so successfully?).

How to Use: How is the soul merged into the object? What spell? From what it looks like once his body and soul were killed, the part of the soul in his Horcrux was apparently re-encased in a new body using a potion and spell used by Wormtail.

As for how to destroy Horcruxes, the secret seems to lie in destroying the object (The diary. Harry said he pierced with the basilisk’s fang)

HORCRUXES:

· Ring that Dumbledore used to wear. Belonged to Voldemort’s grandfather, Morvolo Gaunt. Destroyed by Dumbledore.

· Diary that held teenage version of Voldemort. Prior possession of Lucius Malfoy and Ginny Weasley. Destroyed by Harry w/ fang.

· Salazar Slytherin’s locket sold to Knockturn Alley. Later possessed by Hepzibah Smith. Taken by Tom Riddle.

· Hufflepuff’s cup. Possession of Hepzibah Smith b/c she was descendent of Helga Hufflepuff. Cup may possess other powers.

THEORIES:

Nagini: Voldemort's pet snake. Not sure whether Horcruxes can be living objects as well.

Salazar Slytherin: RAB Regulus Artucus Black, brother of Sirius. Deatheater killed by Voldemort.

RAB Rudolph and Bellatrix:

Horcrux: Harry.

Hermione felt her stomach tighten when she realized what she wrote. "That's never going to happen. Not when he has me," she said, crossing out the words with her pen. Not realizing it, her grip on Crookshanks tightened. The cat hissed and jumped off.

"Oh no, Crookshanks, I'm sorry!" Crookshanks was not feeling generous at the moment so he turned and strutted away. Hermione sighed and closed all of her books with a flick of her wand.

The sound of the door opening reached her ears, and she glanced up, alarmed.

She relaxed once the clicking of high heels came closer to the kitchen. "Hermione?"

"Hi Mum. Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he's just cleaning up the office. Doesn't really trust the new janitor so he's doing it himself. What are you doing dear?" Emma asked, sliding the nearest book so she can get a better look. Her eyebrows rose when reading the title.

"Dark Arts?"

"Oh Mum, honestly. I'm just helping Harry with something..." Hermione began to pack up her items, hoping to avoid anymore of her mum's interrogation.

"Hermione."

The tone of desperateness and pleading made her stop. Emma approached her daughter, her hands clasped in front. "Why did you need Uncle Benny's number?"

"Because Harry's with him."

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter, my best friend. He's with Uncle Benny, but I don't know why." admitted Hermione, clutching her books tighter to her chest. Her mum gazed at her sympathetically, remembering how much her daughter cared for that boy. Although she and Dan were not told much about their daughter’s world, they’ve heard enough to know that the magical world was not perfect. Hermione would mention a man by the name of Voldemort in her letters while she was at Hogwarts, saying that he was near and that he was creating havoc among the magical world. Emma was shocked when she heard that a close classmate of Hermione had been notified of her mother’s death in class.

Hermione was reluctant to tell her mother anymore as she stood in the hallway, but realizing she has been holding out on her mother for too long, she gesture for the two of them to sit. As her mum clutched her hand in support, Hermione told her everything that had occurred last year.

“So now,” Hermione said after the story was finished, “Harry’s with Uncle Benny for some reason.”

“Are you sure?” asked Emma, still recovering after learning about the Horcruxes and her daughter’s best friend’s destiny.

“I asked for the address, remember? It was the same address. Mum, what does he do for a living?”

It was Emma’s turn to be reluctant in indulging another secret. “I don’t know, Hermione.”

Hermione pulled her hand out of her mum’s grip and observed her sullen expression. “Mum?”

“Honey, you know who secretive my brother can be. When I say I don’t know, I really don’t.”

“Strange, isn’t it? I don’t know where Harry is and you don’t even know what your brother does for work!”

Hermione got up, leaving her mom speechless, and bringing her books along. She will find out where Harry is and why he’s with her uncle. No matter what it takes.

Next day:

"Okay, let's begin with a basic body-language signal." Cricket stood up from his desk, and crossed his arms across his chest, scrunching his eyebrows and setting a frown on his face. Harry had his textbook opened in front of him and answered, "You're crossing you're arms across your chest. And judging by the expression on your face, you're subconsciously putting a barrier between me and you. Basically, you're discontent with me."

Cricket smiled and said amicably, "Very good, Mr. Potter. I see you've studied."

Harry gave him a weary smile, suppressing a yawn from escaping. He studied for two hours from the textbook and the other two for Ballistics. He would have continued, but Jasper wouldn't stop complaining.

"Now, yes you were right on all counts. The "crossing the arms" movement is usually perceived in a very tense situation. But not every time. If someone is doing this while you are speaking to them in a light atmosphere, it would mean he or she is in deep thought or considering your words. In serious scenarios, crossing the arms depicts a person's opposition. Reading the person accurately all depends on the current atmosphere." Cricket picked up his mug, filled with coffee and took a long sip. Harry discovered his professor was somewhat of a coffee fanatic. After every long lecture, he'd stop and drink his caffeine then continued teaching.

"Ah and yes, another famous, everyday signal we see. Lying. Lying is in a human's nature. A lie is an untruthful statement said to cover a truth. When a person lies, his face is usually turned away and no eye contact is maintained. One usually perspires or fidgets in their seats. It's almost impossible to spot a lie or covering up the fact that you are lying. But here, in this class, you will learn."

Seeing as Cricket was the body language professor, he read Harry's look of shock fairly well. "But, sir, isn't that impossible? You said lying is almost impossible to--"

"Yes, yes. But, Harry, how do you think agents are able to negotiate? How do you think spies are able to get away so easily even when using a polygraph on them? They're trained to lie and a lie they tell as if it's the truth."

Cricket pulled up a chair and patted the seat. Hesitantly, Harry got up from his original position and sat down onto the chair. Satisfied that his student was willing to cooperate, the old man went to the closet and searched through his junk. He appeared again, dragging a cart along with a large cloth covering a device beneath. Like a magician revealing his next magic trick, he pulled the blanket away. Harry even expected him to say something like "Ta-da!"

"A polygraph is a device that measures and records several physiological variables such as blood pressure, pulse, and respiration while the subject--that's you--is asked a series of questions. They don't accurately detect a lie itself but deceptive signals that may show when lying. The measurements are posited to be indicators of anxiety that accompanies the telling of lies. The basic belief that every person has when using this "lie detector" is that when a person lies, nervousness causes the heart beat and blood pressure to increase, breathing rhythm changes and you sweat more."

Cricket leaned over to grab the needed parts of the polygraph and turned on the laptop that was attached.

He was handling 2 black sticks from what Harry could see and once he separated them, he explained, "The things I'm holding in my hands are pneumographs--basically rubber sticks filled with air. I'm about to place the pneumographs around your chest and abdomen. When you breathe, the air gets displaced and those movements are converted by a transducer into electric signals." Cricket gave the pneumographs for Harry to wear and then grabbed a brown band, squeezing it a few times.

"This is a blood-pressure cup, something you've seen many times I imagine. Tubing is attached from this to the polygraph and when it changes, it'll go to the bellow again and get transuded into signals for the digital polygraph.

The last piece is to measure electro-dermal activity--how much you sweat. Fingerplates called galvanometers are attached to the fingertips because that's where you can sweat the most.

“Now,” Cricket clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation, “we will begin.” His fingers rapidly moved across the keyboard, inserting this password and answer another. Once it was set, he rechecked if Harry put on the equipment correctly.

“Have you ever cheated on a test?”

“What?”

“These are called control questions. Now I repeat: Have you ever cheated on a test?” Harry threw one glance at his professor, his mind rewinding to the time where he peeked at Jimmy Chung’s spelling quiz in third grade.

“Yes.”

“Ah, answered truthfully I see. How about…”

Cricket continued to ask irrelevant questions that simply required a yes or a no. This went on for nearly 5 minutes with questions like “Have you ever got sick? (Yes)” or “Do you have a girlfriend? (Ye—No)” Ginny didn’t count anymore.

“Your physiological reactions still remain the same. Now we move on to what we call the relevant questions,” Cricket put up a new screen and with a click of a button, he started again.

“Hmm…have you seen a movie in the past years?”

“No,” answered Harry automatically, but at once he thought, Who doesn’t watch movies?

“No?” exclaimed Cricket, his hands moving off from the keyboard in surprise. “Well isn’t that odd? My grandchildren love to watch movies. Especially the Austin Powers ones. I don’t really like it, but my daughter allows it so I suppose it’s a mother’s right to teach whatever.”

Harry smiled; knowing that Cricket was only trying to calm him down.

“Oh well. Let’s see, let’s see,” His professor played around with the computer. He laughed once he found the next interrogation question. “Don’t get alarmed, my boy. Have you ever killed anyone?” Cricket had a smile on his face, attending the answer would be negative.

Forgetting himself, Harry asked, “Define kill.” People had said Harry had killed Lord Voldemort when he was one years of age. But how could a toddler kill the darkest sorcerer alive? Was it by accident or was it something else?”

His professor looked up in alarm, his expression mixed between confusion and amusement.

“Um, sorry. Er, no. No, I’ve never killed anyone.” Harry said, quickly changing the subject.

Cricket diverted his gaze to the screen and his eyebrows rose. He pressed another button with his hands and lowered the laptop screen. Clearing his throat, he took a prolonged gulp of coffee. He coughed when he drank alittle more intended.

“Good. Uh, good. I just wanted to give you the experience of a, uh, real polygraph.”

“Yeah,” Harry attempted a smile.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I found this in my mailbox in the morning. I think it’s from your other professors,” said Cricket, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small note.

Harry took it, reading it quickly. Crumbling the paper in his hands, he glanced back up at his professor.

“Where’s the shooting range?”

Okay, everyone can guess what class will be next. So yes, I'm tying everything together. Horcruxes, Operation CoJacks, and Muggles. The most important classes are Ballistics, Analyzing, and Combat. I may include the minor ones like computer analysis, weapons (larger class on ALL weapons and not just guns) and modern technology later on. I'll tell you that the future chapters I have planned will satisfy all. I'm so excited!

By the way, I think I need a beta so I was wondering if anyone knows a very good editor. The person has to be able to edit my work very quickly because I aim to update every week or so. They have to have a sharp eye in grammar and spelling. Also able to work with Action/Adventure.

I’ve recently posted another story of mine and if you want a more lighthearted piece of work then check it out. It’s called Uh…what and it’s in my profile.

Oh and I’ve also read the most brilliantly written fanfiction ever! It’s by atruwriter of Fanfiction dot net. Her story is “Survivor”. It deals with life after the Last Battle. I won’t give away anything else b/c you really have to read it. If you liked my other story, The Letters, you should definitely check out Survivor. It’s 100 times better, the author is an amazing writer (and only at 19) and you’ll cry if you’re a devoted H/Hr shipper.

Trust me. Go read it.

Until next chapter,

Le (Viopathartic)

6. Chapter 6

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: Thanks to my beta SkyHighFan for looking over this chapter

Jan had only wanted to get his folder. It was nearly 11 at the Prime Minister's office, and everyone had gone home save for a few of his co-workers and janitorial employees.

The lights had already begun to shut down. Only the desk lights remained on in areas where people continued to work. Jan waved to one of his friends, but did not stop for chit-chat. His wife was waiting for him in bed, probably worrying for him if he knew her well enough. Fatigue began to take him even as he walked.

He whistled a tune from the radio as he reached for his keys. The door opened; Jan stepped into his office. He groaned once he saw the mess he left on his desk. Papers covered all corners of his working area and today's lunch had fallen off with spaghetti and meatballs staining the floor. He bent down, picking the pieces of food off the ground, and threw them in the wastebasket.

Outside his office, two men snuck through the largest window and painstakingly landed on the ground without a sound.

"Where is it?" mumbled the worker to himself, spreading his sheets apart and creating a larger mess. The color of his manila folder came into sight and he triumphantly reached for it. Checking that all of the basic necessities were in there, he closed it and walked out of the office. Jan was surprised to hear that all sounds of keyboards and telephones ringing had stopped. This caused him to look up.

The folder fell, papers scattered across.

Jan backed up against the wall, fingers shaking as they felt for the light switch.

"Stop if you want to live." A deep voice commanded.

Fingers froze, hovering above the circular device. Jan slowly rotated his head, his eyes (as much as he resisted) fell on the sight before him.

His friends, John, Carol, Aaron, and everyone he had greeted at least once in his life, were kneeling with their backs against the wall. Blindfolds were worn around their eyes, and white cloths were stuffed inside their mouths. He saw his friends struggling to scream, but to no avail. Two men, Jan could see, were standing in front, dressed in plain black. They wore ski masks to hide their identities and each had some sort of weapons in their hands. The one on the right was aiming a rifle at Jan.

Unable to stop himself, his hand continued to edge towards the switch.

Bang.

Jan's hand flinched away as he realized a bullet was released, hitting the switch with dead accuracy.

"Next time we won't miss,' said the voice again, its sound perilously near. Meaning him. Jan threw himself against the wall once he saw the shorter man, Blue Eyes, was only 5 feet away, a hand resting on the flat surface of a desk. His partner, Gray Eyes, continued to aim his weapon on the man.

"Please," Jan pleaded as he moved himself along the wall, "please, I never saw you. I d-didn't even--n-no--"

Blue Eyes put a finger against his lips, silencing the inferior man. He came closer which made Jan even more frightened. He shook his head when Blue Eyes put his hands on his shoulders. "No--"

Jan fell the floor, his arms around his stomach where the man had kicked him. He spluttered, trying to catch his breath.

"Get up."

He cried, tears leaking from his eyes, as he continued to lie on his side. He wanted them to go way...wanted to time to rewind so that he was at home again, eating salmon dinner with his wife and son...

Hands grabbed him by his throat, gagging Jan as he was forced onto his feet.

"Oh god no, no please..." whimpered Jan as the man pulled his head back by the hair and held the knife in his right hand. Jan felt the cold, unforgiving steel that cut into his throat and waited. Waited for his death. When nothing came, he collapsed to his knees, the hand releasing him. With overwhelming relief, he laughed. Not the kind of laughter filled with mirth or not of nervousness.

Laughed for himself, for this man who had spared his life. "Oh god...thank you, thank you," Jan said, reaching for the offered hand without thought. “I promise, I won't--"

A blade smoothly slit across Jan's neck, severing the spine, the trachea, and the esophagus in one, clean swipe. Blood splattered on the wall and on Blue Eye's face, but he did not react. His eyes remained on his partner who stood behind the pitiful body without a head. Blood continued to spray from an open artery, quickly leaking on the floor until a small puddle formed.

"Watch where the blood goes," Blue Eyes said, his voice deadpanned. He turned, kicking the head and tending to the next victim.

His partner did not retort. He swiped his katana with a bloodied rag, ridding his blade of the red substance.

Gray Eyes stared below at the head which landed by his feet. He bent down, staring at it with disinterest. He had heard somewhere that the head could still see for 10 seconds, even after decapitation. He wanted his image to be the last the man will ever see.

With a large hand, Gray Eyes picked up the head and throwing it like a basketball, it fell into a nearby basket with a nauseating thud. Not far away, he heard a woman scream.

The smell of blood hovered in the air and under his mask, he smiled.

Harry stood in front of the door, checking if he had followed Cricket’s directions correctly. The corridor he was currently in was deserted. He felt as if he just found a secret passage, underground or in some distant room.

The door of the shooting range was bare and showed no indication that it was anything but a janitorial closet. His hand grabbed the knob and twisted it, letting the door open itself. He couldn’t see at first as he poked his head inside.

Then lights as strong as the rays of the sun nearly blinded him. Harry raised an arm to block his eyes, waving an arm out to find something he could find support from. His hand found a wall, and he blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of the discomfort.

“Hello.”

Wiping tears away from his eyes, Harry saw Slit standing with his arms across his chest, and if he didn’t act like a damn robot, he’d be smirking.

To his surprise, his Ballistics professor, Titi stood besides Slit.

“Welcome to Combination class,” Titi said, a small smirk forming on her face.

“That’s not on my schedule,” Harry responded thickly, still trying to comprehend what will take place. Two classes at once?

“We’re adding it. Slit and I decided that you are…competent enough to skip some classes, and so, here we are.” Titi moved away, gesturing Harry with a small wave of the arm. Hesitantly, he walked between his two professors and gazed at the unfamiliar surrounding.

The “shooting range” was a bit similar to the Room of Requirements in Hogwarts. The size of it was close to the dimensions of the Great Hall, but nothing—no desks, chairs, boards--was in it. The walls were also white—a color that Operation CoJacks quarters seem to be fond of. The floors were not hard as they appeared. At first Harry suspected it was gymnastic mats, but when he kneeled down to test it, it had soft padding but only not as spongy as the regular ones.

“What exactly am I going to be doing in here?” asked Harry, gazing up at the bright, blank ceiling. “This isn’t a shooting range.” There were no lights attached to them which made him wonder where the light was coming from. Then he gazed down at his feet, realizing with sudden shock that the luminosity was coming from the floor. Harry jumped back a step, watching his old footprint as it faded away, and wondered while a number 5 replaced the footprint.

“But of course it is. It’s a shooting range at a whole new level. As you may have suspected, we will work with gun control and body movements. These are necessarily when agents are out in the field,” Slit approached his trainee until he was standing behind him. “The footprints you just saw disappear were caused by the system programmed for this room. Basically the floor is like a gigantic checkerboard, and you are the pawn.”

“In here, teachers will designate every one of your movements,” Titi continued, walking until she was standing in front of the both of them. “We command you to move to the left, you do as you are told. We tell you to drop and roll until you hit the Box 19 on your right; you’re expected to fulfill your duty. The floor is divided into a total of 500 boxes. Right we’ll be using only 100 squares. Starting from the center, the number of the box increases. You’re currently positioned in Box 5. Move to Box 1.”

He gazed back on the floor and observed that every box had a number. Harry moved to the center on Box 1.

“Good. Now remember the front roll we practiced last time? Front roll until you’re on Box 5,” said Slit, pointing towards the area. Harry landed softly on the box and looked back to see Slit standing with his feet slightly apart. Professor Titi had left the room.

“Too slow. In missions, when you’re going up against the most notorious murderers, terrorists, and gang members, you have to move quickly. Bullets are flying at you from all angles and if you’re late, those bullets could kill you. Do not stop every time you go into a somersault. Keep rolling. Last time was 10.38 seconds. I expect you to cut that time in half. Now move!”

Listening to Slit’s advice, Harry nearly achieved the time (he made it in 6.23 seconds).But Slit appeared satisfied.

As Harry tried again one time after another, his time decreased and his agility increased. He later moved on to jumping boxes instead of somersaults. This time it was two boxes at a time. After they finished this exercise, Harry was nearly out of breath which Slit frowned upon, telling him that missions would be worse. The 25-year-old did not chastise Harry that much, but it still made the trainee feel somewhat embarrassed.

Harry promised himself that’d he get better. For an hour, Professor Titi was absent from the room, and when Harry thought the whole class was over, his teacher returned with the same black suitcase from yesterday in her left hand and her right hand grasping the handle of a white suitcase.

Slit let his colleague take over, standing on the sidelines with his arms by his side. Harry looked back in time to see Titi assembling the gun again. Not even acknowledging his presence, she turned and signaled to Slit. He held a device in his hands and pressed at her signal.

Box 1 and 2 slowly slid apart and large red target emerged from the ground. Once the machine was set, Titi raised her gun and fired.

Harry immediately covered his ears, spinning around to see where the bullet had landed. Amazingly, the bullet had embedded itself in center of the target. He looked back at his professor, but she was already on her feet, limply holding the gun in her hands. Slit was watching for Harry’s reaction.

“I can see you’re a bit hesitant which is why you’ll use this as a substitute weapon. A harmless game of laser tag.” Titi gave him a raygun in the size of a pistol. She then pointed towards the target, indicating for the practice to begin.

It was a bit frightening how Harry didn’t hesitate to take the weapon. And how his hand automatically curled around the grip, his index finger above the trigger.

The gun was like a wand, Harry mused to himself. The wand chooses you, but you can also choose the wand. It was the medium of your power, your magic and it can never be taken. Of course the wand can be taken away or snapped (in fact Harry’s wand was almost apprehended when he used the Patronus Charm in fifth year), but it doesn’t steal your magic. Just like a gun. A gun is also a medium for power and can be taken away, but that still does not take away your ability to shoot a gun.

All the years in Quidditch and catching the golden snitch paid off in this exercise. It was quick and easy for him. His eyes would spot the target, crouch, and he’d press. The target would then lower itself to the ground, the boxes opening to close around it. Harry would immediately start on the next newly emerged object, making sure to shoot it right in the middle.

After 15 minutes and covering all 100 boxes, Harry managed to shoot 89 bull’s eye, 3 misses, and 8 shots below or above the center.

Light applause was heard as he stared at his doing. He turned, walking over to his mentors.

“I must say that was quite impressive. Good hand eye-coordination, awareness of surroundings, and adequate agility,” commended Titi with a slight smile. Slit nodded at him, a sign of approval Harry suspected.

“Next time,” he said briskly, “We’ll split the time in half again. You’ll be working with me on moves and then your professor on gun control. Towards the end of ever lesson, Professor Titi and I will ask for you to combine all you learned in that lesson and use it while on the boxing exercise.

The three of them were packing up to leave when Slit, amidst turning off the lights, looked down at his hand. Harry questioned him with a look.

The 25-year-old agent quickly finished his original task and exited the room.

“Professor? What’s up with Slit?”

“The chip in his hand notified him that he was needed by the leaders in Operation CoJacks. Usually when it’s not as important, someone would be sent to notify you. When it’s serious, the chip heats up but doesn’t really hurt the person; it just acts an alarm.”

“Does it happen often?”

“No,” she paused, “But it does to Slit. He’s one of the best.”

“Any indication of the perpetrator in this crime?” asked the man from the computer room. His most dedicated, hand-chosen team of agents was seated in separate computer stations. Each had some sort of map or information sheet pulled up on their screen. Their leader walked around the room, his eyes alert. Dark bags under his eyes revealed his lack of sleep, but that did not affect how he commanded his men.

“Perpetrator entered from a side window. Our team of investigators observed that a laser had cut into the glass,” a female agent stated matter-of-factly.

“But it may be more than one,” said another agent from across the room. The leader turned to face him instead.

“And why is that?”

“One would not have control over 8 people at the same time. There would have to be at least two. One would threaten and the other would actually commit the crime.”

The leader suppressed a groan. His best men weren’t even able to figure it out.

“Tell me about the crime again.”

“Yes sir.” Elaine said, standing up from her seat. She held a small notebook pad in her hands and flipped through the pages.

“Scene was discovered by the prime minster himself. He found some of his workers, those who worked overtime at night, lying in limp form. Each of his workers, except for one, were shot and then dismembered. Our pathologist determined that they had been dead for at least 12 hours. The head of Jan Cyan was found in a basket, 13 feet away from his body. He lay separate from everyone else, leading us to believe that he had discovered the perpetrators and tried to escape. A bullet casing was found nearby and blood stained the walls, but no specific weapons were discovered.”

The man nodded at Elaine and she sat back down.

“Alright. What other evidence was found?”

“A letter, sir, from the perpetrator. No fingerprints were found.” Elaine answered again.

A letter. How nice of the people.

“Have the analyzing staff take over. This means the perpetrator is directly attacking the Prime Minister. Where is he now?”

“The Prime Minister is still in London. Quite stubborn, really. Refused to leave until we solve this case.” A middle-age man answered, smirking. The man in charge took no notice of this.

“I’ll send a set of agents to see to the Prime Minister. Slit—where’s Slit?”

The other agents looked around for their youngest teammate but could not find him. Then the door opened, revealing Slit.

He bowed slightly, “Sorry, sir. I was in the training room with Beulah Titi and our new trainee, Harry Potter. We were practicing combinations.”

“Harry Potter? The one you brought?” asked the leader.

Slit nodded and headed to his station.

“Slit, you will take two competent agents from this group and go to London. The details of this mission was already sent to you, but they will tell you the information.”

Once all assignments were given, the meeting room cleared out. Slit was the last to leave, but his leader called for him as he stepped through the threshold.

“Tell me about this Harry Potter.” Slit knew his boss would ask this. After all, practically bringing in a civilian to train was unheard of in Operation CoJacks. Slit wasn’t one to recruit a trainee personally. This struck an odd note when the leader had heard of this. What was so special about a boy named Harry Potter?

“Well, sir, I believe he is competent to be one of us.” Slit knew it wasn’t enough.

“From what evidence?”

“I’m not sure I can say. But in his classes, the kid is showing exceptional abilities. I just came from his class and his gun control is equivalent to a 4 month trainee.”

“Slit, you know it is dangerous to expose someone we have no idea about to our world.” The man said, talking to him as if he was his son. He was in a way. The man had personally continued Slit’s training, had given him counseling, and was one who Slit usually confided in.

“I know, sir. But I had this feeling.” Slit answered. Now this was strange, thought the man. Slit had never acted on something on a feeling or instinct. Especially something as dangerous as this.

“What if Potter is an agent for our enemy? Think of what he may be exposing to other people who want to destroy us and our government!”

“Harry is not,” Slit said, using the boy’s first name out of reflex. “He was just a seventeen-year old-boy until now.

The man shook his head and said in annoyed tone, “Just like your father you are.”

Slit made no comment to this, but was actually realizing the similarities. Before, Slit was just a regular eight-year-old boy. But then his father had decided to train him for something bigger. Harry was just a regular seventeen-year-old. And now Slit was the one training him.

“Very well then. Take Harry Potter with you on the mission since you think he is qualified.” Slit reacted to this and asked for the man to repeat what he had said.

“You seem to think Harry is adequate in classes, even though it’s only been two days,” explained the leader in calm but all the while aggravating tone. “So bring him along. Teach him a few things.”

The man was trying to prove that Slit was wrong in choosing Harry. But Slit would not let him win.

“Yes, sir.” He and the man exchanged a long glare and then he left.

The leader felt like he should have taken back the command, knowing that he might put both Potter and Slit in danger. Then again, the trainee would go with Slit in the mission, and he knew how efficient Slit was on the field.

With a sigh, the man rubbed his eyes with his hands.

I really need some sleep.

I'm not sure if I should put my story under R or keep it in PG-13. There may be a lot of violence in future chapters, but when most people see the R-rated sign, they immediately assume it's just because of the sexual content in it. Seeing as I am a bit too young for such...er...provocative activities, I'm still unsure.

Oh and though I appreciate my friend, SkyHighFan, for editing my chapters, I’m still looking for a second beta. Call me paranoid, but my writing needs help.

Until next chapter,

Le (Viopathartic)

7. Chapter 7

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: While I was searching through my stories, I realized that chapter 7 was missing. Then I checked the reviews and saw that there were reviews for Chapter 7. Either the system had a glitch…or another person from my multiple personality disorder had taken over my body and did something weird…

Well. Here it is.

Chapter Seven:

In a room in some faraway place, life seemed nonexistent. There were no windows, no doors, or anything that could lead a person to think humans actually existed in this place. Bitter drafts of air flowed into the room from an unknown source, its temperature low enough to create a makeshift freezer.

The room had four walls that formed a square.

Only the invisible, what could not be seen by the naked eye, showed signs of movement. Minuscule dust particles floated along, suspended in the air.

There was no such thing as light. Only the color black, leaving the room in perpetual darkness.

But the still air was abruptly disturbed.

Crack.

Five figures arrived in unison as if they had just materialized from thin air. A normal person would have said it was impossible.

But then again, nobody is normal.

A sudden phosphorescence of blinding radiance overtook the room, the light chased darkness into the far corners of the room, and life began.

In front of the mysterious group of people dressed in black cloaks, a body was slumped against the concrete wall. His brown-haired head lolled to the side and his eyes were shut in a peaceful but almost deathlike slumber. His everyday clothes were dirtied and torn, exposing the skin of his arms and legs. Bruises and bloodied cuts—still fresh—decorated the pale face of the man.

One of the cloaked persons stepped forward, pulling out a slender, brown piece of wood. It was a man by the looks of his muscled figure and the way he walked—with power and grace. The hood of his cloak covered his identity. Only the bottom half of his face, remained visible.

With his lips slightly curled into a sneer, he whispered, “Enervate.”

As if struck by lightning, the body jerked, nearly falling on the ground. The man fell forward, placed his palms against the floor; his coughs racked his whole body. Blood spurted out, mixed with yellowish bile.

His chest heaved as he struggled to draw his breath. His wide eyes frantically roamed the unfamiliar room as panic reached its peak. He leant his head against the wall, lifting his legs so they were touching his chest. He shivered and hugged his knees, attempting to generate body warmth.

Where was he?

“Pathetic.”

Daring to face his nightmare, the victim gradually lifted his face.

The man had removed his cloak, but he should have left it on for his face was horribly contorted—almost impossible to look at. It seemed as if pieces of his skin were cut up and sewed back together in place. A scar ran from the left side of his eye to the corner of his mouth. His eyes sunk into the sockets and his pastel skin tone made him look like the very image of death.

Antonin Dolohov swept his arm out as if he was presenting a showcase.

“Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle. Welcome to my lesson.”

His sentence reverberated against the virtually impenetrable walls and stayed in the minds of the youngest.

“It’s a muggle.” The man stated simply.

“It” groaned, trying to move his body. But the pain was too much. His arms felt as if they were the weight of anvils and every time he blinked, a buzz in his head would momentarily come and then go.

“No.” The command was simple. “It” forcefully flew against the wall and it cried out in pain. The body was spread out like one would when making a snow-angel. Except in this situation, there was no snow and no trace of merriment involved.

A force held the body up at 4 feet above the floor. The muggle grinded his teeth as he tried to desperately ignore another wave of physical torment. Though he tried not to, his eyes found the leader.

Antonin was sneering, staring at “it” as like a predator would its prey. His wand balanced between his index finger and thumb. The four other figures remained stock still.

“This thing,” the instructor said, walking leisure steps to the body with his students following him in a horizontal line, “this pathetic, low-life piece of shite…is the reason why your uncle is dead.”

Goyle, who was standing at the far right, stiffened for a moment when his uncle was mentioned.

Dolohov let out a bitter laugh, knowing he had caught one’s attention. “Your uncle, is that correct, Goyle?”

With an impassive expression, the thuggish boy nodded.

“Yes, yes. On a mission for the Dark Lord, wasn’t he? But before he could succeed, he was killed by a muggle,” Dolohov spat the last word out with loathing. “A gun. Some sort of device that only inferior beings use.”

“Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.” The Death Eater murmured, walking over to Goyle.

The Slytherin tightened his hold on his wand. His eyes were set on the man against the wall, jaw set and eyes narrowed.

Dolohov smirked.

This was what Dolohov wanted. To get their anger and their hatred to its maximum point. This will help them in their training to become loyal Death Eaters to the greatest sorcerer in the world. Lord Voldemort and their Dark Lord.

The body lifted his head; his eyes were augmented by sheer shock. They connected with the instructor’s demon-like eyes and a zap of electric fear immediately struck his body.

“This thing,” the instructor broke away from his stare and approached the target until his nose was mere inches from the victim, “is the reason why we wizards have to hide in seclusion every single day of our lives.”

“A muggle!” He whirled around to face the students, a look of disgust and fury etched on his distorted face. “This is the kind that keeps our power from fully expanding outside of our limits.”

“Why do we hide from these people? These pitiable animals are nothing to us! NOTHING! We have magic and they possess no power. We can kill them, and they,” Dolohov voice softened into a fierce whisper, “and they will no longer have the upper hand.”

“It is time, young ones, to obtain our rightful status in society. We must purify all who don’t belong. Muggles, half-bloods, and mudbloods. Wizards above muggles and not the other way around like it has been for years!”

He jabbed his wand in the direction of the body and hissed, “Crucio.”

The victim arched his back, his eyes widened, and his mouth agape. He tried to escape, writhed under the curse, screaming and yelling for mercy, but the invisible force held him back. His yells echoed throughout the chamber.

The young ones were watching the display in sadistic pleasure. They smiled wider as the muggle’s cries of torture grew louder.

“The Dark Lord is asking for you to become one of his. Come and fight against all who are unworthy of existence.”

“Malfoy,” Dolohov whispered, pointing his arm to go up.

Draco Malfoy took four steps until he was in the center, right up front of the muggle.

“Nott, go.” The Death Eater commanded.

Another figure stepped up, pushing back his mask, and withdrawing his wand.

“Goyle, make your uncle proud.”

The four teenagers, under the force of evil, raised their wands up high.

Dolohov smiled and watched from behind.

The muggle, at the will of others, gasped for breath, kicking his legs and arms in hope of being free.

Crucio!

ALARMING NUMBER OF MISSING PEOPLE

By: Elizabeth Bennet

London police department have currently been struggling to solve the mysteries of five civilians. All were middle-class citizens living in London and all had relatives and occupations. Two were reported missing on Tuesday, one on Thursday and two the next day. The five cases appear to have no significant links to each other.

“We’re walking around the clock to solve these cases, but we must say that we’ve never seen anything like this before,” said Sergeant Bigen of the London Police Department in a public interview….

“That’s extremely odd,” Emma remarked, setting down her morning cup of coffee. The Grangers were at their usual table, eating breakfast together on a weekday morning. Even though she and husband set out to work early in the morning, Hermione rather wake up at the same time than later in the morning. Their daughter was definitely a morning person though Emma wondered how Hermione (a girl who stays up all night, reading and writing) can even get out of bed at a time like this.

At the corner of her eye, she spotted her husband stifling a yawn. Hermione sat across from him, lightly chewing on a buttered toast. Emma set her newspaper down and reached across the table for another while her daughter took her previous one.

“Do you think—“

She watched as a dark expression came over her daughter’s face. Emma knew Hermione had just seen the title of the latest news.

“Of course,” she whispered solemnly, immediately losing her appetite.

“Is it—," Emma wondered if she dare ask, “Are these related to Lord Voldemort?”

Eyeing her mom with a pained expression, she nodded.

“Voldemort is no longer attacking the wizardry world; he’s moving on to this world too. It makes sense, right? The so-called tornadoes and collapses of buildings and bridges last year. The fires in intersecting towns! How is it possible that three fires, starting from different areas, spread to one town? Nearly every business in Dawlish has shut down because of the extensive damage done to the buildings! And now, this, the missing reports of 5 muggles!”

“Have you told Harry, dear?” suggested Mr. Granger as he got up to refill his coffee cup.

“I don’t know. I’ve been so busy and Harry is probably busy over there with uncle for some reason. He hasn’t answered me back so I suppose I should wait…” Even as Hermione said this, she looked unsure of herself.

“Just owl him then. You can never be sure.” Emma said, giving her daughter a pat on the shoulder.

Once Hermione had set off to deliver her letter and Dan was out setting up the car, Emma cleared the breakfast table and went to grab her other keys. As she reached for the metallic instrument, the phone conveniently rang.

Looking at her watch and sighing, Emma answered the phone.

“Emma?”

The sound of familiarity rang in her ears and she immediately smiled. “Ben?”

A chuckle. “Hey Emmy. I’m sorry I haven’t communicated with you for awhile…”

“I’ll say. I’ve called you many times but you never picked up. Did you give me the wrong number?”

“No, no.” Ben’s voice seemed tired, but there was still a smile. “Work.”

“Ah,” Emma said in understanding. “Well, I was just calling before because Hermione wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, really?” Curiosity came back. “Where is she now?”

“Oh she’s probably busy at the moment. But she wanted to know if you’ve met a boy named Harry Potter?”

Emma waited for the answer, but Ben did not reply right away.

“No, I’ve never heard of him.” His answer was firm and she didn’t suspect he was lying. Why would he lie anyways?

“Oh, okay then. Maybe it was just a little mistake.”

“Alright. And Emmy? I promise I’ll be in touch with you more often. Right now, work has taken up all of my time. I’m sorry.”

Emma smiled. “That’s alright. Just don’t forget about me.”

A laugh. “Alright. Bye Emmy.”

The prime minister sat alone in his office, his forehead resting against his clasp hands. All of the blinds were shut, disallowing any light to pass through. It was soothing for the middle-aged man. Sun had always caused a certain effect of discomfort whenever he was exposed to it. Now, the prime minister decided that he won’t need any more disturbances.

His face gave no indication of emotion, just an unwavering, eyes closed expression.

The letter, which the killers had left, was placed among a stack of other papers. The prime minister did not read all of it. Words like…kill you…your workers…dead…what you did to us…and at the end of the letter, written in blood, YOUR MUGGLES WILL DIE.

Muggles. The Prime Minister had taken a copy of the parchment and brought it into his room. This type of information inside the letter could danger the wizardry world, and even though he never exactly liked magic and its world, he had promised to never reveal its information.

The one thing he ruled out was the perpetrators, whoever they were, were either wizards or muggles affiliated with wizards. Judging on the weapons found near his workers, he leaned towards the latter.

If only the wizardry world had left us alone…he thought, foolishly. Wizardry and muggle world shared one planet. They were bound to interact after a certain amount of time. Fudge (and later on, Rufus) was just doing him a favor by keeping him “updated” on the latest news of the other world. But now, the problems of their world were becoming the muggles’, and he already had enough to take care of.

John, Carol, Aaron, Jan, Sheehan, and some of the janitorial workers…killed. The thought of the slaughters happening in this very building nearly scared the prime minister to death. The perpetrators had attacked the ones from the bottom and would slowly make its way up. At once, the prime minister had called his secret services and Operation CoJacks. They were a bit too shady for his liking, but they did their work. CoJacks was known to track down the perpetrators and “finish the job”. In what ways—the prime minister did not need to know. As long as threats were taken care of, he let them do all they wanted.

Slit, one of the most talented agent he had ever met, was scheduled to appear later in the week, along with two of his team mates. The prime minister knew his father and liked him. Slit can be trusted.

From the behind, he heard a soft tapping on his window. He froze.

Then he heard a tiny hoot and sprang from his seat. Along with making a copy for himself, he had sent another to the ministry. That is, the other one. The owl was given to him as a gift for the anniversary of his position. Although the bird was bloody annoying, the prime minister had to admit; the service was impeccable.

___

Harry sighed as he stepped out of the shower. The training that Harry had to endure today had taken its toll. He was exhausted; his arms throbbed, his legs felt as if they might break, and his eyes began to droop even as he dried his hair with a towel.

Just as his head fell upon Harry’s pillow, the dormitory door opened. The lights were shut off so Harry squinted vainly to make out the shape of a person.

“Harry,” it whispered. Harry relaxed and threw the covers off his feet.

“Slit? Why are you here?”

“Come with me. You’re going somewhere.” His voice sounded urgent. Slit remained at the threshold, patiently waiting.

“Somewhere like on a mission?” It better be, or else why would Slit wake him up?

Jasper rolled over on his back, producing a loud snore. Slit gave him a second glance then focused back on Harry.

The thought of him actually going on a mission--even though he barely had three days of training—puzzled him.

“Yes. Now get dressed before you wake your roommates. Head down to the shooting range; someone will meet you there to bring you to the meeting room. You must be quick.”

Slit closed the door, leaving the room pitch black. He thought he was alone as Harry put on a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt but a voice made him stop in the middle of doing this.

It was Forest.

“Harry, did I hear right?”

Harry blindly grabbed his gun, which was stashed under his pillow, and strapped it to his waist.

Not knowing anymore then what Forest had just heard, he paused before saying, “Get some sleep. You have class tomorrow.”

If anyone has read The Concept of Crushes, they know that Chapter 8 of OCJ was 15. Now it’s 17. And I’m not finished yet. So you’re getting something really big.

Viopathartic

8. Chapter 8

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I haven't been in the mood lately andI wasswamped with finals. But, since school's over, I might have more time to update some of my stuff. I can't promise anything though...

But hell, at least this one is 25 pages. That's enough to last you, right?

Chapter 8

Blue Eyes and Gray Eyes were not friends.

Truth was: Gray Eyes despised Blue Eyes. He has never liked being bossed around. He liked to do his job alone. He would have murdered Blue Eyes if it weren’t for his other members.

Muggles. What a word to say. For some reason, Gray Eyes never heard of the term, but knew it was bad. Just to whom was his one question?

They didn’t ask questions when it came to missions. As long as a reward was given, EYES would make sure to do it.

There were only three things keeping him on the job.

Number one was the fact that the mission was assigned with certain conditions and rewards. Reward was 502,216 Pounds—each. There were officially 6 on the team. Gray Eyes was almost in disbelief at the amount and thought the Riddle man was only kidding. Next day he was contacted, half of the amount was sent to their hideout with a note saying there will be more.

The unofficial leader of the group, Z, had confirmed that they would take the mission. Z was an evil man; all of his acts were unspeakable. That had earned him respect from the members. At first Gray Eyes thought it odd since Z never did anything for anyone. EYES was the most vicious group of assassins in the underground world and rarely kept contact with other people such as Riddle. But one day, after they had killed Pearl Haxhi at the S Club, Z came back from the sewage where they dumped her body and in a monotone voice told them that they would take a mission.

The next day, however, when Gray Eyes questioned his leader, Z yelled at him. Saying what the fuck you talking about? Honestly, he thought Z had short-term memory. Then the money came and Z remembered.

They would never get to meet the Marvolo Riddle in person. That was the first thing to be established. He’d always send one of his henchmen. The other day it was a mousy looking fellow who fidgeted at the group’s very movement.

The group was assigned to the Prime Minister’s office. But don’t assassinate him—just terrorize, Wormtail, or whatever his name was, had stuttered.

Number two was the group had never experience this kind of mission. The usual was mugging, rapes, and murders, but this. This was actually kind of thrilling for them.

Also…

Gray Eyes liked to kill. That was the third thing.

A woman, who Harry assumed to be Elaine, met up with him at the shooting range and escorted him to the meeting room. She didn't say a word throughout the six-minute trip, leaving Harry to assume she was none to please with the arrangement.

They arrived at a computer room. The four-walled room was equipped with high-tech computers and technological equipments. It was sort of like the navigation rooms in space control. The computers lined the edges of the room while a large table and a few single desks occupied the inner space. Slit, Bill and Collins, who was the agent who interrogated him in the Authentic Room, were waiting for the two of them.

"Welcome to the meeting room, Potter." Collins held out a hand and Harry hurried to shake it. Once they had met again, they all took seats in the empty chairs. Elaine passed him a small notebook and a retractable pen.

"You'll take notes." She explained in a brisk tone. Slit, who was clearly in charge of this mission, stood at attention and seriously notified all members present in the current situation.

Though Harry thought Slit was going a bit too quickly, he managed to jot down the important notes.

Prime Minister's office:

Monday, late night 23:OO-?

Victims: 8, shot close range. Dismembered. Jan, in particular, was only dismembered.

Number of perpetrators around 2 (?)

Weapons used in analyzing process.

A letter (will obtain)

"So," Harry began, noticing that all eyes were on him now. "Some terrorist group killed eight of the Prime Minister's employees, and now I'm going with you guys to his office...right now?"

Elaine and Collins nodded curtly and Slit continued.

"Not exactly. We'll leave headquarters, but we won't meet with the Prime Minister until a few days," explained Slit, leaning against an empty desk. "First we'll research. You'll have to get used to the basic protocol for official agents of Operation CoJacks, and--"

"Look," said Elaine, "we didn't pick you. The only reason we are bringing you with us is because Mr. L had ordered us to. Don't think that you're suddenly an agent. You're still a rookie--a measly trainee. You're expected to follow us at every order, at every place."

Harry, though familiar with the do-something-wrong-I-kill-you glare (courtesy of Hermione Granger), found himself almost melting under her stare.

"You are never to go anywhere alone because I guarantee this: You'll die. This is a serious mission. A terrorist group is after the Prime Minister and has already succeeded in killing his workers. We need to find the bastards and get rid of them before they do major damage."

Elaine cast her eyes up and down Harry's body and scoffed, "Those clothes are unacceptable."

Harry pulled his t-shirt at the collar. "This?" Then he noticed she was right. While Harry was dressed in everyday clothes (jeans and shirt), the other two men were dressed in expensive suits. Elaine had on black dress pants and a perfectly ironed white blouse.

"We'll provide you with clothing soon enough," Collins assured him. Elaine's lips thinned to a vertical line; she was not pleased with the attention that Harry was being given. Harry nodded.

After the team had briefed him on their intended location before their actual investigation began, Bill was called in to escort Harry to the helicopter pad. The senior agents had gone off to fetch the necessary equipments.

Bill had noticed the look of apprehension on the young man's face and reassured him that it was okay to be nervous and all Harry had to do was follow the senior agents.

To his surprise, Harry was shown to helicopter pad. Two helicopters waited before him; one large and the other a bit smaller.

He was lead inside the smallest one but Bill said that he would be right back,

As Harry observed from the front window, there were packs of men and women—numbers varying from 6-8 in each.

One at a time, they climbed into the largest helicopter. When Bill had come back, he climbed into the cockpit and pilot seat, all dressed down in his flight suit. The flight suit had the appearance of a jumpsuit but other then its purpose as an outerwear; it also had fire retardant capability made of Nomex material. It bore an insignia of Operation CoJacks: an inverted black triangle, outlined by bold. Inside, on each corner of the triangle, the letters of the organization were embolden: O.C.J.

"Who are those people?" asked Harry, who pointed in the direction of the others.

Bill flicked some the controls on the dashboard of the aircraft, checking the pressure and outlook of the flight. He finally glanced over to the other direction.

"Oh them? They're Operation CoJacks' Special Task Force. They accompany the agents on the missions and provide security and help. In case something goes wrong with the primaries, they step in. Mostly they can work as our forensic scientists, agents, and well…everything."

Harry continued to watch as equipment was loaded into the cargo area.

"Where exactly are we heading?" He entreated.

"Radisson SAS Portman Hotel. It is located at the Portman Square in the centre of London, England and nearest to 10 Downing Street, which is the Prime Minister's office. During the mission, we're to act as both investigators and security--hence why we are lodging so close."

Elaine, Collins, and Slit joined 10 minutes after. Harry saw that all three were wearing their guns and immediately realized he didn't have his. As if Slit read his mind, he handed Harry his gun, which was in its holster. Slit explained that he had left it in the meeting room. He took it sheepishly and attached it to the right side of the hip.

Bill instructed for everyone to utilize their seatbelts and once they all did, he pulled back the pitch stick and the helicopter began to climb vertically. Harry looked out the window and saw that the larger helicopter was following.

When they landed at the new helicopter pad, Bill explained that since their headquarters were in Nottingham, the time to get to London by car was approximately two hours. By helicopter, of course, it didn’t take very long. The pad was located in a secluded area deep into the woods. A car had been arranged by the organization to escort the four agents to the hotel.

Harry had never ridden in a luxury car such as this.

Bill saw the trainee looking at the inside in awe and smiled wickedly.

“The Bentley State Limousine was a car created by Bentley for our queen. This is modified version of Bentley's Arnage R version and its maximum speed is 130mph. I think it’s about three feet longer than a standard Bentley Arnage and something like 10 inches taller, and six inches wider. The car is, of course, equipped with an armour-plated cladding, a mine-resistant floor, RPG-proof glass, and a cabin that can be sealed against a gas attack. Only two of these cars were ever built.”

Bill smiled wider. “This is the second one.”

Harry turned when he heard this. “What?”

“The Queen gave this to the president of our organization four years ago.”

Harry faced the car again and whispered, “Merlin…”

“What?” asked Elaine, who had gotten off of the helicopter and arrived at the pickup point last, as she approached the car.

“Er…I just…didn’t know that the Queen knew of this organization.”

Elaine looked warily at the young man and answered briskly, “If the Prime Minister knows, the Queen knows.”

Harry gave her an odd look and approached Slit after she went into the car.

“What has Elaine got against me?” Slit stopped packing his stuff into the trunk and stared through the window where Elaine’s head can be seen in the back seat.

“Elaine takes everything seriously. She has been apart of Operation CoJacks for quite a long time and became a member at the same time as I did. I have a feeling that she may believe you’re going to ruin everything for our organization, given the fact that you’re new here and on a mission with the agents already.”

“Then why did she let me go with you guys?”

“She didn’t. Mr. L, our president, ordered me to bring you. It appears that he is on the same boat as Elaine and in bringing you here; he’s hoping that I will realize it was a mistake and prove me wrong. Elaine may be stubborn but she always follows the rules.”

Slit pushed a duffle bag in between the boxes placed in the trunk and finally shut it when everything was in place.

“I’m not gonna lie; you’re gonna get a lot of shite when you’re with us. People feel that you’re not adequate to be Operation CoJacks material. They think you’re just a kid. They think that you have never had anything bad happen to you in order for you to be an agent.

“What do they know…” Harry said bitterly, a bit angered that the people were so sure about him. They didn’t know about his life at the Dursleys or the years of going up against Voldemort. They didn’t know what he sacrificed in his life, how he lost four of the most important people to him, and how they died trying to protect him. They label him as a kid, but Harry knew that he went through more things than most of the agents would ever face.

“Nothing. They know nothing.”

Harry looked at Slit in surprise.

“They’re jealous and scared because they probably know, deep inside, that you’re gonna be better than them one day. Same thing happened to me when I came here at 17 years of age. They thought I was a mere college student and nothing more. Look what happened in those 8 or 9 years.”

Then Slit gave him a small, rare smile. “Trust me.”

After, Harry joined Slit, Collins, Elaine, who made sure to sit in the passenger seat, and Bill, naturally sitting in the driver’s seat. He activated the GPS system that was built in and plugged in the coordinates of their current location and desired destination. Almost instantly, the suggested route was displayed on the small screen.

They quickly found a road once they left the woods. Slit was inputting some numbers into his touch screen PDA. From what Harry could take a peek at, he was sending a report of their current status in the mission. The report was sent to a Mr. L. Harry had wondered who this guy was exactly. Why did they all call him by the one letter? What was his real name?

It didn’t seem to matter to the other agents, and they didn’t question their assignments. Harry wondered if he would do the same when he officially gets initiated into Operation CoJacks.

The Bentley slowly pulled along the entrance of a large building. Once Harry got out of the car, he realized that this wasn’t just a regular building.

The Radisson Portman Hotel had a cantilevered over-top that consisted of glass. Four beams supported this member at each of its corners. Surrounding the area were beautiful arrangements of flowers circling the trunk of a single birch tree. Its branches stretched above and nearly reached the building’s halfway point.

Two bellhops stood on both sides of the revolving door, looking extremely bored. Once they saw the car pull up, however, they straightened their uniform and backs and stood stock still like soldiers at attention.

The car was left to be attended by the two bellhops when the agents of Operation CoJacks left the vehicle and walked into the lobby. A metal detector was set up and Harry intended to pass through like the other tourists, but Slit withdrew a wallet that carried his identification card and the four of them headed past the machine.

The lobby had dropped ceiling with a chandelier hanging at its center. The marble flooring was impeccably clean as four pair of feet walked across. They went around one lone table that had an arrangement of flowers in a vase. Three counters were set up, and Slit walked straight up to the centermost. Collins signaled for a bellhop to carry their luggage to the desk on the left, and he hurried to do so. Harry noticed a secluded lounge where tourists and hotel attendants could relax while listening to a piano playing its majestic pieces. Only of few were present since it was only the beginning of the day.

Slit had retrieved the card keys, handing separate ones to Elaine, Bill and Collins, and explained to Harry that he would be staying with him for the time being.

Harry had already gotten over the first shock of entering this kind of hotel but still was awed by their hotel room. Naturally, there were two queen beds in the back of the room, with maybe half a dozen pillows and large blankets that can cover for four people and a nightstand beside each. A framed fixed window with its red velvety curtains draped to side gave Slit and Harry an impressive view of the outside. Furniture, such as computer desks, coffee tables, lounge chairs and loveseats, was placed all around the room, arranged so that it would give the room’s occupants well-deserved luxury. In the corner was a mini-bar (with a small refrigerator included). Connected to the main room was an en-suite bathroom the size of Harry’s old dormitory at Hogwarts. The bathtub was more like a hot tub and the sinks could probably fit the body of a five year old.

Slit, clearly used to this treatment, threw his bags onto the bed on the left side and unzipped his luggage. One by one, he withdrew four guns, his laptop, and finally his suits.

Harry hesitantly set his stuff onto the vacant bed and began to unpack.

After the two were finished in getting settled, Elaine, Collins, and Bill met up with them in the intersecting corridors on level 18. An empty meeting room was organized for their personal use.

Copies of the police reports and observations of medics were passed around the meeting table. Slit immediately began the basic rundown of their future schedules.

“In approximately an hour, we will head over to the Prime Minister’s office on 10 Downing Street to begin our investigations. Elaine, you will be securing the perimeters. Make sure to install the cameras in various locations so if we were to have intruders of some sort, we’d be able to locate the angle they had come from.”

Elaine nodded dutifully.

“Collins, you are in charge of the squads. A van will be situated outside of the perimeter. You and Elaine must check your microphones and always be on the line.”

“Bill, you will be in charge of the forensic team. Scavenge the whole room for anything that may help link us to the perpetrator or perpetrators.”

Collins and Bill acknowledged Slit with a small salute.

“As for Harry, you are going to follow me.”

Harry felt relieved that he wasn’t going to be alone in amidst of the investigations. This was certainly new to him and he feared that if he were to mess up one bit, it would cost him not only his life (as Elaine said before), but also his teammates.

Harry had never seen so much blood.

The team obviously liked things to be untouched when they arrive on the scene. As Harry was walking—actually, tip-toeing—through, he passed a wastebasket and swore he saw a head inside. His suspicion was confirmed when an agent pulled out the decapitated member. In a sign of respect, the agent had closed the two eyes and pulled a white sheet over it.

“30 years old. And had a family too,” He lamented to his female partner.

Harry looked over and noticed bodies were line up against the walls and he could already see that they had been shot from close range. He was thankful that, in some sick way, they were all blindfolded. He wouldn’t be able to look into their dead pupils, eyes wide in fear. They probably didn’t know it would happen. That they would have a bullet shot through their foreheads in minutes. That they would never see, breathe, and live again.

"Agent Tanner. Thanking for coming."

Harry turned his head and saw the Prime Minister shaking hands with Slit. He hurried over, making sure that he followed his mentor’s guidelines.

The Prime Minister looked relieved as they stood in the room where the crime had taken place. Agents of Operation CoJacks already began to examine the scene and collect relevant data.

"Mr. Prime Minister, sir. We'll do whatever we can to catch the people who killed your workers." He smiled wanly after hearing Slit's earnest words. His eyes landed on the young man besides the agent, and he shot a questioning look towards Slit.

Slit beckoned Harry forward. "This is our newest agent, Harry Potter." He looked alarmingly at his mentor but then realizing that saying "our newest trainee" would cause some disapproval from a man who wanted nothing more than the finest work to be done.

Harry put up a smile and reached out, his hand shaking slightly. The small smile on the Prime Minister's face immediately faded.

Harry noticed how his eyes were slowly making their way to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. "H-Harry Potter! But why are--what are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure what you are asking. You had requested for Operation CoJacks to come and investigate." But he knew from the man’s eyes widened and the way he stuttered, Harry’s words wouldn’t be heard.

"But Fudge, no, Scrimengour--you're supposed to be there!" The Prime Minister had turned pink during this rant and hardly kept his voice down.

Harry, who was confused before, was suddenly bombarded with a new thought. "Mr. Prime Minister, are you--"

The Prime Minister seemed to take this as an offense and replied outrageously, "No, I am not a wi--!" Harry lunged forward and clamped a hand around the man's mouth. The room seemed to freeze at this, wondering why their junior tag along had his hand against the Prime Minister's mouth and why the Prime Minister looked like he would die of a heart attack.

Harry warned the man with his eyes. If he hadn't stopped him, he'd have another mess in his hands.

"Are you going to be quiet?" Green eyes questioned pale blue ones.

Breathing hard, the Prime Minister nodded feverishly.

Once Harry removed his hand, the man backed away, straightened his jacket, and smoothed his hair with a hand. Slit glared at the black-haired trainee, mentally admonishing him. Harry felt his face redden in embarrassment.

"Yes and the letter." He turned with a gesture that called for Harry and Slit to follow. The Prime Minister led them into his office where a parchment lay neatly on his desk.

He picked it up and held it out. His eyes were glued to the parchment in his hands and Harry could see from the beads of sweat on his forehead that he was nervous. The question is, was "why?"

Slit reached out for it with his gloved hand, but the Prime Minister snatched it back. Harry looked alarmingly at him.

"Er...Prime Minister, we need that for research," He said.

"Oh? Yes, I'll just..." Slit gripped the sheet and stepped back before he could think to take it.

"Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. We'll take this to the lab." He turned away, summoning the closest forensic agent. Once his back was facing them, the man turned to Harry.

“Potter--!”

“Not here,” Harry hissed, his eyes nervously looking to the sides.

The Prime Minister leaned forward and asked apprehensively, “Do they know that you’re a—well, that?”

“No. They’re muggles.” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We need to meet. Privately.”

“Tonight is fine. At my office at nine.” The two nodded at each other.

As Harry followed the others out of the room, he could practically feel the Prime Minister’s avid glare on the back of his head.

At night, then.

"What was that?" Slit asked once all of the team was accounted for at the hotel. He, Harry, and Elaine walked through the corridor, still dressed in their official uniform. It was about 7 P.M--two hours before Harry and the Prime Minister would meet.

"Having the nerve to do that to the Prime Minister! Our Prime Minister. Don't you remember that he was the one who called for our service?" Elaine chastised, barely trying to hide her disapproval of Harry.

"I-" He sighed, slightly annoyed at his irresponsible behavior beforehand. He had caused a scene and so he had to face the consequences. There was a moment of silence as he tried to figure out an excuse. Elaine had excused herself, letting an angry and annoyed sigh to escape her lips before coolly biding Slit (and not Harry) a "good night".

"What, do you know him?" Slit demanded, his anger slowly diminishing.

"No," Harry answered sincerely, "but he seems to know me."

"By protocol, no Operation CoJacks agent is allowed prior relation with the suspect or anyone involved in a certain case. Answer truthfully: Do you know the Prime Minister?"

Harry stopped in his steps, looked his mentor firmly in the eye and answered, "No."

"I don't get you, Potter. You're a mystery. First the--" Slit looked around them, making sure no one would be able to eavesdrop, and whispered, "First the powers and now this?"

"I can't tell you. At least, not yet."

At his words, Slit reacted for a split second. His eyes flashed with something like surprise but managed to maintain his expression. "I know that. But sooner or later, Potter. Hiding your secrets will not make you a better agent."

The two did not exchange any other words after the hallway interrogation. Slit had hopped into the shower while Harry sat at the desk, writing a quick letter to Hermione. But then he realized the message wouldn't be able to get to her in time.

Meeting with the Prime Minister was an important task that couldn't be ignored, and Hermione needed to be there.

"Bugger," he whispered, scrunching up the paper and throwing it with force into the paper basket. He leant back against the chair and closed his eyes. After two minutes of sitting there and doing nothing, he realized how much of an idiot he was. Of course! He was a wizard! He could just apparate.

Harry decided he'd wait for Slit to go to bed or something after his shower. But he was lucky.

Slit walked out of the bathroom, fully clothed, and tossed his towel into a bag of laundry. He placed his gun holster against his hips and clicked his wrist watched together. Tapping the watch's screen, he glanced up at his "roommate".

"Alright. I have to attend a small meeting to discuss the conclusion of today’s investigation. I’ll be in late and the day will start out early tomorrow so I don’t think you should stay up too late.”

Harry nodded, trying to stop a grin from forming. He spent his time, pretending to read one of his textbooks, only to close them once he heard the door slam shut.

As he prepared for his third official time in apparition, he pictured Hermione in his mind. Harry Potter didn't know his friend's address in the muggle world but thought a mental image would be enough.

“To the Dark Lord: I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more,” recited Hermione. She glanced up from her notebook on Horcruxes and stared at nothing in particular.

“R.A.B.” She whispered. Who is—was (?)—he? She looked in the library at Hogwarts, but her short excursion ended in vain. Perhaps the books that held information on dark objects were located in the Restricted Section? She would have to ask Pro—Headmistress McGonagall for permission to search that area.

“R.A.B had known that’d he die very soon,” thought Hermione aloud, “but he still went and stole the Slytherin locket. Surely he was a Death Eater since he addressed Voldemort as “Dark Lord”. He knew that Horcruxes would be dangerous…and so he took the one in the cave and stowed it somewhere else.

Hermione wrote as she spoke; verbal thinking helped her sort out facts and easily retained them.

“He (or she, Hermione mentally added) must have been brilliant, really. To outstand Voldemort like that. Brave too…

Pop!

Hermione jerked back in surprise, her face frozen in shock.

A boy appeared and had fallen on the ground, face first.

"Oh absolutely brilliant!" Harry muttered, picking himself up from the ground. "I can apparate both Slit and I but not me by my--Hermione?" He saw a girl sitting on a burgundy colored queen-sized bed, holding a feather pen, and was surrounded by stacks of books. He adjusted his glasses and saw that he was right; her hair proved him correct.

Hermione just stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"Harry?"

He stood up completely, putting on a nervous grin. His friend put down her pen and slowly climbed off the bed. He noticed hesitancy in her steps so he offered, "Do you want to ask me a question or something?"

"Sure...um, well, I just sent Harry a letter. What was my postscript?"

"You asked if I knew Ben Lester, your uncle." Hermione put down her defenses and threw her arms around him, sure that this was her real friend.

Harry hugged her back, glad to see her. Then he remembered why he was here.

"Hermione, we have a meeting.”

She pulled back, alarmed. “A meeting? With whom?”

“The Prime Minister.”

"Sir, there was something wrong with the letter that was left by the perpetrators," Slit informed Collins as he leafed through the notes.

Once again, the two agents were in the meeting room. One was checking through the evidence and analyzing; the other was observing the security cameras. As done with all crime scenes, Operation CoJacks installed a little over a dozen cameras. All were placed in different corners and angles, assuring that the place would be well secured. Currently, no outstanding observation had been made--including the average passersby at the night and the occasional flicker of the street lamp.

"And what is it?" Collins detached his eyes from the screen and focused on the stack of papers that his teammate had handed to him.

"There's nothing on it." He raised an eyebrow at Slit's answer. "When we had requested for the letter, the Prime Minister was reluctant to give it up--a reaction that I had noticed. But once the lab took a look at it, there was nothing on it.

"Invisible ink?"

"No. Invisible ink is supposedly used and applied on paper by a fountain pen of some sort. Once dry, the surface should appear blank and of similar texture as surrounding material. Usually a cover message, something unrelated to the actual message, is applied onto the surface over the invisible ink."

"However," Slit painstakingly slid a copy of a scientific report out of one of the evidence bags and handed it over. "We used a 100 watt light bulb to insure that no damage would be done to the paper and heated it. Nothing came up. We also applied bases and acids: Vinegar, starch, Phenolphthalein, cobalt chloride. Same reaction as last time."

"Therefore the letter...is nothing but a measly piece of parchment." Collins concluded, moving the copy aside. "And what of the Prime Minister's behavior."

"He was extremely cautious and protective of this paper, but I cannot find the reasons why." Collins nodded, excepting Slit's answer. Along with extraordinary fieldwork, Slit was a highly distinguished character profiler.

"Sir." Slit nodded towards the screen.

Two figures suddenly appeared in front of the building that was being tagged. He wasn't sure if it was a glitch in the system, but it looked as if they came from thin air. One moment the sidewalk was empty and then the next they were there.

Collins quickly typed in a few codes and the image was enlarged. The computer slowly enhanced the pigments so identities can be seen.

As the image cleared up, Collins' eyes grew wider. He knew one of the people. In fact, both Slit and he knew him.

It was Harry Potter.

"Shite, what's he doing there?" Collins asked, his fingers clicking the mouse and tapping the screen. His teammate sat besides him, lost in his thoughts. "How did he leave without us knowing?"

"He didn't get the chip implant yet," Slit answered, getting up.

"I'll notify STF."

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione had apparated and were now looking at the front doors of the Prime Minister’s office.

“Harry, don’t you think we should have apparated inside?”

He shook his head.

"The Prime Minister said something about Fudge and Scrimengour so that means he has connections with our world. I think The Ministry of Magic insinuated these wards for his protection."

"Oh!”

"What?" Harry asked, looking at his friend.

Before any sound could from Hermione’s lips, the door creaked open.

Out poked the balding head of the Prime Minister.

“Agent Potter,” he greeted, eyes nervously looking around.

“Prime Minister. I hope you don’t mind; I brought a friend of mine from—“

“Shh!” The Prime Minister opened the door a bit further and gestured for them to go in.

Harry stepped forward but then looked behind.

Hermione stood rooted to her spot on the sidewalk. It appeared that the reality being that she and Harry were meeting the Prime Minister at this time at night had finally been realized.

‘Hermione!’ whispered Harry,

She jumped slightly and shook her brown-haired head. “Sorry,” she squeaked, rushing through the open door.

The three of them headed inside, never realizing the Operation CoJacks would soon come.

“So what were you saying before?” The two of them fell behind the Prime Minister, who was leading the way.

"Well, since Voldemort's people are unable to penetrate the wards around this office, they must have paid or did something so that muggles would do the work instead.” Hermione answered almost breathlessly as she observed her surroundings. It was hard to believe that one moment ago, she was in her bedroom and now she was in Britain’s main leader’s building.

He led the younger teens into his office. They had passed the crime scene on the way and unfortunately, it appeared to be in the same arrangement as when it was found. Yellow cards and red slips were tagged onto significant areas. Large pools of blood stained the carpet. The window in witch the perpetrators had entered was the only thing changed; wooden blocks were solidly nailed against the frame. Investigators did not want a repeat massacre.

Hermione had let out a small gasp; her eyes slowly took in the scene before her. The Prime Minister and Harry, who was used to the place since he was there that morning, had noticed his friend’s reaction and rushed to soothe her. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

She slowly removed her hand from her mouth and had gazed at Harry. “You…you already knew about this?”

Harry nodded and looked towards the Prime Minister. The man was fidgeting, his eyes continuously checking behind, up, and down.

“Come on. We have to hurry.”

The Prime Minister naturally took his seat behind his desk and gestured the two teenagers to the two opposite, vacant seats. They were pretty comfortable, thought Harry absentmindedly as he sat down and watched Hermione (a bit shakily) do the same.

“Prime Minister, why was there nothing on the letter?” Harry knew that Slit would come back to the hotel sooner or later so it’d be best to get the interrogation over with.

The old man reached for a small bottle of whiskey and poured himself a generous amount. He offered water to the two. Hermione gratefully took one glass while Harry turned down his offer.

“The letter was magically charmed so that I would be the only one who could read it.”

Harry nodded, mentally praising the Ministry of Magic for their ideal planning. ‘What did it say?”

He took another sip of his whiskey. “Something about killing my Muggles.”

Hermione and Harry shared a glance.

“--Which is also why I think we—as in other muggles—did it.” The Prime Minister interrupted Hermione.

Smart man, our Prime Minister, Harry thought. Even so, he leaned forward and put on a confused mask.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your former Minister, Fudge, told me that since my government had significant relations with yours, I would get the best protection. He performed some sort of Anti-Appritation—

“Apparition,” Hermione said.

“Yes, Anti-Appariton Wards so people of your like won’t be able to come here. Of course, the Floo Network was allowed but it was specifically linked so that only the Minister of M-Magic can appear in my office.”

Harry and Hermione followed his hand, which pointed behind them. They saw a painting with a medieval looking man dressed in a wig. The subject was trying hard not to look at them and reveal that he was, indeed, eavesdropping. Finally, once Harry’s stare had become unbearable to annoy, the painting let out an agitated sigh and put on a scowl.

He smoothed out his vest and walked out of the picture frame.

“Harry, now the man will surely alert the Ministry about where you are,” said Hermione, giving her friend a worried glance.

She’s right, Harry suddenly thought as the insides of his stomach quenched uncomfortably as he realized what it could mean.

But he waved away her comment and leaned forward so that the Prime Minister would know to continue.

“But what I don’t understand, Mr. Potter, is why muggles? That Lord Voldemort despises muggles, doesn’t he? He killed hundreds when he was in reign of the wizardry world. He terrorized both worlds. Why would he stoop so low to ask—“

“Whoever said ask,” said Hermione in a solemn tone. When both looked at her, she continued, “There are various ways in which Riddle could get the help of Muggles.”

At once, Harry’s mind zoomed back to fourth year in Defense against the Dark Arts class with pseudo-Moody. The spider…

“Imperius Curse.”

Hermione rewarded him with weary smile. “The curse that allows the caster to make the victim do whatever is commanded.”

Harry sat in his seat, pondering the new revelation.

"They simply passed down the message," Harry realized, softly and slowly standing from his seat. He smiled grimly, "Wouldn't Voldemort be upset about "inferior" muggles doing his dirty work.

The Prime Minister cut in, asking in a shaken voice, "So do you think he'll try to attack my people?" He looked back and forth between the younger people.

"Unfortunately, they already have," Hermione informed, solemnly.

"It's going to get worse, isn't it?" The Prime Minister asked, sinking down to his chair. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. They both knew the feeling of hopelessness whenever they were rendered useless in a situation.

"Sir, I wish I can say that everything will be fine..." Hermione said in an apologetic tone.

"But it won't," Harry finished for her. Hermione shot him a warning while the older man stared at him. "Voldemort is not just attack your people—it has attack ours. Last year, almost every week, there were students at Hogwarts who would receive notices that their mother or father had died. They couldn't have done anything to stop it."

"Then how about you, Potter. The Chosen One. If they can't do it, how will you, a teenager?"

"It's not his fight, Mr. Prime Minister. Not anymore at least," declared Hermione as she stood up from her sitting place. She approached the spot where Harry stood. "You think it is, don't you?"

"Hermione, I have to do it. Remember the prophecy?"

"Forget the prophecy, Harry! I'm not gonna let you get hurt!"

"And I'm not gonna let you get hurt. There are already too many people who had died, trying to protect me." Harry thought of his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore. They wanted the best for him and to give it, they sacrificed their life. It was too much for Harry. Hermione was probably one of the closest people he had in the world. If she were to die...

"That was why I was away. I wanted to be as far as possible so that I could train and learn and hopefully defeat Voldemort." Harry waited for her protest, her stubborn voice to argue his. But it never came.

Slowly, Harry lifted his head...only to find Hermione smiling at him. It wasn't a happy one nor a sad one.

"You can never keep me away, Harry. Regardless of all the rough arguments and months of ignoring each other, I will always be here. Same with Ron. Same with the rest of the Weasleys. Same with the Order. And probably, if we were to ask, all of the D.A. members and friends from Hogwarts would agree to this as well." Hermione stated, adding the last bit as an afterthought.

"Okay. Fine, this is not just Agent Potter's fight,” The Prime Minister said. “But still, with all the precautions and organizations, Voldemort is still finding ways to terrorize everything. Nothing is working."

Harry and Hermione listened to the Prime Minister. It seemed that he was almost giving in to all of this. As if it was fate that they would die.

"It's hard enough to find reason behind the tornadoes and magic induced disasters to my community. How will it be when thousands of muggles die, for no apparent reason?"

"For thousands of years," Hermione whispered, softly reciting Hogwarts, A History, "Wizardry world and muggle world would rarely interact with each other. But now, it's every single day."

"But what if," Harry paused, wondering why this was never explained to him, "what if our worlds were to combine?

"It's not likely."

"Why?"

"Because we're different, Harry. As horrible as it sounds, people don't like us. That's why most of the wizards and witches despise Muggleborns. It's because me and the others have a bit of "muggle". They call us names just to mock us."

"Mudblood," Harry spoke softly, remembering how Malfoy never missed in opportunity to use that derogatory term.

Silence.

"We have to find a way. Voldemort is affecting both worlds. In order to rid of his power, the two have to work together!"

"How would you feel if, suddenly one day, your president stepped out and said, "Hey witches and wizards do exist!" the Prime Minister exclaimed.

"We'll take steps. Small ones, but eventually we’ll get everyone to be on our side. Both sides have something that the other doesn’t. We, as in wizards and witches, have magic. Muggles, like you, have weapons like guns and swords. Put that together, we’d have chance I bet.”

Collins was currently re-evaluating the copy of the security tapes while Slit and Elaine had already left the hotel.

He tried every angle of the camera but still could not pinpoint the exact location of Harry and the mystery girl. It really did seem as if they came from thin air.

Maybe it was a glitch or something, he thought as he scanned the images and rewind the tapes a fifth time.

Slit and Elaine had a van of their Special Tasks Force trailing behind as they drove to the Prime Minister’s office. Slit was tense; it was evident by the way he keeps rubbing his unshaven chin or how he would slowly squeeze and unsqueeze the leather covering of his steering wheel.

Elaine scoffed. “I knew it. Knew that he would get us in trouble.”

“Shut up!”

Slit gripped the steering wheel even tighter. He believed that Harry would do good for Operation CoJacks, that he’d do anything to keep his spot in the secret organization. Now the boy had lied to him when he asked if he and the Prime Minister were in acquaintance and snuck out without bothering to follow Operation CoJacks protocol.

They came to the turn and Slit violently turned the steering wheel.

Elaine, who rarely gets told off by a person like Slit, frowned and immediately quieted down.

Before Hermione could further her input on Harry’s declaration, lights flashed behind the curtains of the Prime Minister’s office. At once, the man leapt from his seat to inspect the noise outside. Harry froze, listening as a line of running steps came closer and closer until the office door finally burst open.

Slit cautiously walked in, knees bent, and with a small handgun with both hands. Harry felt Hermione's hand as it gripped his. He pulled her behind, shielding her with his body.

"You are not authorized to be here, Harry."

"What do you want with him? If you're one of Lord Voldemort's, you'll have to fight us before getting whatever you want, “declared Hermione in a defiant voice.

"No—Hermione, he's good. He's a friend of mine." Hermione glanced back at her oldest friend and then regarded Slit a bit more carefully.

"Even so." In amazing velocity, Hermione stepped away from Harry, pulled out her wand, gave it a small flick and the reaction was immediate. The gun flew out of his hands and fell hard onto the floor. Slit suppressed another groan since this was the second time his gun was taken away from him without the person even laying a hand on him. Hermione smirked and pocketed her wand.

"I don't approve of guns," she answered simply in reply to Harry's glare.

“He has one too, you know.” Slit said, hands now hanging by his sides. His demeanor was calm, which was why Hermione wondered if he knew.

“A gun?” asked Hermione incredulously, turning her glare on Harry. “Just what are you doing with a gun, Harry James Potter?”

“Not now!” He answered, sending a glare to Slit. “Who else is here?”

“Other Operation CoJacks agents. I alerted them when I saw your image on the surveillance.”"

"...During the mission, we are to act as both investigators and security..."

“…install the cameras in various locations so if we were to have intruders of some sort, we’d be able to locate the angle they had come from…”

“Shite,” muttered Harry, realizing that he should have been more careful to make sure no one would see him sneaking out. “Can’t you call them to retreat?”

“I had another witness with me. Collins. They’re going to come no matter what.” Slit said, very tranquil despite Harry’s reaction.

“Let’ s apparate!” said Hermione, whirling to face Harry.

“You want to make the situation any weirder?" asked Slit. The two friends looked at each other. "Then come with us. You could either deal with us now or be on Operation CoJacks' top most wanted list."

"But we did nothing!" Hermione yelled, a bit riled. Harry put a hand on her arm, giving her a significant look. Her hand was nearing her wand and if he didn't stop her, she would surely find a spell to use.

“We have to know who you really are, Harry Potter. You can’t escape now.”

"Hermione, let's--let's just go with him." Knowing how skilled Slit was, Harry would bet anything that a Special Task Force team was already in place outside of the building, ready to fire if necessary.

Harry and Hermione were escorted to the car by Slit and his gun.

To make the situation even worse, Elaine stepped out of the car with her gun as well. She gave one glance at Hermione and grabbed her by the arm.

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed, making a move to pull away. But Elaine had much more muscular strength and quickly pushed her into their car. Harry, giving her a dirty look, willingly followed his friend, ducking his head as he entered the black car.

Hermione grabbed his hand as soon as he settled himself. The car engine started once Slit put the keys into the ignition. Elaine spoke through her walkie-talkie, communicating with the other vehicle trailing them.

Harry shifted in his seat, his sweating palms still in his friend’s grasp. Slit hadn’t said one word since they left the Prime Minister’s office and now he understood the phrase “silence can be deadly”. He wanted to ask the older agent about the severity of the situation and whether or not Harry would be allowed to stay.

What would happen to him and Hermione? Would they be held at the headquarters? Would they be…disposed of?

Harry turned to her and squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?” He had gotten Hermione into this mess without her even knowing what was really happening.

Hermione, who was glaring at the back of Elaine’s head, looked at her friend in surprise. “Of course I’m alright.”

“Even about—“He gestured to the gun attached to his side. Hermione gave a quick glance and then back at him.

“It’s alright. As long as you have the safety lock on, I’m okay.” She grinned teasingly and he couldn’t help but smile back. This was a different reaction from the one he expected. Harry thought she would be mad, and she was back in the office, but now she seemed fine.

Slit glanced at the two through the front mirror and was stunned to see the two, who were soon to face consequences for intruding on a crime scene, laughing at each other. He sneaked a glance over at Elaine, but the only sign that she heard was the tightening of her jaw.

Harry assumed that they would take a helicopter to go to the headquarters because of the fact that it’d be much quicker. But Slit didn’t seem to think the same way. He seemed satisfied, driving the car with his silent partner in the seat besides him.

Hermione’s eyes locked with his and questioned, “Where are we going?”

He couldn’t answer for sure and answered with a small shrug.

The clock read 11:43, which meant the meeting with the Prime Minister took an hour until the agents of Operation CoJacks came in and took them away. They’ve been driving in silence for nearly an hour and forty minutes.

“Sir?”

Mr. L put down his folder of the latest reports of suspicious activities in Tunisia. He removed his classes and glanced at the anxious agent standing at the front of his desk.

“Yes?” He hoped the news would be quick. He needed to begin on his weekly status report for the organization.

“Agent Tanner and his partner will arrive with back from their mission in approximately twenty minutes...”

“And that boy, Harry Potter. Where is he?”

“Er…they’re bringing him into the Authentic Room.”

“Authentic Room. Again?”

“Sir, they wouldn’t say. But they did tell you to meet them in that room once they arrive.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, sir.”

“Very well.”

The car entered a multi-storey car park from the bottom floor. Nearly all of the parking spaces were empty save for 3 or so cars. Slit maneuvered the vehicle so that it was parked in the middle of the car park. Harry began to wonder why they were here until he felt the car move. Slit had pressed a sequence of numeral buttons on the radio, which was connected to the dashboard. But the car didn’t drive forward or reverse backwards like he would expect a car to behave. Instead the car was being lifted up.

He heard the chained steel gears grind and groan as the platform rotated their car 180 degrees up into the upper level.

The room was almost identical in size to the previous but in this one, there was an automatic door leading into yet another room.

The Authentic Room.

They took a different route to get to the Authentic Room, Harry realized. Last time, Slit had led him through the main lobby and followed a corridor before coming to the entrance. This time, when Harry and Hermione, were escorted out of the car by two members of the Special Tasks Force, Slid led them through the automatic sliding door and straight into it.

Harry didn’t remember another door when he was in the MRI room last time, but with the technologies that Operation CoJacks hold…

“Hey,” Hermione nudged him in the side. “Where are we?”

“The Authentic Room. They’re going to interrogate us,” said Harry matter-of-factly. He saw Bill entering the room but he did not acknowledge his or Hermione’s presence. He exited through the door that Harry had entered through the initial time. Slit and Elaine remained in the room, closely watching the two as if they would escape any moment.

“What’s your name?”

“Hermione Jane Granger.”

Slit stopped and Harry knew he was listening to Bill in his earpiece.

“What is your relation to trainee Harry Potter?”

She snuck a glance over to said person, possibly wondering why her interrogator was calling him a “trainee”, but then answered accordingly, “I’m trainee Harry Potter’s best friend of 6 years.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“School,” Hermione answered simply, but Harry saw a speck of panic lurking in her eyes.

Slit took this opportunity to ask the question that Bill and he have been wondering.

“What school is that?”

“Bridgets.”

“Really?” It was evident from his voice that Slit did not believe it. Harry inwardly groaned; he didn’t even go to that school! Hermione probably figured the same thing out and looked a little less confident.

The young agent nodded and said out loud, to no one in particular. “Bill, is Mr. L on his way?”

“Coming in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—“

Harry quickly went to Hermione, and she found his hand. From what he had learned while at Operation CoJacks, Mr. L was a powerful leader and one of the most experienced senior agent. He came to the position 10 years ago and still remained strong, organizing the missions, participating in the missions, and running Operation CoJacks. To know that Mr. L was going to meet Harry in person meant that consequences of Harry’s actions would affect both him and Hermione. They had found out that not only did he lie about his background but he also had connections with the Prime Minister without telling the organization first.

Slit turned in Harry and Hermione’s direction. He didn’t really know what was to happen to Harry and to be truthful; he didn’t want him to be punished. He knew that Harry was something else and if he had the time, he’d be a great agent. But because it was evident that he had lied under organization terms, lied to him and so, it was only right of the punishments to come.

“Mr. L will see you,” Slit stated.

The door slowly slid apart, only doing this when a person had accessed with their chip implant.

Harry took a deep breath, nearly ready to face his punishment.

He felt Hermione’s grip loosening and frowned. He removed his hand and placed it on her upper back, but she didn’t look at him. Instead her eyes were wide in confusion as she stared at the man who entered the room.

The man responded to Slit and Elaine’s salute with a nod, finally laying his eyes on Harry and Hermione.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she took a trembling step forward.

“Uncle Benny?”

Ohhhhhhhhh did you see that? Honestly, tell me in your review!!!

Vio

9. Chapter 9

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: So finally, things are starting up. Mr. L was finally revealed to be Hermione’s uncle and head honcho of Operation CoJacks.

Chapter 9:

The head of Operation CoJacks entered the Authentic Room with the intention to finally meet Harry Potter. But never in his life had he expected to see his niece standing before him in the very same room.

"Uncle Benny?"

The look of shock was obvious to everyone in the room. The 47-year-old man froze in his salute to his agents, his eyes apparently processing the girl who called his name.

"Hermione!" Ben Lester exclaimed, immediately approaching her. Hermione met him halfway and with a wide smile, she threw her arms around her uncle who she hasn't seen for months.

"S-sir, you know Hermione Granger?" asked Elaine dumbfounded. Bill, who had witnessed the scene from the observation room, quickly entered the room in hope of getting an explanation.

Harry stood there, dumbfounded. His friend had asked him if he knew a Ben Lester at Operation CoJacks. He had answered truthfully: No, he did not. And now, he's in the Authentic Room, learning that Hermione's uncle was—in actuality—the head of his organization.

"Know her? She's my family! Hermione is my niece," He answered, finally letting her go and turning to face Slit and Elaine. "But why is she here?"

"Well, Mr. L, we caught her with Trainee Harry Potter, and they were both trespassing on official investigation grounds—“

"Harry Potter," Ben interrupted Elaine in the middle of her report. His eyes were on Harry, and he could see why he was Hermione's uncle. His gaze was strong, seemingly penetrating the specimen that was being viewed. It certainly affected the young man as he looked everywhere but the president of OCJ.

That's right. Emmy asked if I knew Harry Potter. And Harry is Hermione's friend.

"Emma had asked me if I knew you," Ben Lester stated, pointed a finger at the skinny, dark-haired trainee.

"You talked to mum?" asked Hermione as her brain went back to functioning properly so that she could speak.

“Hold on, Hermione. Let me ask the questions first. You are acquainted with this boy?”

“Yes, but why—“

“And what exactly were you doing at the Prime Minister’s office with him?”

“Well,” Hermione cast a look at her friend, “the Prime Minister had scheduled a meeting and Harry brought me along because he needed my advice.”

Uncle Benny opened his mouth to retort but Elaine chose this moment to interrupt.

“Sir, might I suggest separate rooms?” Elaine said, pointing at Hermione. “She has been exchanging looks with trainee Harry Potter. Separating the two may give better results.”

Lester took a moment to contemplate and finally abdicated. He gestured for Slit and Harry to take another room while he and his niece would remain in the Authentic Room. Elaine was instructed to resume her own activities. Surveillance was not needed at the moment so Bill was order to go elsewhere.

“Alright, Potter. Sit and talk. Right now,” commanded Slit once the two found a room that was two levels above their location beforehand. He forcefully took Harry by the shoulders and pushed him down onto a chair behind a small desk.

Harry hated the situation that he was currently in. If only he had been more careful in surveillance and limiting his magic powers. If only he hadn't met the Prime Minister in secret and brought Hermione with him.

If he wanted to stay here, all suspicions needed to be done with. He wouldn't be able to hide who he really was if he's gonna be training with them. And Slit could be trusted.

“I’m a wizard.”

"What?" Slit practically yelled. He began to think that choosing Harry for this covert organization was a huge mistake. He should have given him to the mental institution instead.

"Potter, I brought you to Operation CoJacks so that you can receive proper training. And now you're sitting here, telling me that you're a goddamn magician?"

"Not a magician; a wizard. And I'm not bloody lying! You've already saw me."

Slit's mind quickly rewinded to bring back the memories that he had worked to forget. When he had first met Potter, he was transported from the country England to the States in a matter of seconds. Then Potter had used the wooden stick--his wand, Slit reluctantly admitted--to reverse a spell on his white owl.

Harry watched as realization dawned on his mentor's face. "Remember now?"

Slit suddenly felt as if his legs had turned to jelly. He felt his way to another desk and plopped down onto a chair. "So that's what you are...a wizard?"

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling sympathetic towards him. It wasn't easy learning that a normal (well, kind of) teenager could be a magical being.

"And Hermione?"

"She's one too. Well, actually, she's a witch."

The agent had a hard time picturing what a witch would look like. When he was growing up, he always imagined them as old hags with stringy hair and pointy, green nose with a fat wart on its tip. They'd be mean and eat children for deserts. Never in a million years would he find out that witches looked like teenagers.

"How OLD are you?"

"We're both seventeen. And no, we don't have any disguises. We're just teenagers."

"Yeah, teenagers who could zap a person with their wands or fly."

"Only with broomsticks," Harry added, attempting a joke. Slit merely glared at him. He immediately wiped the small smile from his face. It seemed the agent needed to get used to the idea before he could joke about it.

"And the Prime Minister?"

"He's not a wizard. He's just like you, but since he's the leader of your ministry, my ministry regularly updates him on the happenings of my world. But honestly, I didn't know he knew that I was a wizard."

'Why would he know you?" Slit questioned curiously. Harry took a long, deep breath, finally deciding to tell him everything.

"Before I was born, our world, the wizardry world, was reigned by a powerful and Dark sorcerer by the name of Lord Voldemort. His cronies, things called Death Eaters, would terrorize the wizards and witches and acted against those who were marked "impure". In wizardry standards, there are three types. Pureblood is what you call wizards who have magic in every generation. That is to say all of one's grandparents. Half-blood are wizards who have at least one ancestor who has no magical capabilities. That is called a muggle. I'm a Half-blood, you see," explained Harry.

"How?"

"Well, my dad was a Pureblood and my mum was a muggleborn, which brings us to the third type. Muggleborns are wizards or witches born to two muggles. Some cruel and evil purebloods, like Voldemort, despised muggleborns and chose to call them names such as a Mudblood," Harry spat, momentarily angry when he thought of the likes of Malfoy.

"What happened to your parents?" Slit asked quietly. He watched as his protégé paused with his mouth open.

"Naturally, my mum was targeted because she was a "mudblood". My parents were part of the Order of the Phoenix, which was a secret organization that formed in order to revolt against Voldemort's power. They went into hiding because they feared that Voldemort would find them. Then my parents had me and when I was one years old, he came to our house at Godric's Hollow and...he killed them," he finished simply. "My mum had died protecting me after my father was killed. In doing so, she sealed a blood protection charm that disallowed Voldemort to touch me. He didn't know that at that time. After killing mum, he used the AVADA KEDAVRA curse, the deadliest curse, on me and it backfired and killed him instead. I'm the only one to ever survive it."

He turned his head to look at Slit and he didn't need his body language lessons to tell that he was in deep thought.

"You're probably wondering," Harry began, "why I'm telling you all of this since it appears that there's nothing more to tell. But there is. Voldemort came back."

That soon led to Harry recounting his years at Hogwarts and the gradual rise of Voldemort into power. He mentioned how almost every single day one of the wizards and witches died. He also told Slit a little about the Horcruxes, Dumbledore's death, and his destiny to defeat this Voldemort.

"So you're the only one who could do it--kill him, that is,"

"Yes. That's why I want to stay here and train. If I could learn more of the muggle ways and wizardry ways, the chance of defeating Voldemort will be greater."

"And why are you telling me this?" asked Slit.

"I think you can be trusted."

"What if I tell Operation CoJacks?"

"What would be the point of it? I pose no threat to your organization. Plus, since they haven't seen me do my magic, they'll think you're crazy or something."

"I must be if I say that I believe you."

"Do you?"

Slit regarded him for a moment then sighed, "Yes."

Harry had retired to his dorms after he had told Slit the truth. His roommates were probably out for breakfast or out of town. Today was supposed to be their free day where everyone could relax. He decided that since he was already awake he should finish his assignments for tomorrow.

He was in the middle of reading a passage from the textbook when someone knocked on his door. Hermione’s voice called for him after and he rushed to open the door.

She was smiling. Right away, Harry could tell that things went well.

"You know, unlike Hogwarts, women aren't allowed in men's dormitories," said Harry cheekily.

"Well, my uncle is head of this organization so I could do anything I want," Hermione pompously stated with her arms crossed and chin raised high. Harry smiled at her imitation of a brat and continued to organize his desk.

"So I guess your uncle is letting me stay?"

"Yes," answered Hermione. She walked across the room and sat herself on top of Harry's bed. "It's odd though, with this Operation CoJacks thing. I've known my Uncle Benny all my life and now I find out that he's the president of a covert organization instead of an entrepreneur like I thought."

"Life is full of surprises," muttered Harry. Hermione directed her attention away from the line of textbooks on his bookshelf.

"It certainly is." She got up and joined him at the desk. "Especially this. I can't believe you're going to be an agent for Operation CoJacks."

"What did you say to Slit?" Harry froze, wondering how Hermione would react to him telling Slit of their real identities.

"I told him the truth."

“Will I get in trouble?” Hermione knew that he was asking about the Ministry of Magic.

“I really don’t know. As long as Slit doesn’t tell everyone—"

“He won’t,” assured Harry.

“Then it’s fine, I guess.”

"What did you say to Mr. L?"

"Well to put it in basic terms. I told him that I met you at school--which is true. He asked me why I was with you at the Prime Minister's office. I told him because you asked me to go. Uncle Benny was a bit angry for my vague answers," Hermione smiled.

"Then I asked him if he trusted me and he answered yes."

"So basically you're getting away by using the whole trust thing."

“Well, it’s only fair since Uncle Benny hasn’t told me about Operation CoJacks until now. He promised that he’d tell me everything in the coming days.”

The both of them drifted into mutual silence. Hermione found her spot on the bed again and positioned herself so that she was lying on her side and facing Harry. He had an opened textbook in front of him and was trying to do his assignment for Ballistics.

Going out on the mission had lagged him behind in his classes. Luckily all of professors had been notified and Harry just had to do was finish the assignments and reread his textbooks.

"If only Ron can see you now," she said sleepily.

"He'll probably learn something. Besides, I have to do this. You don't know what my teacher does with a gun."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at his last word. "Guns are dangerous."

"Magic is dangerous."

Hermione laughed, "Touché." She turned her head and stared at the poster with the words Operation CoJacks printed on it. Randomly she said, "That's brilliant."

Harry lifted his head from his book and gave her a questioning look.

"15310 Colby Union Road is the makeshift address of this organization because they'd be incredibly stupid if they used the real one. 15 is O. 3 is C. 10 is J. O.C.J. Operation CoJacks," explained Hermione.

Harry shook his head, amazed that Hermione could solve that in under a minute by just staring at a poster.

"If they had you on their team, all the organizations would be dead."

She shook her head at the compliment, saying, "Uncle Benny will never let me be a major part of the organization."

"You don't have to be an agent. Maybe you could be a researcher," suggested Harry.

She seemed to like the suggestion and smiled. "And spend all of my time at the library. I think I'd like that."

At that moment, his roommates decided to come back.

“Oy! Crikey, Harry Potter has returned!” Harry recognized Forest’s voice.

Hermione quickly sat up, alert. It took a moment for his roommates to realize that a girl was in their dormitory. Never wanting to miss an opportunity to poke at Harry, Jasper stepped in front of his friends and approached her. Hermione got off the bed and stood to meet him in the eyes, telling him that he didn’t intimidate her one bit.

“A girl in the dormitory, Potter? You could get kicked out for this,” jeered Jasper. Harry rolled his eyes and went besides his friend, pushing Jasper away with a finger.

“Stop being an arse, Edwards!” Malcolm said. He came to stand in front of Hermione and offered a hand.

“Malcolm Wood, Miss…?”

“Granger. Hermione Granger,” Hermione politely answered as she shook his hand.

“Oh, the letter!” Jasper exclaimed as it dawned on him. He eyed Harry in a crude manner, but before a word was uttered, Forest interrupted.

“And I am Forest Argon. But pardon me, you shouldn’t be in here. How did you—”

Forest’s introduction was cut off by Mr. L’s entrance. Same as they did for Slit, the three men rushed in line and welcomed their head with a salute. Harry was a bit slow in processing but followed routinely.

Jasper sneered at him from across the room in the same manner as Malfoy used do.

“At ease, trainees,” nodded Ben. He turned to Hermione, ignoring Harry all the while.

“I see you’ve met Hermione, my niece,”

Harry struggled to maintain a straight face once he saw his roommates’ reactions.

Ben took no notice of this and reached out a hand. “Come along, Hermione. I imagine that you are extremely tired. I’ll show you to your room.”

Harry made a show of stretching and yawning before heading to bed. With a wicked smile, he bade to his roommates, who were still standing in the same position, a goodnight before turning off his light, anticipating for the next day.

“Dan! Please, honey,” Emma frantically pleaded as she shook her husband by his shoulder.

Dan jerked awaked, looking around to see his wife. Her expression woke him up completely.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Hermione. She’s not in her room!” This statement immediately set Dan Granger off his bed. The couple hurriedly ran to the end of the hallway, to the room where their daughter usually slept in. Breathless, they stopped and looked at each other and then in they went.

She wasn’t there.

However, there were signs that their seventeen-year-old had been. Books were scattered all over her bed, a pen was left uncapped, and a small dish of the remains of a late night snack was perched on the nightstand. Yes, their Hermione had been here.

“Oh god!” Dan turned to his wife. “How long ago did she disappear?”

“I d-don’t know!” answered Emma, distraughtly. “I got up to use the bathroom and decided to check in on her, but she wasn’t—she wasn’t there!”

“Do you think—“

Only one word rang through their minds as they headed into the living room: Voldemort.

Shakily, Emma grabbed a fistful of finely crushed, glittering powder from the cup nearest to the fireplace and threw it into the firebox, slightly taken aback when a flash of green flames bursts from within. She shot a nervous look at Dan and then said in the clearest voice she can manage,

“Arthur Weasley.”

A few years ago, in fifth year, unbeknownst to their daughter, Arthur Weasley had visited them. Hermione and her friends were on the train taking them to Hogwarts, and he took this time to inform them of the events that were occurring in the wizardry world. The couple was informed of the death of a boy named Cedric Diggory and also told of the return of the most terrifying wizard of all. He told them that since their daughter was friends with a boy targeted by said wizard, she and her family would need meticulous protections. To be cautious, Mr. Weasley had arranged so that their fireplace would be connected to the Wizardry Floo Network. That included links to the Weasleys’ fireplace and to the headquarters of Grimmauld’s Place. He had left a detailed instruction of how to use this odd means of communication, and Emma and Dan had it memorized by the next day.

Emma held her breath as she waited. Then suddenly, the green flames rose to height and then settled to reveal the balding head of Arthur Weasley.

“Emma, Dan. What’s wrong?” He immediately noticed their anxiety.

“Hermione’s not here!”

“What?”

“She left somewhere or someone took her. She’d never leave without telling us or leaving behind a note! We’re afraid that—”

“Stay in your home. We’re going to be there any minute,” he warned them, his expression grim.

Emma watched as the fire dimmed and stepped backwards into her husband’s embrace. He held her hands as his arms encircled around her.

Four pops sounded to notify the arrivals of Arthur, Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, and Bill Weasley. Three of the wizards scattered, each going to investigate the perimeters while Moody stayed.

“Emma, when was the last time you’ve seen your daughter?” Moody interrogated in a gruff tone.

She took a moment to think back and tearfully replied, “A-Around eight. Dan and I were going to bed, and I was telling Hermione to do the same, but she said no. She wanted to stay up to work on something for H-Harry.”

“Sneakoscope detects no one of dangerous elements,” informed Lupin when he came in from the backyard.

Emma and Dan noticed an item that looked similar to a gyroscope in his hands and asked him the purpose of the toy. In turn, the werewolf gave them a weary smile, explaining that the item in his hands was not a toy but a magical device, a Dark Detector, used by Aurors to alert its owner of any danger.

Bill and Arthur returned with similar results.

“Can you take us to her room?” said Remus, hurriedly.

The four trained wizards observed the room of the young witch and were all relieved to say that a dark wizard had not abducted Hermione.

“But where would she go? Hermione’s not naïve, Mr. Lupin; she would never go off alone.”

“How about with someone she trusts?” Bill tentatively asked. Emma and Dan exchanged a glance.

“Ron is asleep, I am sure of it,” stated Mr. Weasley.

“And Harry’s missing…”

“Harry? He’s missing?” Emma asked alarmed. “But just a few days ago, Hermione said that he was with my brother.”

“Hermione has mentioned that Harry had kept contact with her, but never did she say where he was,” said Remus who quickly relayed the letter that Hermione had discussed with the Order.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, what exactly would Harry be doing with your brother…”

“Ben Lester,” she answered.

“Yes, what connection does Harry have with Ben Lester?” Arthur gently asked.

Emma chose not to answer.

“Alright,” Moody sighed. “Remus, get your girlfriend and tell her to ask the Ministry if they had any advances in Potter’s disappearance.

In the next few days, Harry fell into his normal routine of classes. The professors would compliment on his gradual improvements in his classes and assignments. He got used to using his gun and studying late at night. The workouts were much harder in Slit's classes. He learned different combinations of kicks and punches and in the combo classes they would incorporate the uses of both combat and ballistics.

Slit decided that Harry was ready for a "real and dangerous" mission and organized a lesson. Hermione stayed with her uncle most of the time, but the two would secretly meet for lunch and Horcrux research. He had managed to avoid Mr. L for the time being but knew that he couldn’t forever.

But all in all, to Harry’s pleasure, everything seemed fine in both of the muggle and wizardry worlds.

He was running as fast as his feet could take him. He felt them—close behind—as he looped through the narrow alleyway and his ears pounded with the sounds of rapid breathing and the slaps of running footsteps against the pavement. He hurriedly cast a look behind his right shoulder, only seeing the shadow of his chasing nightmare.

Picking up his speed, his hands found their way to the carry-on bag that continuously bumped against his hip as his legs pumped away. He was assigned to protect it and give it away by order. With that thought in his mind, he reached for the small walkie-talkie on the breast of his jacket and turned it up.

"Where are you now?"

Slit's voice was clear through the electronic device.

Harry took a moment to look around before stopping at the corner of Benson Boulevard. He gave that name as his current location and slumped down to the sidewalk.

"Good, you're about a block away from the dead box. And don't let your guard down—he could be right around the corner."

Slit spoke too soon.

Harry felt the bullet as it traveled through the air. He ducked as the metal piece collided against the brick wall that he rested against and blew away a chunk.

"Shite," he swore, immediately withdrawing his gun. He cocked it and checked the magazine. Still full.

His ears heightened, concentrating any noise that would give away his enemy’s point.

"Don't hesitate to kill, Potter.”

Harry gripped his handle tighter, hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it.

"Where's the dead box?" asked Harry breathlessly. Harry needed to find it soon. A pickup was scheduled, and his identity was supposed to be anonymous.

"No! First you need to eliminate the enemy. Then drop it off.”

Harry bit his tongue, holding back another curse. He peaked around the corner but saw no one; the boulevard was empty. He couldn’t be fooled. The enemy could have entered the store or hid in an alley nearby.

Process every scenario before directly attacking the enemy.

"Harry!"

He stopped. He swore he just heard Hermione's voice.

"Harry!" There it was again. He picked up his walkie-talkie, momentarily forgetting about the gun in his hand and the enemy who was quickly closing in.

"Harry, concentrate!" Now it was Slit's voice again. Harry was confused. He was about to say something through the walkie-talkie but should have paid more attention at the task at hand.

The bullet was already released, and it was then that Harry knew it was too late.

He waited for the bullet to come, to pierce through his flesh...

...but then remembered the mission was not real.

While cursing a string of swears, he took off his goggles and headphones, wiping off the shear of sweat on his forehead. He looked up at the control room where Slit and Ben Lester were observing his progress. In a new training session, his case officer had put him in a virtual reality environment. The room was designed to create fictional scenarios and only when a person had the goggles worn on their eyes would they even see the virtual environment. Using hi-tech holography, the agents took a single image of Harry and stretched it to three dimensions on the computer. The data was then inputted into a highly scientific, controlled computer stimulated environment.

Haptic technology had applied forces, vibration, and motions, which allowed Harry sensory capabilities in the virtual reality training session.

Slit had said that it was a recent addition to Operation CoJacks’ training curriculum and that Harry was the first agent to test it out. He was still getting over how the mission seemed so real. He remembered how the brick wall felt solid against his back and how he could hear the sharp sound of the bullet being released from its gun. It was almost crazy to believe that everything he had seen and felt were the results of a computer.

The room was an odd place. All walls seemed to be made with metal, and there was barely anything in it. Above was a separate, glass-cased room where Slit and Mr. L stood and observed from. The computers that ran the virtual reality environment were situated in that room.

"Harry!" Hermione quickly ran down the flight of stairs to meet Harry at the center of the game room. Slit angrily came after, his agitation evident on his face.

"Ms. Granger! Trainee Potter was in a middle of his exercise. He cannot afford any distractions—"

"Never mind that!" Hermione snapped at Slit. She turned to Harry and he saw the frantic look that lurked in her eyes.

"It's the Ministry!" Hermione exclaimed breathlessly, her eyes wide in terror. "They've a-attacked. Voldemort's attacking the Ministry!"

Slit stood as he watched his protégé and the niece of the head of Operation CoJacks flee the game room without even a word of explanation. Casting a look at Elaine in the control room, he chased after them.

In the corridors, he caught a glimpse of Hermione's hair before it was lost around the corner. Applying all of his strength, he sprinted after them, across the intersection, through the lecture hallways and then finally into the dormitory hall.

At once, Slit caught sight of them again, and they were just escaping into Harry's dormitory. He bolted to the threshold just in time to see Harry and Hermione with their arms linked and wooden sticks withdrawn. Each had a look of sheer concentration--eyes closed, mouths sealed--and neither noticed Slit. He knew that the time was constricted and that somehow, with their powers, the two would disappear at any moment. Slit felt the room shift in its power and his mind was working overload to come up with his next action.

His eyes must have played tricks on him but he saw the two teenagers beginning to spin in place. Suddenly, he lunged forward, latching his hand through Harry's arm. The young wizard jerked in surprise when he felt another load of human weight and nearly lost his concentration. He wanted to figure out who this person was but soon felt the effects of the apparition coming to height and bringing them to another destination.

Mr. L could only follow them in hopes of solving the mystery. He caught up soon enough and stopped in the dormitory hall, bewildered about why Slit would follow his niece and Potter here. All of the doors were either closed shut or slightly ajar; Hermione could be in any of it.

At once, Lester heard a sound like a gunshot ringing in an empty field.

That had peaked his curiosity and when he came to the threshold, expecting to see two teenagers and his agent on the other side, he found that he couldn't.

Because no one was there.

10. The Battle at the Ministry

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

Pop.

Slit tumbled to the unfamiliar, soiled floor of some unknown place along with Hermione and Harry. The two immediately leapt to their feet and pulled out their wands.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered, cautiously checking the surroundings.

"The Burrow. I couldn't Apparate to the Ministry itself. The Weasleys lowered the apparition wards for the time being so that we—well, I—could come." She pointed to a building and Slit followed the direction of her finger. It appeared to be a run-down farmhouse version of the Leaning Pisa. The area around them was silent save for the small calls of the chickens and the fluttering wings of a flock.

"They'll be leaving at any minute. We have to catch up with them."

"Hermione," Harry gasped as his friend quickly walked along the path. "How did you know about...?"

"Dobby told me. I had to stop him from stabbing himself with a ball point pen," Hermione stated matter-of-factly as she strode purposely. Slit was lost from the conversation from the start of her sentence.

"Wait, stop and fill me in here?"

The both of them turned, momentarily forgetting that he had followed them.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked.

"He grabbed on last minute," Harry explained. He turned to Slit, "Good thing you held on tight or else you would have lost a leg."

"Look, Harry. I know that you told him about everything about us but him being here, now, is dangerous." Hermione muttered, exasperatedly.

"I know." Harry glared at Slit. Slit merely glared back.

"Tell me what's going on? Where are we?"

"The Burrow. The Ministry is being attacked," answered Harry, succinctly.

Slit stared at him. "By Death Eaters?"

Harry nodded and quickened his pace to catch up with Hermione who was a mere number of feet away. Before the knob was reached, the entry door flew open. The middle age, red-haired man appeared to be in a rush.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley yelled in surprise once he caught sight of his son's best friend. He was just adjusting his wand holster and putting on his cloak when he saw Harry, Hermione, and another man.

"Hermione--"

"Mr. Weasley," Harry nodded, having no time to properly greet him. "Where's everyone else?"

"The Ministry, Harry. The boys are getting ready. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley Apparated to St. Mungo's in case help is needed. I'm about to head over to—Harry, where have you been? We've--"

"No time, Mr. Weasley. I'm coming."

"Dear Merlin! No Harry, I'm sorry but I can't let you go."

"I'm of age, Mr. Weasley, and frankly, I have to fight Voldemort in the end. Starting on his cronies won't hurt. We can't afford to argue on the matter any further. People are getting hurt out there." Harry stood poised, defiantly eyeing the man who looked up to as a second father.

Mr. Weasley regarded the young man in front of him before nodding solemnly. Harry nodded at Hermione who ran passed him to acquire proper equipments. Slit stood besides him and waited.

"Molly's going to have my head because of you and Hermione. Very well, I'll get Ron--"

"Not needed. Right here, dad," voiced Ron who had Apparated and was already equipped with his necessary items. "Harry. Thought you were dead," he stated bluntly. "Where's Hermione? She's been missing for a few days."

Harry gave him a small smile and answered, "Good to see you too. She's back in there getting some stuff."

"Alright, boys. Floo Networks are blocked so we'll have to use a Portkey. Where's Hermione--oh, there she is." Hermione rushed out of the Burrow and gave Ron a quick hug and a squeeze to Harry's hand. Mr. Weasley gestured for everyone to gather in a tight huddle. He fished through his pockets and found a small yo-yo. Remembering, Harry turned and addressed Slit.

"You stay here for the time being; you don't know what you're gonna face."

"No, I'm coming, Potter."

"No--" Harry began to counter but Mr. Weasley called out his name which caused him to quickly press a finger to the object. He felt Slit doing the same and soon enough they were spinning in a whirl of dizzying images and colors.

Miraculously, Harry had managed to land on both his feet. Slit was less fortunate. Ron offered a hand, and his mentor grudgingly took it.

"I told you. Should have stayed back," said Harry.

"Boys!"

They quickly approached the telephone booth that Mr. Weasley was standing by with Hermione. She was smart enough to enlarge it for their capacities. One by one and in a hurry, the five people stepped into the booth. Slit looked around with a bewildered expression. Harry, who had entered first, was ordered by Mr. Weasley to press the necessary buttons.

"6-2-4-4-2?"

"No, 2-8-8-2-2-5. Attack. That'll transport us quickly to the Atrium." Harry followed the instructions and held on tight as Mr. Weasley had ordered. The ride was faster than a cart through Gringotts—and that was saying something.

"Be prepared. And good luck. Please," bade Mr. Weasley once they felt the lift halting on B8: The Atrium. The doors opened and massacre was found.

Harry couldn't count quickly enough but there was probably more than 100 wizards out there, disregarding the Death Eaters. Each of the Auror and Ministry workers were fighting one or more Death Eater. There was no telling who was losing or winning. The yells of Aurors and screams of Death Eaters were one in sound. Mr. Weasley immediately took charge, running straight into the crowd of pandemonium. Ron, Hermione, and Harry took a look at one another and silently wished each other luck. They dispersed and Harry cast a last look at his friends who quickly disappeared in the crowd like Mr. Weasley.

Harry hurriedly pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and pushed Slit into a corner. He covered his mentor with it. "Here. Hide under it and do not, I repeat, do not lift it. They're going to come after you if you do and remember who these people are. They can spout the Killing Curse as quickly as you can shoot a gun."

"Potter--"

Harry roughly pushed Slit by the chest and shouted, "You'll do as I say or else you'll die. How will I explain this to everyone at CoJacks?"

Under the cloak, Harry could make out his nod and he was satisfied. He withdrew his wand and muttered, "Protego." For a split second, a visible, white wall was cast around Slit to protect the guy from straying curses.

From behind, Harry heard an audible whisper of "Reducto" and dived to the floor. He caught sight of the Death Eater who tried to blow him away and aimed. "Everte Statum!"

The Death Eater flew off his feet and landed somewhere inside the battle. Harry didn't watch his landing; he was already off to take on another Death Eater who was quickly charging after.

"Flipendo Uno!" An invisible force was produced and pushed him back with his wand flying from his grip. He was disarmed and Harry quickly cast a Stunning Charm on the Death Eater. An Auror quickly turned around at the sound of Harry's voice and Harry realized it was Tonks. Her eyes were momentarily torn from her opponent.

"Harry!"

"No time. Mr. Weasley brought me here," informed Harry breathlessly.

"No, you are not supposed to--"

"Too late!" Ignoring Tonks' shouts for him to come back, Harry sprinted away and found himself in another duel with two Death Eaters. By now, they realized that they had found the boy that their master so anxiously sought.

"It's Potter!" One of the masked wizards shouted and his voice caught the attention of his friends. Harry found himself against three Death Eaters at most. His mind whirled in panic before he mentally told himself to focus. He'll use his training and his magic. It'll work, he assured himself.

Harry saw a Stunning Curse flying his way and somersaulted to the ground on instinct, rolling with ease. He imagined himself in the Shooting Range, chasing after the targets. His mind saw the Ministry floor as they morphed into the boxes of the Range. Death Eater One was currently stationed at box 34. Harry quickly somersaulted, aimed, and yelled, "STUPEFY!"

Death Eater One: Down.

Harry didn't forget the others and quickly categorized his opponents like he was taught in his Psych and Combat classes. All of them were larger than him, a fact that was not surprising. His wand coruscated in anticipation.

Death Eater Two: Large but short, male, blonde.

Death Eater Three: stocky (like Death Eater Two), female, and blonde.

Now Harry remembered where he had seen the two wizards and witch.

Alecto and Amycus Carrow were in the Astronomy Tower with Snape the night of Dumbledore's death. They had taunted him before his death and were laughing all the while. Now, the two Death Eaters produced the same wheezy giggle as they surrounded Harry. Under their masks, they were greedily eyeing Harry, waiting for a chance to curse him. They might not be able to kill the boy, but they can still use other Unforgivable Curse.

"CRUCIO!" Alecto screeched, raising her wand like a sword. Harry skillfully twisted his torso and somersaulted until he was at Box 42 and near Amycus. He pulled back his arm with his palm faced downward, curled his hand into a fist, and delivered an upset punch him right in the man's abdomen. As expected, Amycus curled and grabbed the area in pain, not expecting Harry to use physical combat.

Harry seized Amycus by the shoulders and lifted his knee, digging it into his crotch. The opponent fell down and Harry used this distraction to cast Incarcerous. Rope was produced from the end of his wand and wound around Amycus. Harry was so caught up in this that he forgotten the Death Eater's sister. He only remembered her when he was suddenly sent down by a Stinging Jinx that had contacted with his back. Harry gasped in pain. For moment on the floor, he thought he was as good as dead.

"CRUCIO!"

Harry screamed, his muscles doing the same when the torture curse had hit him. He impulsively curled into fetal position and twitched as he could do nothing to ignore the excruciating pain.

"Aw, Potter's in pain? Let me HELP!" She kicked him in the side and laughed.

Alecto was too preoccupied with the enjoyment of seeing the Boy-Who-Lived in pain that she didn't notice the position of vulnerability she was in.

Harry took this opportunity and jumped into a crouching position. He turned and swung his right leg around, colliding with Alecto's as intended. The Death Eater's eyes widened as she was swept off her feet and was now seeing the ceiling. Her head hit the hard floor of the Ministry and she was unconscious.

"I want to know what my niece meant about the Ministry and why she is nowhere on our grounds...now!"

"Sir, she said something like ' the Ministry was being attacked by something'" informed Elaine with her fingers moving rapidly against the keyboard.

"Check the office's status again. Perhaps they decided to strike it again," he said, referring to the multiple homicides that had occurred beforehand.

Ben paced the floor as his best agents hurriedly checked the data on their computers.

"Clear, sir."

"Can you track Potter?"

"We didn't implant the chip yet, sir." Someone from the back answered. Ben swore under his breath.

"Where the hell is Slit?"

Elaine announced that she would research that detail and promptly pulled up the chip implant tracing system. Her eyes widen.

"He's gone."

"Gone? Impossible." Ben made his way over to the station and checked the data with his own eyes.

"He's off the grid...disappeared...we can't track him."

"So you're telling me, Agent, that Slit had left the room after Potter and MY niece, and has now ended up...missing?" Intimidated by her boss' tone, Elaine didn't dare answer. Ben slammed his fist onto the surface, worried but angered at the same time. He walked out of the room without a word.

Elaine exchanged glances with her teammates before letting out a shaking breath. She knew that her boss would watch this assignment day and night and will not stop until it was solved. His family was involved in this situation and if she wasn't found...well, consequences will be severe.

Slit had left quarters, and there was no trace. There were only two explanations, one plausible and the other figurative: either Slit had manually removed the chip implant--leading Elaine to wonder why he would do such a thing--or had disappeared into thin air. She chose the first one since the latter was scientifically and physically impossible. Now she had to just figure out WHY her friend since age seventeen had decided to up and leave so suddenly.

Harry wrestled with Nott, his hands clutching his enemy's as they wrapped around his wand. Nott suddenly kneed him in the stomach and he collapsed, hands going to his injury. Nott lifted his wand, pointing straight at Harry. This will be fun.

"CRU--"

BAM.

Harry lay on his back, breathing heavily as he observed the Death Eater in a frozen kneed position. His eyes were open wide and wildly looking around. It was obvious he was confused.

Then he looked down.

Right in the middle, blood slowly began to leak from his gunshot wound. Nott gazed up and down between his wound when his eyes finally stopped moving, pinned on Harry. He fell, his face hitting the Atrium's floor. He would have looked unconscious if it weren't for the blood that was slowly forming a puddle.

Harry instantly looked up to where Nott was standing before and saw Slit with his gun withdrawn. Wisp of gray smoke leaked from its nozzle.

"You okay?"

"I thought I told you to stay." Slit offered a hand.

"A bloody war was going on outside. How can I not go in and fight?

"You just shot one of Voldemort's cronies."

"Must be dumb. He was easily unarmed," commented Slit, dismissively. He cocked his gun and looked around. No one had noticed the sudden shot since it was small compared to the sound of the Reductor Curse.

"Maybe you should take out your gun. That's why Titi had given it to you. To shoot," suggested Slit as he watched a Death Eater falling to the ground in front of him. The man appeared to be missing a chunk of his right shoulder, but he wasn't in pain because of the fact that he was now unconscious.

Harry felt for his gun which he always carried in his pocket with him nowadays and pulled it out of its holster. He examined the weapon before cocking it. In his other hand, he was still holding his wand. Double threat.

"You look like a gymnast out there. Somersaulting all around. Mix it up. I taught you other stuff, remember?" Slit commented, breathlessly as they made their way into where the battle was mostly packed.

Harry decided to give Slit advice as well. "Don't shoot unless it’s desperately needed. You're Muggle and if the Ministry discovers that you had killed a Wizard..."

"He's a bad guy, they won't ca--" Slit was instantly shot unconscious. Harry whirled around and realized an unknown Death Eater had done it. He quickly turned back and revived Slit who went into action the moment the counter spell had made contact.

Harry never saw Slit in action before, so seeing his mentor sprinting passed Harry certainly put him in a state of shock. He moved with ease and agility, dodging the spells that were aimed towards him. He suddenly did a back flip and attacked one of his opponents with quick jabs from left to right. The Death Eater went down after Slit had produced a move too complicated and too fast for Harry to comprehend.

"Slit, watch out!" Slit immediately took notice of another Death Eater charging towards him and instead of dodging, he ran so that he was approaching the wizard. By using the momentum from the run and then jumping, Slit extended his leg in mid-air. His foot contacted the Death Eater's head and the person immediately went down. Slit had just produced a perfect flying kick that managed to do the right damage.

Harry was torn away from this sight by a hand that had grabbed onto his shoulder, and he turned around, lifting his gun with by hand. The nozzle of the gun was pressed against the forehead of a wizard without a Death Eater mask. He eased his grip but did not lower his weapon from the Auror who had his hands raised in surrender.

"Auror Nathan Bedingfield! The Minister has requested Harry Potter's presence in his office."

"You mean his office is still intact after this?"

"Y-yes. Can you--"

Harry sighed, frustrated and removed his gun. He felt Slit breathing heavily as he approached Harry from behind. "What does he want?"

"We have to follow him. I'm meeting with the Minister, our Minister, that is."

Bedingfield turned, gesturing for Harry to follow. He began to move but a gallimaufry of voices called for him from behind. Harry smiled when he saw that Hermione, Ron, and most of the Weasleys were there. Not caring whether the Auror was going to wait or not, he approached his family. Hermione instantly threw his arms around her and he was caught in the smell of smoke and hint of cinnamon. "Thank Merlin, Harry! We were worried when we didn't see you. The Death Eaters were looking for you specifically. Oh, we shouldn't have acted so recklessly."

Harry chuckled. "Hermione, I'm okay. I'm especially good since you're fine! And you too Ron." His friend smiled and Harry turned to the others.

"Is everyone else alright?" Everyone knew Harry was really asking, "Did anyone die?"

"Dawlish was killed by Nott. But other than that, no one else was hurt. They're helping others right now," informed Mr. Weasley who smiled weakly. Harry nodded and turned away. "Where are you going? Molly will be worried about you."

"The Minister of Magic wants to see me."

"Harry, are you sure you want to go alone? Remember last time?"

"I'll be fine, Hermione." He smiled and turned.

"We’re going to wait for you!" she called.

Slit walked closely behind Harry and stared with awe at the Ministry--or what was left of it. They walked through what was a long and splendid hall, with wooden floor that was scratched from the battle. Several bodies of black cloaked wizards littered the floor and Healers began to attend to them. The ceiling was painted with peacock blue but had gaping holes from the curses and fire that collided with it. Golden symbols that used to constantly change had stopped glowing and were gray in color. The walls were lined with fireplaces, which were all blocked by conjured wooden bricks.

Harry followed the Auror into the lift.

"Floor B8 to Floor B1: The Minister of Magic and Staff office."

The lounge was absolute chaos when they arrived. Magically enhanced flying paper airplanes zoomed around and over Harry as they carried messages from department to department. Some of the Staff were frantically trying to answer Floo calls and quickly walked or floated to their destinations. Stacks of paper lay on the ground but no one bothered to pick them up.

"This way." The Auror ordered them to follow him through the corridor until they reached the very end.

"Auror Nathan Bedingfield bringing Harry Potter to the Minister." He said in a monotone voice. The door creaked open without anyone actually touching it. Harry instantly saw Rufus Scrimgeour with some of his staff standing besides him. One of them was Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Order member. The Minister looked the same as the last time Harry had seen him except maybe a little older and grimmer. His yellow eyes were hard behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.

"Harry Potter," greeted Scrimgeour, succinctly. He walked with a slight limp to his seat behind his desk and gestured. "Come in." Harry saw Shacklebolt, who dismissed Bedingfield, give a slight nod.

"How are you, Mr. Potter?" The Minister asked, conversationally.

"Fine," answered Harry briskly, "and you?"

"Excellent." Scrimgeour smiled and the small talk was over. "I've learned from my Aurors, Kingsley for example, that you had disappeared from the home of your Aunt and Uncle, the Dursleys, and did not think to contact your friends. Where were you during your disappearance?"

"I think that's a detail for me to keep to myself. Minister," added Harry in a cold tone.

"You shouldn't have left. Didn't you know how worried we all were?"

"The Weasleys and my friends, yes. But not you. Sir."

"We were, of course. We were afraid we had lost the Chosen One--The Boy-Who-Lived." Rufus smiled, trying to come off friendly.

"That would put you in conundrum, wouldn't it?" asked Harry, trying to act the same.

"It certainly would."

"Yeah because you need me, don’t you. You need me, a teenager to help the holy Minister of Magic."

Scrimgeour abruptly rose from his seat. "I do not---"

The sound of a bullet being released was heard and the source was Slit's gun.

"You're expecting his help but you're yelling at him?" Slit exclaimed incredulously.

"Who the bleeding hell are you?"

"Agent Tanner. Operation CoJacks of England. Nice to meet you, person. But let's focused on the topic at hand."

"A muggle in government grounds, Potter? That's against wizarding laws!" Scrimgeour exclaimed, his eyes wide with outrage. "And I am not a person! I am Minister of Magic, OUR ministry. Why aren't you back with YOUR Prime Minister and protecting HIM?"

"I believe YOUR wizard is already protecting MY Prime Minister," answered Slit coldly.

"This MUGGLE saved my life by executing a Death Eater with his skills. He's not a threat to us. If you want me here, then you'll let him stay," threatened Harry who stood up on his feet. He dared the Prime Minister to retort with a riposte, knowing that he might be overstepping his boundaries. Too his surprise, the Minister leaned back against his chair and silently fumed.

As realization sunk in, Harry sat back down. Did the Minister of Magic want him to be here so badly that he was willing to let Harry win the arguments?

"It's obvious that you want me here, but if you decide to say something against my friend and me then I will not hesitate to leave," said Harry in a tone that he did not recognize ever using before. If the members of D.A were here, they would immediately decipher the hidden commands and air of confidence. After all, they heard that voice in 5th year at every lesson that Harry had taught them. It was one of a leader and they all knew that some day, Harry would use it again.

"I'd like to make some requests."

Scrimgeour laughed bitterly. "Requests? Potter, you have some nerve. I haven't even stated the circumstances of why you're here and you're already deciding to take the upper hand?"

Harry smiled slightly, but there was no humor behind it. "You and I both know what you want. You asked me nearly two months ago and I bloody know that it hasn't changed,"

"I want Hogwarts opened for one,"

"Are you crazy, Potter? Were you there for the Death Eaters attack two months ago?"

"I was, in fact. And I saw Dumbledore murdered with my own eyes by a man we all were supposed to trust," Harry answered evenly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kingsley shift uncomfortably at the mention of the late Secret Keeper of the Order he was apart of.

"If so, why are you suggesting such a preposterous notion?" asked Scrimgeour incredulously.

"Closing Hogwarts will show weakness to Voldemort," explained Harry, pausing for a short moment when all of the wizards gave a visible flinch. Slit noticed this and thought momentarily that something was wrong with them. "That we're scared of them."

"The wizarding world is!"

"Well, I'm not." Harry looked at the Minister straight in the eye, feeling the wave of confidence that had suddenly appeared. "And that's where I come in...isn't that right?"

"So you've decided to take the offer--join the Auror Program. You've decided to join the Ministry?" asked Rufus Scrimgeour who sounded slightly surprised.

"No way in bloody hell," answered Harry coldly. The Minister's surprise quickly turned into outrage.

"Then what--"

"I will not join the Ministry. I'll cooperate per se but never work for you."

Harry knew what the Minister was going to say, but it was useless.

"Thinking of taking me against my will? Why are you listening to my requests if you say you're going to just kidnap me? I know you wouldn't dare. That will just lower your rank from high official of the Ministry to a low, scumbag Death Eater. Besides, too many people already know how much I despise the works of the Ministry."

Harry shifted in his seat so that he could get comfortable; this might take a long time.

“Hogwarts will be open. Students will go to school and get an education because in this time it’s surely needed.”

“They’ll all be targets!” exclaimed Scrimgeour.

“Isn’t everyone?” Harry smartly said. “Place some of your Aurors as guards to Hogwarts

“Now, another matter. I would like for us to combine forces with Slit and his government.”

"Y-You want US to work with these M-Muggles?" It was quite amusing to hear the Minister of Magic stutter. Harry stifled a laugh and maintained a straight expression.

"Honestly, Minister Scrimgeour, you sound like a snobby pureblood who I like to call Ferret," commented Harry which elicited a laugh that quickly turned into a cough from his staff. "You work with the Prime Minister of England already, don't you?"

"Yes, but that only required filling the Prime Minister information about the daily events from time to time and--"

"Do you choose to ignore what's happening around us? Voldemort (wince) and his Death Eaters are gaining more power by murdering and torturing both Muggles and our kind. We won't be able to fight if we do not work together."

"But Muggles...they don't know what we're dealing with…"

"So it's our duty to tell them."

"They won't know how to handle--"

Harry interrupted the Minister and pointed his finger downward.

"When you go to the Atrium, make sure to find Nott, the Death Eater. You'll see that there is a bullet imbedded in his chest. Slit did that with only one bullet of his gun. And now Nott is dead. Do you understand how effective the Muggles' ways actually are? We live in this world, thinking we're better than these people because we have Magic. Muggles have weapons that are easily as dangerous."

Harry thought that it was crucial to receive Rufus Scrimgeour's affirmation. They needed to have a plan and Harry thought what he had just laid out would work if both Muggle and Wizarding agreed.

Maybe he needed more "assurance".

"Voldemort has some Muggles by his side."

The Minister of Magic was disrupted from his pondering with this new information.

"Lord Voldemort has Muggles working for him. The most despicable and the lowest of people you could find in their world but still Muggle. They were the ones who killed all of those people at the Muggle Prime Minister's office and threatened him. If Voldemort needs their help too, that just shows how we can use the Muggles ourselves."

Harry stared at Scrimegour, but he refused to tear his gaze from the desk. Harry felt his Staff holding their breaths for their boss' decision might change the way their Ministry works from now on. Shacklebolt caught his eye and gave him a nod of approval. The young wizard smiled back and waited.

"I-I'll talk to the Muggle Prime Minister, I suppose." That ended the conversation. Perfect, Harry thought how stood at the end of the Minister's sentence. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Potter." Harry glanced fractiously at the Minister. "The will of Albus Dumbledore. Here's your part." He extended his arm and was holding out a roll of parchment tied with a green ribbon. Harry lightly removed the paper from his hands.

"Why did you have it?"

"There were some measures that needed to be taken before it was handed out." Harry knew Scrimgeour meant that the Ministry had to check it for secret information from Dumbledore. His eyes gazed from the will to Rufus’ pale yellow eyes. He wasn’t actually looking at the Minister because he found something else that had caught his attention.

It was a picture of all the Aurors at the Ministry. There was no surprise that Scrimgeour would have this; he was after all an Auror and the Head of the office before becoming the Minister. However, who he was standing next gave Harry a shock.

It was his father who was proudly standing next to Scrimgeour. He was surrounded by familiar faces like Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody. James Potter looked young and happy and with purpose as he smiled in the picture. Harry knew it was odd but he never learned what his father had done before his death. Now he knew. Harry suddenly felt as if he should feel something towards Scrimgeour because of the fact that he had worked with his father. But he felt nothing but agitation and anger.

The Minister knew Harry had seen the picture, but he didn’t say anything.

“Thank you,” Harry managed. He nodded towards the Minister and his staff and left with Slit trailing behind.

"Do you think that went well?" Slit asked as the two followed an Auror to the lift.

"Yeah, I suppose. Now all we have to do is convince the Muggle side."

"You've already convinced the Muggle Prime Minister. All there's left is my boss."

Harry sighed. "And Hermione’s uncle. This is going to be hard.”

A/N: Alright, so this is 14 pages of the original 23 that I had written. If I get enough reviews, I’ll put it up sooner J

And if you want to check an odd but nice story, go on to A Club, my most recent fic.

Viopathartic

11. Grimmauld's Place

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: Part 2: 9 pages of the rest of the 23. Enjoy!

Hermione and the others were waiting for Harry when he and Slit arrived back at the Atrium. Although odd, no one bothered to question why some 25-year-old guy was following their friend around and they all eventually ended up at Grimmauld Place instead of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley, who had just returned with Ginny from St. Mungo’s, was in the right state when her eyes fell upon Harry and she immediately gathered him into her arms.

“Didn’t leave a note…thought something terrible had happened to you…” she muttered as she tightened her grip on him; therefore nearly suffocating Harry.

“Mum, leave him alone. He still has to fight You-Know-Who!” said Fred.

“Yeah, mum. How would the people react if the headlines on Daily Prophet said ‘Boy-Who-Lived: Death by Hugs’?” George teased, eliciting laughter from everyone in the room. Mrs. Weasley playfully slapped her twins on the head and quickly bustled into the kitchen, announcing that she would cook up dinner for everyone.

“Seriously Harry, where’ve you been?” asked Bill who had an arm wrapped around his fiancée, Fleur Delacour. Harry had forgotten about the wedding ever since the start of the summer. It must be approaching because he had heard them discussing the seating arrangements for the ceremony. Bill’s face bore scars from the attack of Fenrir Greyback but he was smiling as if he had just won the lottery. Harry guessed love did that to some people; love made people forget the bad things that happened around them and brought good fortunes instead. Or maybe it was because of the changes that were visibly seen in Grimmauld Place.

Harry hadn't been in his godfather's home--now his home--since 5th year. Apparently, Molly took it upon herself to completely redecorate the interior of the headquarters. The atmosphere that had once given Harry a chill, eerie feeling every time he stepped into the room made him feel at home. The hallways were basked in light and shined instead of the darkness that covered the place before. The furniture was replaced with more cheerful colors and the kitchen was made into a replica of Molly's. Unfortunately, the portrait of Sirius' mother remained in place on the wall but people learned to be quiet around her with practiced ease.

Remus Lupin and Tonks were tenderly holding hands as they sat around the unlit fireplace. Hermione was tending to a gash on Ron’s arm but he didn’t seem as if he noticed his wound. His attention was focused on his once lost but now returned best mate. Everyone was eagerly waiting for Harry’s recount on his short disappearance.

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione and Slit—something that was not ignored by the people present in the room.

“Well, I suppose—“

“Harry? Mum—why didn’t you—“ A voice cried from the kitchen and Harry’s mind immediately connected the sound to a certain ex-girlfriend’s face. Right on time, Ginny burst from the kitchen, letting the swinging door hit the wall behind. She was as beautiful as Harry remembered but her look as she tried to seek him from the crowd gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He hadn’t really thought of what would happen when they meet again.

At the moment, Harry was glad that Fred and George were so tall.

“Shite,” muttered Harry who quickly turned his back on her. He grabbed Slit and pulled him away from the corner where he was attempting to remain invisible. “Everyone, this is Slit.”

Slit sounded bewildered as to why Harry was suddenly introducing him to a crowd of strangers. The crowd, except Hermione, was thinking along the same lines. Hermione looked amused at her friend’s attempt to avoid the wrath of his ex-girlfriend.

“Slit?” Remus inquired, his eyebrow raised at the odd name. Slit would have said the same about his but thought it was a bit rude.

“Well, actually his real name is Jameson Tanner…” Harry looked at Slit to confirm.

“And he’s a muggle?” Mr. Weasley asked, his expression changing from confusion to delight. Harry remembered when he had first met the father of his best friend and how he asked countless questions on his muggle upbringing. He was almost afraid to answer.

“Yeah, I am,” answered Slit who was unaware of what reaction his reply might bring.

“Fascinating!” Mr. Weasley was about to leave his seat to pursue deeper information, but his wife entered the room to announce that dinner was ready. Arthur appeared disappointed but he complied nonetheless and followed Molly through the swinging door.

On Harry’s way passed her, the witch embraced him again.

“Oh, Harry dear, I’m so glad you’re alright! You’re like a son to me…if I were to ever lose you…” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes began to tear. Harry suddenly remembered her boggart being the corpse of everyone she loved. In hope of avoiding an emotional breakdown, Harry hugged her back. She returned it earnestly. “Alright, so sorry. Now head to the dining room. You too, Jameson,” she pushed the two and steered them to the table.

Every body settled down around the long table and were treated to Molly Weasley’s delicious cooking. Plates were filled with pieces of season chicken and tossed salads. All was well in the convivial atmosphere that was present in the dining room of the Burrow. It was as if the battle at the Ministry didn’t happen.

The only problem was being around Ginny. She had snagged a seat right across from Harry and next to Hermione. His best friend noticed the tension Harry felt and gave him a sympathetic smile. Ron was seated on the other side of Hermione but didn’t seem the least flustered by the closeness. Slit was overwhelmed with the surplus of food and since he wasn’t familiar to some, Harry was glad to teach him (it distracted him from Ginny).

“…basically pasties in the shape of pumpkins. This is butterbeer. It’s delicious…has a bit of alcohol in it but it doesn’t affect humans…only house elves,” explained Harry as he handed Slit a bottle of his favorite drink. Slit took a cautious (he was Slit, of course) sip of the drink before indulging himself in its delicious warmth.

“Elves? As in Christmas and Saint Nicholas?” Slit asked, sounding bewildered. He refused to show what he felt but his voice explained it all. Hermione and Harry laughed when he said this.

“No, not exactly. Dobby!”

There was a small pop and a small, short creature with large bat-like ears and pencil thin nose. He gazed up at Harry with his huge, green, tennis sized eyes. “Harry Potter has called Dobby!”

He immediately launched himself into Harry’s arm, smiling widely. “You all right, Harry Potter! Dobby thought he wouldn’t be able to tell Harry Potter. But luck was with Dobby and he found Harry Potter’s Miss!”

Hermione turned red at being addressed as “Harry Potter’s Miss” and refused to look at Ron when he gave her an amused glance or when Ginny glared daggers at her.

Harry merely laughed. “And I thank you for that, Dobby. We would have never known the Ministry was being attacked if it weren’t for you. I think I’ll buy you some socks this weekend.”

Dobby clapped his hands and turned to Hermione. “And Dobby thanks Harry Potter’s Miss for stopping him from poking himself with the pen.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, Dobby,” said Hermione kindly. The elf jumped on her and hugged her enthusiastically. Everyone laughed. Ron suddenly coughed something that sounded oddly like “Spew!”

“Ron, it is not spew; it’s S. P.E.W. Society for the—“

“Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” answered Harry and Ron in mock boredom. “We know, Hermione.” Harry said, shooting her a grin. Hermione shook her head and went back to her dinner but he could still see her blushing.

After laughs and jokes were exchanged, the noisy environment settled down to normal volume. Mrs. Weasley deftly vanished all of the dishes with a flick of her wand, momentarily alarming Slit. He still had to get used to being in a different world.

“So, Slit…” began Tonks who was sitting on the other side of Harry. Slit pulled his attention away from Harry just in time to see Tonk transforming her hair color from its usual pink to a spiky red and black.

“How’d the fuck you do that?” Slit asked. Mr. Weasley coughed at his surprising use of expletive. His wife appeared to be restraining herself from scolding the guest.

Harry, who was suppressing a laugh, answered, “Tonks is a Metamorphmagus. She can change her appearance at will. She uses her talent in her career which is as an Auror. Auror is the equivalent of what you do, Slit.”

“Oh, so you’re a muggle Auror, Slit?” asked Tonks who changed back to normal.

“Yes, I suppose,” said Slit, cautiously eyeing her hair as if it might change again.

“I never got a chance to study Muggle Studies in Hogwarts. What do you use instead of a wand?” Mr. Weasley asked curiously. Slit took out his gun to show Arthur. “Ah, a fireleg! Interesting, interesting…” he muttered as he weighed the object in his hands.

“Do you have the safety lock on?” Hermione hissed across the table. Slit nodded in a manner that screamed ‘duh, of course!’

“Actually, Mr. Weasley, it’s a firearm or a gun. If you press the trigger—and don’t, Mr. Weasley—the magazine, where the ammunition is stored, releases a bullet. That’s like releasing a spell form a wand except a bullet could kill a person right away.”

Hermione smirked at Harry’s knowledge of guns which was all thanks to her uncle’s organization.

“You were the one who shot Nott?”

Slit took back his gun and nodded grimly.

Mr. Weasley gave him a small smile. “Well, at least one of them is gone.”

“Why do you have one, Harry?” asked Tonks suddenly. She pointed at his holster that was attached to the right side. Hermione shot him a look.

“Er…well…”

Everyone in the room was looking at him expectedly. Remus had a disturbed look on his face; he was familiar with the muggle world and knew how dangerous the usage of a gun could be. He also knew damn well that his parents—Lily, especially—wouldn’t agree to his son owning such a weapon.

“A gun? Harry, why do you have it one? You’re just a student!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in a tone that said she won’t stop asking unless she got a clear answer from him.

Slit decided to step in. “Mrs. Weasley, I think you and I know that Harry is not JUST a normal teenager."

"Of course, Jameson! Harry here survived a Killing Curse at the age of one year and also has an evil sorcerer after him who wants to make his life miserable! He's never BEEN normal ever since he got his Hogwarts acceptance letter."

"Well, Harry has the gun because it protects him just like his wand does. That's all," explained Slit.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the last words. A "That's all" could never explain the whole situation--not at the least. In order to tell everyone about Operation CoJacks, they'll need to stay seated for the whole ride. But Slit didn't want to explain--not even to the people belonging to another world.

Tonks, noticing the finality in Slit's voice, diverted Molly's attention by asking about the recent changes she had done to the dining room. Harry quickly excused himself while shooting a significant look to Ron and Hermione. Slit got up as well.

They silently made their way through the corridor that led to one of the rooms. He recognized this room as Sirius' old one but didn't tell anyone. He'll probably explore more after he talked to his friends. The bedroom was adorned in Gryffindor colors which might have been something his family had despised; the Black Family was notoriously pureblooded and their loyalty belonged to Slytherin.

Slit was just about to follow the three when a voice called.

"Where's Harry?"

He had noticed his protégé’s reaction to this girl, Ginny, and inferred that he had a relationship of some sort with her. Slit could never imagine why Harry would date some like her. He quickly read her profile and saw a confident, snippy girl who probably cared for Harry in a different way than a regular girlfriend would care about a regular and NORMAL boyfriend.

"I don't know." His tone of distrust was well masked with sincere boredom and carelessness.

Ginny peered over Slit's shoulder to the closed door. She gave him a look while taking out her wand in a manner that was supposed to intimidate Slit. "I know how to cast a Bat-Bogey Hex. Believe me, you don’t want to see it.”

The agent crossed his arms and spread his legs apart, positioning himself in a defensive stance. "You want to attack me with your bogies? How childish."

The door quickly opened. "Slit, if you want to come in--"

Hermione stopped in mid-sentence and noticed Ginny with her wand raised. "Er--hello, Ginny."

The red-haired girl narrowed her eyes. "Where's Harry? I need to talk to him."

"I don't know, Ginny. Perhaps he—“

"Come off it, Hermione! Ron's probably with you too."

Knowing she was caught, she and Ginny stared at each other. Then, as swiftly as she could, Hermione grabbed a hold of Slit's collar and pulled him into the room with her, closing the door in a hurry.

Harry heard the hexes that were being cast against the door and quickly aided Hermione in securing their privacy with series of charms and incantation.

"Lucky she didn't cast the Bat-Bogey at you...you would've been finished," Ron said to Slit who cautiously sat down the floor next to him.

"Yeah, well I'm glad," said Slit dryly. Harry and Hermione seated themselves after finishing the charms.

"Harry, you're gonna have to face my sister sooner or later. I don't know how much more I can take." Hermione nodded in agreement.

"She's getting out of hand."

"She's a feisty one," muttered Slit who was taking in his surroundings.

Harry sighed. "Okay, I get it. I'll talk to her later, but that's not what we're here for. We haven't discussed it yet and I thought we should do it before me and Slit leave again. First off, I haven’t told you everything about where me and Hermione have been for the past weeks…”

He took awhile to explain his disappearance to Ron who gaped when he learned about the secret organization his friend was now part of. Slit walked around the room, seemingly bored and was inspecting a book that lay on top of a desk. Hermione was warily watching him.

“Blimey, Harry! That’s wicked. And Hermione’s uncle…bloody hell…”

Harry grinned.

“So you’re gonna use the things you learn from CoJacks and magic to fight Voldemort? And you told Scrimgeour this?”

“That’s the plan. Hopefully it’ll turn out well,” said Harry. Hermione, who was very proud of her friend for going up against the Minister of Magic, reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. Her friend smiled widely.

Ron eyed their entwined hands with amusement. "Hermione has a whole notebook on Horcruxes. Mad brilliant, she is. Hermione even came up with potential locations." He nodded at his friend and Hermione reached behind her with her empty hand. She drew out a notebook that looked as if it had been used many times. Harry took a few moments to read over what she had written and then handed it for Slit to inspect.

He smiled at Hermione, still holding her hand. "You figured it out then. RAB is actually Regulus Artucus Black. Sirius' brother."

Hermione blushed. "I thought we were overlooking something. I was thinking about the identity of RAB and it just came."

"Brilliant,” he whispered. Harry always knew Hermione would pull through and find an answer for everything. "And it's convenient too, us being at Sirius' house."

Hermione nodded. "The cup may be hidden in places that Riddle thought no one would ever hear about. So I suspect his orphanage. I also think Nagini is one too; that's why Voldemort always has her by his side. The item of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor may be an accessory or an object like a bracelet or crown and..." she trailed off. She appeared to be nervous about something.

"Hermione?" Suddenly Harry felt scared. He had suspected it himself but he would just say it couldn't be true and left it at that.

"Harry's a horcrux?" Slit saw the slanted written words on Hermione's notebook when he came across the theories.

She nodded but hurriedly added, "But I'm not completely convinced. I just thought...well, your mum and dad were murdered that night so Voldemort may have planted his soul into you...that's why you can speak Parseltongue and see into his mind and stuff..." Hermione cautiously checked for Harry's reaction but surprisingly found that his face was blank. Slit knew what he was doing; he was hiding his emotions like Slit had advised. Harry probably practiced it with frequency.

"That's true. I may be a horcrux." Harry said simply.

"It's just a theory though...there may be a chance--"

"Hermione--you don't have to apologize!" said Harry a bit more forcefully than he intended, but his friend quieted down.

Ron worriedly glanced at his friend. Hermione had vaguely told him where Harry was during his disappearance but he knew she was holding something back. Harry had explained a bit more but still left room for imagination. Ron wasn't exactly mad that she didn’t tell him the whole story in the beginning. He could see that it was good for Harry. He was more composed and not as downcast or hopeless as he was at the funeral. Ron just felt a bit left out. For now, he'll let it pass; after all, Horcruxes were enough to worry about.

“We don’t have to think about it. Let’s just—let’s search for the locket, okay?” Harry asked, trying to sound apologetic. Hermione nodded and he smiled warmly at her.

Their search was short-lived. Right when they came into the living room (the guests were still in the dining room), they realized that everything had been cleaned out in fifth year so it was impossible to find the locket. Ron had reminded them that Kreacher always stole the artifacts from them after they would throw it into the rubbish pile. Harry was then struck with the memory that was seemingly useless back then but vital for them at the moment.

“A locket that we couldn’t open…” Something clicked inside Harry’s head and he instantly caught Hermione’s attention. The two suddenly sprinted into the narrow hallway and threw open the door that led to Kreacher’s hidden nest. They withdrew from the pungent smell that was let out, kept inside for so many years. Hermione performed a Bubble Head Charm which allowed the two to breathe in safe oxygen. Harry crawled into the small place, digging through piles and piles of dirtied junk, but soon learned that the locket was nowhere in sight.

Harry, in resigned manner, crawled back out and shook his head.

“Should we ask Kreacher?” From his tone, every one knew that was what Ron least wanted to do.

“Who’s Kreacher?”

Harry shot Slit a miserable look before sighing and closing his eyes. “Kreacher.”

Suddenly, a small creature appeared in the center of the room. Its wrinkly, bare back was turned away from the four. The ears were as long as Dobby but were bent and full with hair. It was only when the thing turned around did Slit realize it was another house elf.

“Master…called?” Kreacher said the first word with difficult, inwardly refusing to address any other master than his real, rightful owner.

Harry was suddenly reminded of the creature’s betrayal the night of the Ministry. He had lied to Harry, telling him that Sirius was already gone. That had caused Harry to break into the Ministry, only to find that it was all a trap created by Voldemort. Kreacher didn’t care about anything except his precious pureblood master. He hated Sirius almost as much as Harry hated Kreacher. He couldn’t speak to the elf again and didn’t want to.

Hermione knelt down so that she was at eye level with the aged house elf. “Kreacher, Harry was wondering if you know about a locket that had belonged to Regulus Black. Do you know where it is?”

Kreacher stared wide eyed back at the witch. “Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher…disgusting, ugly creature, she is…if only Master—“

All of a sudden, Harry’s hand shot out, his fingers curling around the house elf’s wrinkly and dirty neck. He heard Hermione giving a small shriek of surprise before telling him to stop and that he was hurting the creature. Slit saw a flicker of anger that burst like fire in Harry’s eyes.

“Where. Is. The. Locket?” Harry asked through gritted teeth. He was tired of the creature’s insults towards Hermione…he knew Kreacher had stolen the locket so why won’t he tell him… Kreacher struggled to breath under his tight grip, his legs were kicking and small hands were on Harry’s and were trying to ease the hold.

“Harry!”

Harry glanced at Hermione’s scared look before throwing Kreacher onto the ground and casting the creature a great stare of aversion. The creature slowly breathed in and out, trying to regain its breath. He slowly got onto his feet.

Harry took a step closer and said evenly, “Kreacher. I command you to tell me where Regulus Black’s locket is. Now.”

“Kreacher does not know—“

Harry lunged forward but Hermione had grabbed both of his arms and pulled him back so that she had her arms wrapped around the middle of his torso. Harry froze at this. She still held him as he forced his breathing, which was coming heavy, to slow down. He relaxed in her hold. For a moment he was thankful that Hermione had stopped him. He didn’t know what he would do to Kreacher…Harry was just so angry…Kreacher didn’t know what he was keeping from us…how imperative it was for them to find the locket and the other Horcruxes.

“Harry, please, please,” Hermione half pleaded and half whispered as she nestled her head against Harry’s back. “Calm down. We want to find the horcrux too.”

He listened to the desperateness in his friend’s voice. Even through all the things Kreacher had done, Hermione still didn’t want any hurt to be brought upon the house elf. Sometimes Harry couldn’t understand how Hermione was so calm when she knew the Horcruxes was needed; he, however, was ready to strike when he needed to. Hermione, with her arms safely around him, was the only person who could stop him.

Harry nodded and swallowed. “Kreacher, please. If you don’t know where the locket is, then why don’t you know?”

“Someone stole it…Kreacher saw, oh he saw it…Mistress was screaming but told her to calm down and she did…”

“Who? Who, Kreacher?”

Kreacher gave him a reproachful glare. “That disgusting man…smokes green stuff…came and took away my precious artifacts… ”

“Blimey, it’s Mundungus! He stole stuff from Grimmauld, remember?” exclaimed Ron.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry muttered agitatedly once Hermione had released him. “Kreacher, I order you to go back to Hogwarts and speak to no one about this.”

Kreacher sneered. “Yes, Master.”

After, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Slit decided to return to the dining room where everyone was. Slit announced that they must be leaving (which caused protests from Molly and Ginny and questions that were left unanswered when Hermione was said to be leaving too). Harry promised to Ron that he’d fill his best friend on his disappearance and that they’d be here in time for the wedding which was to be held in ten days.

Remus knew that Dumbledore had set upon Harry to do something important. He wanted to talk to Harry about this but it seemed urgent for him to return back to wherever he had come from.

Just before Harry apparated with Slit and Hermione, a sense of relief mixed with anxiety settled upon him. He knew where the locket was and that was a good thing. He had the will of Dumbledore and he’d read it when he returned to Operation CoJacks headquarter. Now all Harry had to do was face Hermione’s uncle when they get back.

It won’t be that hard, right?

Harry knew he was only lying to himself.

So, what did you think of this chapter?

Also, I’d really appreciate it if some of you check out my newest story called ‘A Club’. I want to see what people think of it so that I’d know if I should continue it or not.

Thanks,

Viopathartic

12. See...I'm a wtich

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: Betaed by SkyHighFan. Sorry if there were any other mistakes…

Chapter 12:

Ben Lester was back in the tracking room where his agents were working non-stop to get a hold of Slit and attempting to find where he was. He discovered that Hermione didn't even tell Emmy about her "trip" to his "workplace". He learned this from the frantic yelling that was featured in their most recent telephone conversation. But Ben managed to calm her down by stating that she was safe.

Where would Slit take his niece and Potter? Why, for God's sake? As far as Lester knew, there wasn't any connection--besides operation wise--between Harry Potter and Jameson Tanner. And Slit was not one to take off without prior notification. Lester also supposed that Harry and Hermione could have taken Slit but that thought was preposterous. Slit wasn't susceptible--especially to a pair of teenagers.

His mind traced every possible scenario and each attempt drew blanks. There was simply no answer.

"Sir!" An urgent voice called, pulling the Head of Operation CoJacks from his badgering thoughts.

He quickly approached the station where the voice had come from. His heart was pounding wildly, hoping what he would hear would be good news and not bad. "Report."

"Agent Tanner is back on grounds."

He was sure he heard right but that didn’t stop him from asking, "How?"

"He just...appeared on the grid," explained the agent who sounded a bit confused as well, "And Brennan and Elaine were watching the grid on three separate screens and came up with identical findings. He's located in trainee Harry Potter's dormitory. Do you want us to send someone...?"

"No."

Without another word, Ben Lester pushed the agent aside—never minding his look of astonishment—whose chair easily slid to the side, and tapped the keyboard. He'll call Slit himself.

And he'll see how Slit will deal with the consequences.

"What--"

"The--"

"Bloody hell just happen?"

Unfortunately, Harry, Hermione, and Slit's apparition was poorly timed. He had forgotten that when appearing the dormitory, it would be nearly curfew for his roommates. So as a result, their sound and sudden appearance woke Room 203.

Forest was first to speak "Harry! A-Agent Tanner, sir? How'd you--"

"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath. He felt Hermione stiffen by his side and on impulse, he grabbed her hand.

"Harry," said Slit. Harry turned to him but his mentor was looking at his hand. In a surprisingly calm voice, he stated, "Mr. L's coming soon."

When seeing Hermione's look of question, he explained, "Chip implant. And you're uncle is coming."

Forest Argon was stuttering as he was the only one who jumped out of his bed at the sound of Harry's apparition. Jasper, who usually glared at Harry, had an unfamiliar look of shock on his face. Malcolm was gripping his sheets tightly to his chest and his eyes were wide and fearful. "H-Hey! Why...how'd you...?"

Without a word, Hermione withdrew her wand and muttered, "Obliviate." When the dazed look appeared in all three trainees' eyes, she followed with, "Stupefy."

They fell back onto their backs, consciousness charmed out of them.

The door swung opened, hitting the wall with force. Ben Lester appeared at the threshold, anger in his eyes.

"Trainees!" Harry cast a fearful eye to Hermione, remembering that she had used the Stunning charm. As discreetly as possible and while Ben's eyes were still on the stunned trainees, he pulled up from his pocket so that the tip was showing and muttered, "Enervate."

Forest, Jasper, and Malcolm woke up to see the head of Operation CoJacks glaring at them. They clumsily made their way out of beds and finally stood besides them and saluted Lester.

He didn't seem to care. "Training with all occupants of Dormitory 201, 202 and 204. Report to Room 256, immediately."

Harry watched as his roommates rushed to grab their clothes, not even bothering to put them on. So, they left the dormitory in their pajamas, too fearful to have changed. Harry's presence went unnoticed all the while. Despite the situation he was now in, Harry couldn’t help but find it all amusing.

"Sit down," he growled, menace laced in his words. Harry, using his peripheral vision, saw Slit slowly take a seat on Jasper's vacant bed and Hermione doing the same on Malcolm. So Harry followed suit, cautiously sitting his bum on the previous occupied bed.

"Explain, Potter."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Hermione already started. "Uncle Benny, it wasn't Harry's—"

"Be quiet, Hermione!" Lester shouted, spit flying from his mouth. Hermione cowered. This was one of the few moments where her uncle would raise his voice at her. "You've been gone for a day and didn't even think to notify me that you were even leaving!"

Lester angrily whipped around to face his most talented agent. "Agent Tanner, you have taken my niece off grounds and were reckless, leaving your team wondering where the bleeding hell you were. You'd be lucky if I don't get rid of you myself."

"And you, Potter," Ben took a slow, threatening step towards the boy and Harry had to use all of his will to force himself to stay in place instead of running and hiding like he wanted to. "You may be my niece's friend, but don't think you I will go easy on you. Ever since Slit had brought you here, you managed to put my niece in danger and broken nearly every rule from the handbook! You're a damn trainee for Operation CoJacks and you damn well should act like it!"

Once he finished, Ben was breathing hard and he was still red in the face. Slowly, he lowered his finger and his whole arm fell to his side.

"Agent Tanner, report," he whispered harshly. Slit, finally realizing the severity of his situation, snapped his legs together and stood erect.

"Sir, I apologize for disappearing without giving proper notification to my team. I was foolish to have brought your niece, Hermione Granger, and Trainee Harry Potter with me."

Harry and Hermione gaped at Slit's report. He wasn't the one who brought the two along--it was the other way around!

"Uncle Benny," said Hermione, stepping forward slightly. Lester glared at his niece in a way that should have deterred her from speaking any further. "Slit didn't bring us anywhere. We were the ones to do so."

"Explain," Lester commanded in a brisk tone.

Hermione and Harry exchanged significant glances. This was noticed by her uncle. "What is it?" He demanded, taking another step towards Harry again. His hands were on his hips, pushing back his blazer to reveal the gun attached to his side. Another threat. Ben Lester didn't care if he was a trainee or if Potter was Hermione's best friend. Drag his niece into trouble and Potter will get what he deserved.

"We were at the Ministry," said Harry, watching for Lester's reaction.

His look of anger did not cease. "Do not lie, Potter."

"He's not, Uncle. W-We really were at the Ministry."

Lester opened his mouth again but Hermione beat him to it.

"Our Ministry." As expected, Harry saw confusion in the eyes of Hermione's uncle.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?"

Again, the two exchanged looks with each other. Ben was seriously getting annoyed by this.

"I'm a witch, Uncle Benny. I can do magic," she clarified nervously. Harry nodded at her when she glanced at him. Uncertainly, Hermione withdrew her wand from her left jeans pocket and pointed it at a stack of Harry's textbooks.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she whispered, her voice wavering all the while. Slowly but visibly, the textbook rose into the air as if an invisible hand had lifted it. With her wand, Hermione directed the book across the room in into the hands of an astonished Benjamin Lester.

The silence was deafening. The atmosphere of no sound but the beat of his heart rang louder in his ears. In silence, people's expressions could be easily matched to feelings. Harry glanced at Hermione who was furtively gazing at her uncle. Slit was gazing out of the dormitory window, seemingly distracted by the skies. Only Harry knew that Slit's ears were so well attuned that he would hear a pin drop amongst an ambuscade of people.

Ben looked to be in a daze. His eyes were kept on the book that was in his hand. Did he get up to retrieve it? How did it end up here? No, he couldn't remember. It was not possible that his niece levitated this book into his hands. No, that's impossible. It could only happen if she used magic or something...

"How long?" The man asked, showing no emotion even though he was might be scared shitless. Harry now knew where Slit had learned to mask his emotions.

"Excuse me?"

"I said...how long since you new you had powers?" It was such an odd question; Ben had to force himself to spit it out.

"I first received my letter when I turned eleven. Then I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Emma and Dan?"

"They know, of course,” explained Hermione who had settled on Malcolm's bed. Harry was sitting next to her."

"All these years...boarding school..."

"It was only a cover-up. Mum and Dad had to explain my absences to the Muggle--non-magic, that is--administrations."

Ben nodded numbly. He turned to his head in Harry's direction. "And you?"

"Yeah, I'm one too...a wizard though," answered Harry.

When Slit saw his boss looking at him, he raised his hands as if defending himself. "I'm just like you, Mr. L. A Muggle. But I just know about the wizarding world."

"You told him first?" Ben asked Hermione who then pointed at Harry. "And you believe it?"

Slit gave him an odd look. "You'd have to if you see where I was at."

Ben stared for a moment before directing his attention towards Harry and Hermione. "And this Ministry..."

"Our Ministry is a bit like yours. We vote for people to run the British wizarding world. There are other Ministries in different countries. The only difference is that our Ministry uses magic to solve problems.

"But why did you have to go to the Ministry yesterday?"

After glancing at Harry, Hermione explained to her uncle about the reign of Lord Voldemort in the First War and the increase of his Death Eaters activities. Harry merely sat and watched as Ben's expressions changed from one to another. Slit also listened in on the explanation, wondering how all of that could have happened when both Muggles and Magic shared the same world.

"And so...this Lord Voldemort...he wants to rule your world?"

Hermione nodded.

"Aren't there other wizards who take care of this matter? Why do you and Potter have to fight against him...why do you have to be in danger?" Ben asked his niece, looking at her in a whole new way. She was no longer the Hermione Granger he grew to love. This was a different Hermione—more determined and unafraid.

"Well...to put it simply: It's because I'm friends with Harry Potter." Harry gave her a look of alarm but she just shrugged, explaining that she was only stating and not complaining. She took a very deep breath and launched into another detailed discussion of Harry's history. She even explained the Horcruxes and the prophecy.

"That's why we couldn't find your father in the database," muttered Lester mostly to himself. "The Chosen One...sounds like what you call the Messiah..."

"Tell me about it," mumbled Harry but only Hermione heard. She shot him a look before turning to her uncle. "So you see...Harry's very important to the wizarding world. He has to defeat Lord Voldemort for Merlin's sake!" Ben looked at his niece weirdly for her odd expression but he didn't say anything. "Your world believes he can?"

Hermione didn't answer right away. Then she gazed at her uncle in the eye and said, "I believe he can."

At that moment, Harry realized how his world had changed in the span of a month. He was at Operation CoJacks, Hermione with him, and now they were telling the head and Hermione's uncle about the wizarding world. This was very odd indeed.

With that, Ben Lester suddenly stood up from the chair. He said nothing, looked at nothing as he straightened his blazer and adjusted his tie. Clearing his throat, he turned sharply around and reached for the doorknob. There, he paused for a moment with his hand on the knob as if finally processing everything that had just taken place.

"I think I scared him with that magic bit," announced Hermione once her uncle left the room. Slit stuck around a little longer, informing that they would need to discuss the Horcruxes further. But Harry couldn't help the feeling that Slit was stalling for time. Then he left and it was only Hermione and Harry in the Room 203.

Harry grinned. "Really?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. And it's odd because I've never seen my Uncle scared."

"But you never knew your uncle was Head of Operation CoJacks either. You learn something new every day, right?"

"I was wrong to answer your letter," Hermione said in mock annoyance.

"I was right to contact you first," countered Harry who was still smiling.

"About that...why did you?"

Harry never really thought about it. Maybe it was because she was always the logical one...and Merlin, did Harry need logic at that time. But then he realized it was because he could always count on Hermione.

"I suppose...because you were the first to come to when I need help. And I'm glad because I'd be pretty lost," admitted Harry. Hermione blushed at his last statement. “Thank you, Hermione…you know for that…”

“You’re welcome, Harry.” And to Harry’s astonishment, Hermione took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could only respond by wrapping his around her waist.

"Crikey, he's back!" Forest exclaimed when seeing Harry. The two of them sprung apart from their embrace. Harry turned around and grinned.

Apparently, their discussion with Lester took up most of the time and the trainees were now returning. Hermione shook her head, smiling slightly and excused herself. He watched her leave, ignoring his roommates’ suggestive looks.

"So," said Malcolm who then swung an arm across Harry's shoulder, "were you on some kind of mission?"

Harry shook his head. "Can't say. Confidential, mate."

"Ah, I see. You're advancing pretty fast, little one," joked Malcolm. Harry smiled; Malcolm and Forest reminded him of Fred and George who always fooled around when it came to him.

“Schedules,” announced Jasper in somewhat of a cold tone. The schedules were located in the box that was attached to the outside of their room. He passed around two pieces of paper to his roommates and then jabbed the paper in Harry’s direction. He took it away, ignoring Jasper’s glare.

“I have a class with Room 205, 206, 207 in the VE room.” said Harry, staring at his paper. So that means I have class with other trainees and not by myself?

“VE?” Forest voiced.

“VE. Virtual Environment. We pretend that we’re on a mission and then the computer creates it for us.”

“You’ve done this before?” Malcolm asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged, not wanting to reveal anymore.

"Brill, we get to see you in action," joked Forest. Harry glanced at his friend and quickly assumed that they would have the class together.

“I thought you were training as a mathematician?”

“We all gotta learn, mate,” said Forest.

“It doesn’t tell us what we’re gonna do exactly,” commented Harry.

“Yeah…well that’s the thing about Operation CoJacks. They always want us to be ready for anything.”

As Room 203 was making their way to the VR room, Malcolm insisted on giving Harry background information about all of the other trainees.

“Now in Room 205 there’s this one person. Has big muscles and everything.”

“Blimey, does he work out often?” asked Harry.

Malcolm grinned, “She does. But Trager’s not that bad once you get to know her. Brilliant mathematician…even better than Argon over there.”

Forest rolled his eyes and shot a grin at Harry. “If I didn’t know before, I would say that you fancy Theresa Trager.”

“You’re a funny bloke, aren’t you? Any road, I’ve got my eyes on Martha instead. She’s one of Trager’s dorm mates.”

Forest put on a confused look. “But I thought Kensington was a bean-flicker?”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Forest laughed, letting his roommate to know that it was all a joke. Malcolm pushed him by the shoulder so hard that the other trainee fell against the wall. It didn’t seem to hurt him though. Trailing behind the three was Jasper who hasn’t said a word throughout the exchange.

When they arrived in the room, Harry was hit with a blast of cold air and suppressed a shiver. He glanced up to the glass-cased room and noticed that there were three adults. One of them, he saw, was Titi. She didn’t show any recognization when Harry walked underneath—in fact, she didn’t show any emotion. All three of the adults stood stock still.

The first bloke, who appeared to be the person in charge, was African-American and was dressed in a stiff suit. His jaw was set, he had his head tilted in an aristocratic manner, and hands were clasped in his front. He was balding from where Harry was standing.

The second was another man. He looked much nicer than the first but still gave Harry the impression that he was strict and disapproved of any playfulness. His skin was pale as if he never let the sun touch him. He was younger than the first man and appeared to be in his thirties.

Once he gave the instructors a look over, Harry focused on the other trainees who openly stared at his arrival. His roommates had already fallen into place in a horizontal line with the others. It was as if they were assigned the spot. Women and men, much older than Harry, were arranged in height and they stood at attention.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the sudden changes in Malcolm and Forest. One minute ago, they were fooling around. Now they were completely serious. Forest discreetly nodded his head, telling him to find a place.

He ended up standing between one woman and a man somewhere near the end. Although he was at a good height for a seventeen-year-old, he was short compared to some of the men here. He noticed the woman looking at him from the corner of her eye.

Through a microphone that connected to the Virtual Environment room, the black man spoke in a low, gruff voice.

“I am Agent Abraham and will be leading this training along with Professor Titi, Ballistics Professor,” he gestured towards Harry’s mentor in which she nodded. “And Agent Fortimine.

The pale man raised his hand in recognition.

“Operation CoJacks will be introducing a new type of training that many of you may have not learned through classes. VE. Virtual Environment. Trainees are put into fictional missions with realistic qualities,” explained Agent Abraham. His eyes swept through the line up, giving the feeling that he was watching everyone individually.

“With goggles on, you will see things that people without spectacles will not see. You will hear and feel what the computer creates. When using this, everything will be considered as real. So don’t let your guard down and think this is just practice. Because some day, once we decide you trainees are capable enough, you will be out on the field and exposed to the same dangers as inside here.”

“The purpose of the training today will be to work on teamwork. An agent is not alone in this line of work. We depend on each other. We trust each other. You’ll learn it through this practice,” finished Abraham. He stepped back and summoned Agent Fortimine to step up.

“I’ll divide everyone into groups depending on strength and weaknesses. Everyone will compliment each other in the group. There are 16 of you which will mean that every group will have four trainees. The groups will go against each other like a race. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” The trainees answered in unison.

They waited until Fortimine could make his way down the spiral staircase and everyone stood stock still when approached them so that his face was near theirs. With piercing gray eyes, he analyzed the profile of each trainee. When he came to Harry, his eyes lit up in recognition. Apparently, word about his arrival was well-known around Headquarters.

Swiftly, Fortimine turned around and accepted the clipboard that Titi handed to him. “First group: Minerva Bellington, Jim Tart, Maria Montgomery, and Martha Kensington.

The four whose names were called stepped up and were ordered to create one line on the other side of the room.

“Second group: Forest Argon, Connor Hutler, Patrick Daniels, and Meghan Hamilton.” Forest dutifully strode forward with his group, momentarily flashing a small smile at Harry as he passed.

“Third group: Casey Nottingham, Maria Garcia, Michael Shorm, Malcolm Wood.”

“And the last and fourth group: Jasper Edwards, Theresa Trager, Michael Fiske, and Harry Potter.”

Harry turned his head towards his group members. Jasper stood in place, probably mentally cursing Fortimine for putting him in the same group as the boy he despised. Michael Fiske walked gracefully and confidently towards Harry and stuck his hand.

Amused at how Fiske reminded him of Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff, he shook his group mate’s hand and nodded.

Michael was a bit taller than Harry but not by much. His head was shaved closely to the scalp; Harry could tell he had dark brown hair. He had broad shoulders and held himself with great poise. Michael was grinning slightly and that was when Harry knew he might get along well with him.

“I’m under forensics study. Come from Room 206. You from Room 203, innit it right?”

Harry nodded. “You’re Australian?”

Fiske grinned. “Whyalla, matter of fact.”

Embarrassingly, Trager towered over Harry by approximately two or three inches. As Malcolm had said, Theresa most definitely worked out a lot. He would have assumed her to be a body builder if Malcolm didn’t tell him about her. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and away from her face. Her muscles were bulging under her shirt.

But her appearance misled Harry. Her voice was as girlish as any voice could be and her personality was cheerful and uplifting despite what people might think.

“My name’s Theresa Trager but you can me Trager. I don’t really like my name.”

“No worries. I have a friend that’s like you,” Harry smiled, seeing Tonks in his mind.

Trager smiled. Michael jerked his head in Jasper’s direction. “What’s that dag doing over there?”

Harry turned around and saw he was referring to Jasper who was scaling while looking at his group. He shook his head and walked over, leaving Trager and Michael to watch after him.

“Look, why don’t you act like the thirty-year-old you are and come over here. I don’t care whether the bloody hell you hate me or not. But if you want to get on the good side of these Agents, do what you’re told to do,” said Harry in a cold tone.

“I don’t need to listen a fourteen-year-old. Why don’t you get your scrawny arse back over there?” Jasper sneered, arms crossed.

“Is there a problem, trainees?”

The both of them turned around. Professor Titi was standing silently behind them.

“No, Professor Titi,” Harry answered, attempting to keep the aggravation out of his voice. Titi nodded stiffly.

“Trainee Edwards, I suggest you form with your group. If you don’t graduate like you failed to do last time, then your time should be wasted somewhere else.”

Jasper’s expression contorted from annoyance to furiousness. Harry didn’t know what that meant but the statement certainly shut Jasper up. Without a word, his roommate left to join Group Four.

“Professor Titi…what do you mean?”

“Jasper Edwards is a good trainee. He would have been an excellent agent if it weren’t for his attitude,” she paused as if thinking. “Last year, he was set to graduate, but his inability to work properly with others had changed some plans. During a practice involving group activity like today, Edwards and his mates decided on a plan but Edwards changed it without telling his group. His mates were critically injured and all blame was on Edwards,” explained Professor Titi.

“A person who thinks they can do everything alone will never succeed in Operation CoJacks. Everyone’s involvement is needed.”

Harry remembered when he was in his fifth year. It was night that Sirius was killed. He didn’t want Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville to go with him because he didn’t want them to get hurt. But in the end, everything turned out alright.

In fact, if Harry went alone into the trap, he was sure he wouldn’t come out alive.

“Alright. Every team is against every other team. In this practice you are to treat them as your enemies or opponents and not as a fellow trainee. Your objective is to reach a blue circle which you’ll understand later. Best team will find it first,” informed Titi to the entire room.

The practice was a perverse game of “finder’s keeper, loser’s weepers”. All of the trainees were given makeshift guns. This “game” had no rules whatsoever and whoever gets shot will disperse from the training and lose one for their team.

Everyone was given goggles along with their weapons. These goggles would provide the virtual world in which they would be going in. Harry heard collective gasps from his fellow trainees once they out their goggles on.

Oddly, the trainees were placed inside what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. The whole place was semi-lit. There were only a few boxes on each shelf, randomly placed around the room. The room was oppressively hot and absolutely different from the VR room, which led Harry to wonder about how technology has changed in the years.

“Crikey…” Fortimine muttered. His team, including Jasper was beside him and in the same position as they were before. Even Jasper appeared to be surprised by the room.

“Attention,” called a voice that sounded as if it was over a PA system. “Attention, trainees. This session will start in approximately 60 seconds. After the bell is sounded, weapons are allowed to be used. The shelves and boxes can be used as guards or shields. A person can be hit thrice. One more would immediately be pulled out. We expect for you to use all knowledge and training that Operation CoJacks had taught you. Good luck.”

The bell sounded off as expected and everyone was in instant action. Someone fired at Harry but luckily he managed to somersault to the side in time. He didn’t realize the trainees were so quick in agility and mentally told himself to get used to it. He pulled out his gun and shot at a dark-hair trainee at his far right. His whole body jerked back as if he was pushed by an invisible force. He shook his head.

“Hutler: 1,” announced the same voice from before.

After attempting to locate the voice, Harry turned his attention to the battle. The starting point was clearing; everyone was heading towards the center and closer to the door in the back of the room. His team was ahead of him. Trager was hiding behind a large box, gun stiff in her hands. She lifted a finger.

“Bellington: 1, Wood: 1.”

Malcolm got hit.

Everyone seemed to follow Trager. They hid themselves from the other teams behind large objects. Harry moved and hid himself behind another large box, back pressed against its side.

He glanced across the aisle and at Fortimine who was holding a finger to his lips. He raised three fingers and began to count down.

Once he raised his fist (0), all four members of Harry’s team leapt up began to shoot at the targets they could see.

Harry felt himself being hit. It didn’t hurt; it only startled him.

“Potter: 1,” rang the announcement as Harry ducked and rolled again.

The whole training was like a battle field. Every team against 12 other trainees. Harry got hit one more time which made him step up his game a bit more.

He was closest to the blue circle. Everyone else was either eliminated or fighting against another opponent. The objective of this game was to get the circle and this was the perfect chance.

Harry sprinted as he did for the Tri-Wizard Cup in fourth year. His arm stretched out like he would in a Quidditch game. His feet were about a foot away from the blue line of the circle before he felt himself being knocked down.

Bloody hell!

Who was it on top of him? Harry stopped struggling and decided to use some of what Slit taught him. He wrenched his arm free and pulled it back, his elbow contacting with the person’s rib. He heard a short intake of breath and used this opportunity to get on his feet.

It was Jasper!

Before he could speak a word, the man lunged at him

He didn’t understand why Jasper was attacking him. And could they even use defensive combat?

That’s right. No rules.

Jasper was supposed to be his teammate in yet he acted like an enemy. Now he understood what Titi had told him. Jasper was didn’t like working with others; he wanted the glory all to himself. Bastard, Harry thought. He felt an arm wrap around his neck from behind and the other pulling him back. Jasper was choking him, cutting off the air.

Harry wouldn’t let him win that easily. Closing his eyes, he imagined that he was facing Malfoy or Voldemort or someone he hated with all his being. He saw his wand in his mind, hands gripping it tightly. He felt the magic inside of him, inching its way up through his body and suddenly, he opened his eyes.

Jasper flew off Harry and landed a few feet away. He lifted himself up before looking at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry breathed heavily, staring at Jasper with a look of loathing. With his eyes still pinned on him, Harry took a step forward and into the circle.

The surroundings immediately melted away, replacing the warehouse with the VR room. The trainees, dazed, glanced around and shook their heads at the sudden change.

The PR voice rang through the room, announcing, “Group 4 wins. Trainee Harry Potter reached the circle first.”

“What the bloody hell is your problem?” Harry yelled at Jasper, once the game was over.

“EDWARDS!”

The two of them turned simultaneously to face an angry Fortimine. Harry swallowed hard, even though he wasn’t the one in trouble.

Jasper was pulled away and Harry tried to follow and listen in but someone called for him.

“Potter.”

Harry turned and saw Titi standing next to Slit and Hermione. He glanced back at Jasper who had turned away from him and was now in a heated conversation with Agent Fortimine. Harry then sighed angrily and walked towards Hermione.

“What?” he asked annoyed. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“I saw what he did, Harry. You should be angry at him, not me.”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just…” He sighed again. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Slit was the one who told him. "We just got a notice. Organization is called EYES. They contacted the Prime Minister asking for him to meet them at a provided address.”

Before Harry could even speak, Slit cut in again and said,

"No, Harry. You stay this time. I don't think Mr. L would want you to go."

"Well, I was actually gonna tell you to not go.”

Slit turned to the trainee. "What?"

"Don't bloody bring the Prime Minister, I mean. You don't understand--the terrorists are working for Voldemort. They'll kill you guys!"

“We’re not bringing the Prime Minister.”

"Slit, I'll go--"

"No, Harry. Bill and Fleur's wedding!" Hermione reminded him. Harry swore to himself. She was right. Ron's older brother was getting married the next day and Harry knew he could never miss it. Mrs. Weasley would have a fit. But he also knew that the meeting was a trap. He was a bit surprised that Slit couldn't see it.

Harry sighed, "Slit, I'm telling you. Those men will probably kill you.”

Slit scowled. "Thanks for stating it so blatantly. I already know it's a trap; I don't need some 17-year-old to tell me."

Harry glared but in his mind he was thinking, "If Slit already knew that then why was he still going?"

As if reading Harry's mind, Slit answered, "Since they're Muggles, the level of our Operation CoJacks agents and EYES will be matched. We're perfectly capable of defending ourselves. There's good chance that we may even be able to capture them."

Even though Slit sounded confident of himself, Harry had a foreboding feeling. He looked over at Hermione who appeared to be struggling as to who she agreed with. She caught her friend's look and shrugged. "I know. Something is wrong." Harry was surprised when Hermione announced that. "I can see it on your face. Plus, I feel it too."

That was really hard to write. I mean, really. I think I like stories where I don’t have to make up such extensive backgrounds for…one-shots are probably better, but I don’t have any more ideas! It sucks because I want to give you something that could make you smile on a rainy day lol.

Also, I have some recommendations. Go on youtube and type in Lauren Cooper…you have to watch this sketch especially with the guy from Doctor Who (I think he was also Barty Crouch Jr. in Goblet of Fire….) HILAROUS. Also, check out the Australian version of Thank God You’re Here—which is also on youtube.

If I wrote anything wrong in this message, sorry it’s 11 PM and I’m only staying up so I could post this.

Yes, you SHOULD be thankful, lol.

Hopefully I’ll be writing something else for you!

13. Chapter 13

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

A/N: I would like to warn people that the Prime Minister of Britain in this fic has nothing to do with the real one. So if you’re one of those highly dedicated supporters of the real PM, don’t get mad at me for what happens in this chapter.

For a lengthier (I never knew that was word, swear to God) note from the spectacular Le, go to the end (but read chap. 13 first, please!)

Also…I just want to say:

I don’t mind flamers. I mean, I know you guys don’t have a life and stuff and that’s why flame me but jeez…ReviewerOfTheWest, you gotta get one.

I seriously think it will help you.

This kid flamed me not only once…twice…but FIVE times.

And don’t make fun of Operation CoJacks! What kind of name is ReviewerOfTheWest?

Chapter 13:

Next Day

"Edwards didn't come back from the VR last night," acknowledged Forest, "has anyone seen him?"

Malcolm shook his head, "Last time I saw him was when Fortimine was giving him an earful."

"Maybe he got kicked out?"

"That'd be good decision on CJ's part," commented Malcolm, "especially after what happened with him and Harry. I mean, knocking down a kid because he was gonna get to the circle before him...

The two roommates stopped picking up their clothes and looked over at Harry who was packing some stuff into a small suitcase. The owl of his was gone to who knows where and the cage appeared to need some cleaning. They hoped they wouldn't have to do it. They decided to clean the room after Forest had tripped over a bundle of clothes in front of his bed when he was moving around in the dark. He had a slight bump on his forehead now as a reminder.

"Where are you going, Harry?"

"Er...I'm going to be away for a few days."

"Nice suit," commented the both of them and they were amused to see the boy blush. For some unknown reason, their young roommate was dressed down in a suit.

"A wedding from I could see...but hey, trainees aren't allowed to visit their 'friends'."

Malcolm suddenly snickered. "Unless a certain trainee is friends with the head's niece."

Forest sighed dramatically, flopping onto his perfectly made bed. "So true." He reached above and behind him to smooth the corner of a scandalous poster on the wall. He smiled at it before looking at his roommates. "You know what's odd?"

"What, Forest?" asked Malcolm who then shared an amused glance with Harry.

"I think I'm getting Alzheimer's."

The both of them laughed but Harry was the only one who knew why Forest would be thinking that.

"You're a weird one, Forest," commented Malcolm.

Forest gave his roommate an affronted look. "And I suppose you remember what you did last night?"

"Yeah. I had no classes so I just stayed here most of the time."

"What time did you go to sleep?"

"At..." Malcolm broke off at the end. "Wait, I don't remember!"

"Maybe you have to work on memory recall," suggested Harry, who stuffed a clean t-shirt into his bag and hastily zipped it up.

Harry shook his head at uncanny similarities between his roommates and the Weasley twins' behavior as he shut the door behind him. He walked down the corridor, awkwardly nodding at the trainees who were eying his clothing. Some were looking at him suspiciously; other people narrowed their eyes. They still weren't used to a teenager being their fellow trainee. Once establishing that he was in a deserted hall, he closed his eyes and pictured Mr. L's face.

Luckily, he interrupted the Head as he was about to hug his niece goodbye. Slit looked amused at the fear that suddenly appeared on the young trainee's face.

Ben Lester glared at Harry once he arrived.

Harry awkwardly watched from a distance as Hermione saying her goodbyes to her uncle. Mr. L was completely different man with Hermione. He wasn't head of a secret government organization. He was Emma Granger's older brother and Hermione's favorite uncle. Ben smiled as his niece was in his arms, safe and sound.

Hermione told him some time ago that she would have to go to some wiz---sort of wedding. The whole witch/wizard thing was still surreal for Ben. After he left the room in which Hermione had confessed in, he immediately headed for his private sanctions. He ignored his colleagues' calls and the other agent's effort to get his attention and closed the door. The lights had been left untouched and the room was dark as his mind was at that moment.

This was another side of Hermione Granger that he never knew about. His niece was a witch, Emma and Dan knew that, and so, they've basically lied to him the whole time about their daughter's life.

Ben Lester decided he was going to have to pay his family a long, overdue visit.

Hermione let go finally and Ben felt as if the warmth left his body. She smiled, noticing his disappointment and said, "Don't worry, Uncle Benny; I'll be back in a few days."

He nodded. "I hope so." Ben gestured behind him, "he better take care of you."

His niece glanced over her uncle's shoulder and smiled softly as she saw Harry give her a small wave. "He always has."

"But," she said as she began to walk away, "if something does happen...don't be too hard on Harry. After all, he still has to save our world!"

As his friend walked towards him, Harry took in her appearance. The both of them had to dress formal for the wedding. Harry opted for the suit because he'd rather where this than the dress robes that remembered he wore for the Yule Ball.

But his simple outfit couldn't compare to Hermione's.

She was wearing a floaty, lilac-color dress with matching high heels. Unlike what she had done for fourth year, her hair was left in its natural state, but Harry could see she must have applied some sort of potion that kept her hair from frizzing. Her curls bounced as she made her way (a bit clumsily) over to him. Her hair appeared to be very soft and easy to run a hand to...and Harry wondered...

"These awful shoes will be the death of me," she muttered darkly, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Harry shook his head and walked towards Slit.

"So...when are you leaving?"

Slit checked his watch briefly before replying, "In a few hours. The location's not very far from headquarters."

"You better take care of her, Potter," warned Ben as he and Slit gathered around a circle that Hermione had drawn up.

Hermione turned her head, smirking just as the apparition was beginning. "Scared?"

Her friend let out a long breath. "Just a little."

Ben started when the two teenagers disappeared before his eyes while his agent stood unperturbed. "You'll get used to it, sir."

Later, as Slit suited up from the mission, he pondered. As much as he knew Harry was right, as much as he felt it himself, Slit still thought the mission was necessary.

Slit may never be able to explain it but he knew today was the right day to go on the mission. Sure, there may be casualties. His teammates might die. He might die. But if meant getting these stupid...Death Eaters and their muggle chumps, Slit would do anything.

"How many are going?" Ben asked, finally turning away from where his niece had just disappeared into thin air. He was notified of the basic details in the case and felt Slit was best to handle the equipment and number of people.

"15." Ben raised his eyebrows.

Slit explained, "Potter said there might be muggles and Death Eaters. The extra nine are merely precautions."

"Precautions...that may not even survive," said Ben. "Tanner, going on this mission might be the most idiotic decision on your part and mine for letting you go. We don't know who or what we're really up against. These magicians...wizards...."Death Eaters", whatever, are something else."

"I saw what we are up against when I fought in that Ministry battles. We may have weaknesses but I guarantee that they do too

Harry would have fallen on the ground if it weren't for Hermione who was holding his hand. She smiled, amused, and pulled him along.

Harry noticed that this was the exact point in which they had apparated to last time--only their reason this time was more delightful. The grass that they stood upon was a dazzling green, healthier than even the Dursleys’ lawn. He suspected that magic had played as an important factor.

As they walked along the pathway, trails of assorted flowers pointed the way. Harry stopped and bent over to pick up a red daisy, handing it to a blushing Hermione. She accepted it. This time HE looked away and nervously ran a hand through his hair.

They finally arrived at the entrance of the Burrow's backyard, which was beautifully decorated. Lanterns were strung across the branches of the trees that surrounded the yard. Tables for the guests to sit down were neatly placed in a separate area in the back. In front were the seats for the guests. In the middle was an isle that was solely meant for the path of the bride.

"Harry dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, quickly embracing her surrogate son. "So good to see you again!" That was all she could say before she rushed off, instructing a bewildered helper about flower arrangements.

Suddenly a small person launched itself into Harry's unsuspecting arms.

"What the--" He forcefully pushed the person away. "Ginny!"

His ex-girlfriend smiled widely at him when he said her name. She was dressed nicely as well, only her dress was a light pink. It was the customary color for all of the bridesmaids. "Hi Harry!"

"Hello," he greeted her formally with a forced smile.

Ginny looked behind him, purposefully overlooking Hermione who was wearing a sour expression. "I see...uh, Slit hasn't come this time."

"No, he's, er...doing something else of importance," Harry answered, looking around the yard instead of Ginny. Her bright smile faded a little but then she lit up again. "Can you believe it? Bill and Phlegm getting married?" She laughed, expecting him to do the same.

"Yeah, they make an interesting couple I guess," he answered, just because he had to. Ginny continued to ignore Hermione.

Harry was lucky this time; Ron came over, holding hands with Luna. The two stepped in front of Ginny, effectively cutting Ginny off from the circle.

"Hey Harry!" His best friend greeted along with Luna's soft, "Hello." Ginny harrumphed and swiftly turned on her heels, walking away from the group.

Harry grinned widely, "Hey lovebirds." Ron turned red while Luna merely laughed. She exchanged awkward hugs with Hermione. The two were never really close even though they were probably the most intelligent witches in their respective years.

"Harry!" Bill exclaimed with a big smile plastered on his face. Harry was glad to see his best friend's brother so happy. He reached out and shook Harry's hand with gusto. "

"Dad asked the Ministry for some protection. Helps that he's Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.

Harry smiled, "Good. Hopefully the Aurors will do their jobs correctly."

"The only thing I'm worried about is Ginny. She and Fleur don't exactly see eye-to-eye," said Bill, his smile fading. "I'm a bit upset about that because Fleur is a lovely witch and the woman I intend to love for the rest of my life."

Hermione shook her head shamefully, "I'm sorry, Bill. I used to be a bit...harsh to Fleur. Ginny was not the only one--"

Bill laughed, waving a hand, "It's okay. With you, I know you're sincere with your apologies. My little sister however..." Still, the oldest of the Weasley children smiled. "I'll worry about it later. I'm getting married!"

Slit felt as if he was in some sort of mob movie where an agent would meet the boss in an abandoned warehouse.

Very cliché, Slit thought wryly as they pulled up in front of the garage.

A broken, wearied sign missing all letters save for one "T" hung pathetically above yellow, dead grass. Trash was thrown carelessly onto the ground. He glanced out of the rearview mirror and observed that the other teams where behind and ready to go when instructed.

He readjusted his holster and nodded to Elaine who was sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Simultaneously, him and his other 5 teammates exited the van and readied their guns.

"Listen," he whispered, "if you see anything weird or odd, don't dwell on it. Just react instantly as you would do in any other mission."

His teammates looked at each other.

"Odd?" Todd, a young agent, questioned. Slit waved a hand. "Just do as I say and you'll be okay. These men are expecting the Prime Minister. Obviously, we didn't bring him because that’d be utterly stupid of us. Our mission is to bring these EYES down and that starts tonight. We'll use the talkies for communication. Notify everyone if something comes up."

Everyone nodded and at Slit's signal, the team moved.

Harry smiled customarily at the incoming guests for what seemed like the hundredth time in that evening. The guests took an immediate liking to the Boy-Who-Lived and smiled dazzlingly as they shook his hand. Hermione, thankfully, rescued Harry from the mob of fans and pulled him to their reserved tables. They sat around at the same table as Hagrid, Lupin and Tonks, Ron, Neville, and Luna.

Harry and Hermione exchanged polite greetings before Lupin requested to speak to Harry, alone.

Knowing that this was an opportunity for Harry to explain himself, he followed Lupin to a deserted spot near the trees.

"I think you know my reason to speak to you, Harry," said Lupin, smiling slightly. "Interesting fellow you brought with you last time. Slit?"

"Yeah," Harry answered nervously.

"Care to explain now?" Lupin sounded amused.

Taking a deep breath, Harry launched into his story of how he met Slit in the first place and everything about Operation CoJacks. He mentioned his training to become an agent, his confession to Slit and Hermione's to her uncle, who happens to be head of Operation CoJacks by coincidence.

When Harry finished, Lupin blinked for what seemed like the first time throughout Harry's story.

"Well. Harry..." he paused before speaking, "Operation CoJacks sounds like an interesting organization to be part of. Can you...handle such a big responsibility along with the Horcruxes?"

"Yeah, I think I--" He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Lupin with his eyes wide. "How'd you know?!?"

"Dumbledore." Lupin gave his godson a grin that reminded Harry exactly why he was a Marauder.

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes. Even though you are of age, Dumbledore convinced the Ministry that you still needed to be looked after. I hope you don't mind. At first it was very hard to convince the Ministry that I was competent to be your godfather since my status in wizarding terms is not so competent..." Lupin glanced up at the sky and sighed.

"Full moon's coming soon?" Harry guessed and was proven correct when Lupin nodded. "It doesn't matter. Yes, I'm of age but I still need an adult to look after my blunders," he joked.

Lupin laughed along with Harry and they eventually headed back. A few minutes later the actual wedding began.

"Jesus," Todd muttered after turned around and finding that no one was behind him, again. This was the fourth time he got the feeling that he was being watched. However, each timed he whirled to face them, his ears picked up a popping sound and then saw that no one was there.

"Keep focus," hissed Jenna, his partner. The two were assigned to check the east side of the spacious warehouse while Emily and Grant had the west and Elaine and Slit had the north.

"I am! Only...bloody hell, don't you feel as if--" his question was cut off when his feet stopped moving. Todd let out a gasp and tried to move his feet again but it was as if it was stuck to the ground. Every other part of his body was fine. He could still see in the dark, talk, and move his arms. "Jenna, are you--"

"I can't move either!" Jenna exclaimed, panic in her voice. "W-what's happening?"

Todd reached for his talkie which was strapped against his waist and frantically called, "Team! Jenna and I--we--we can't move...our legs, they're---"

There was a blinding light that came from the shadows and suddenly, Todd couldn't feel his hand that was holding the walkie-talkie.

The young agent looked down and screamed in pain. Jenna stared numbly at the floor where pieces of her partner's hand mixed with bits of the electronic talkies lay.

Another light was cast, except this time, it was the color of green.

She didn't get the chance to scream like her partner had done.

"Slit!" Elaine exclaimed, feeling scared for the first time in years. She heard Todd's voice as it echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse and his following scream pierced through her like physical pain.

Slit didn't answer; he was preparing himself for the inevitable attack. "Stay quiet, Elaine."

Elaine was crying by now. "Todd and Jenna, oh god!"

Another scream reached their ears and they immediately recognized that it was Emily's. The scream was followed by a weeping sob (Taylor’s) and then someone else---a person in the shadows---yelled something in another language and the sobbing finally stopped.

Slit heard Elaine's small cries and he quickly headed towards her and protected her with his arms. "Elaine, you have to be quiet...these people--"

"How...these are not people, not people at all...monsters," muttered Elaine in muffled voice. Forget training, forget about staying calm, she thought. Slit shushed her and stilled. Elaine took a deep breath and forced herself to stop shaking.

"If we don't make a sound, maybe--maybe--"

Red and blue lights soared from out of nowhere.

Elaine gasped and stared up at Slit with wide eyes. The breath inside of him suddenly disappeared as he stared back at his partner. Slowly, blood began to seep out of the corners of Elaine's mouth, dripping down her chin and onto Slit's protective vest. Her body went limp and Slit, shocked to the core, fell down along with his longtime friend. She collapsed completely out of Slit's, falling to her knees and then her back. Her head lolled to the side, facing where Slit was lying.

Slit couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

No no no no.

Elaine's chest stopped shuddering, and she was finally still. Blood continued to leak from her face and somewhere from her back, forming a large pool under her body. Still lying on his side, Slit reached out a hand, as if to touch her but then let it fall to ground when he heard the voices.

"They didn't even see it coming," a low voice sniggered.

"Beautiful masterpiece," purred a womanly voice that caused Slit to shiver slightly. The movement went unnoticed by the two presences.

"I think the Weasleys' are throwing party. Let's join Dolohov and the others and get Potter. We’ll head to Downing later."

"Let's."

Two simultaneous popping sounds were heard and then nothing more. Slit heard his breath coming short but he couldn't do anything to stop it. His body began to shiver uncontrollable.

His eyes, though he tried not to, were pinned in Elaine's. Her blood was quickly reaching Slit's body, but still, he did not move.

For the first time in a long time, Slit began to cry.

"Let's dance, Harry!"

Harry made a face. "Dancing is not exactly my forte, Hermione."

"It's not mine either. C'mon, everyone else is dancing!"

"No," said Harry though a smile was slowly forming on his face.

Hermione laughed. "Harry!"

"Will you stop nagging him, Hermione! If he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't have to," said Ginny nastily, glaring at her former friend. Harry glanced in shock at his ex-girlfriend and then his best friend. Hermione looked as if she was restraining herself from hexing the younger girl.

Harry took this as an opportunity to avoid a potential catfight. "Actually, let's dance, Hermione." He offered a hand in which Hermione took, stunned. They walked to the dance floor hand in hand and found spacious spot.

"Er...sorry, Hermione...about Ginny," he said quietly after Hermione instructed him on where his hands should go. They were slowly swaying to the soft music with Hermione's arms around his neck and his around her waist. They maintained a respectable distance from each other but were still very close.

"That's okay...actually I'm a bit glad."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"You defended me this time," she answered simply.

Harry looked down guiltily, silently wishing that he should have known better than to let his best friend get hurt.

Hermione poked Harry's his left shoulder. "Don't worry. Ginny's words were nothing, really. After all, I've dealt with Malfoy for years. It was the matter of you taking her side and...well, I didn't really take it that well."

"I was a horrible friend last year, wasn't I?" Harry asked, softly.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm passed it. Right now, I'm glad that you're including me in everything."

"How can I not? You're Hermione Granger, my best friend."

She grinned at him. "And don't you forget it, Potter."

"May I cut in?" The two stopped moving when Ron had interrupted. He was grinning at the both of them, holding the hand of a dreamy Luna Lovegood.

"Ooh, I call Harry!" The Ravenclaw grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him away. The poor Gryffindor helplessly looked back at his friends who were laughing.

Dancing with Luna was relatively comforting, although Harry got nervous when she started humming a completely different song from what was playing on the WWN. He took a look around as he moved in his spot. Lupin and Tonks were closely embracing more than dancing. Fleur was dancing with Mr. Weasley while Mrs. Weasley was crying as her son comforted his mother with a small smile.

Harry spotted Hermione and Ron dancing not as close as Harry and Hermione but still close enough to cause him to frown.

"You don't have to worry. Ron's mine."

Harry pulled his gaze away from his best friends. "Wuh?"

Luna smiled. "Ron. He and I are dating."

"Oh." Then he thought of how odd the idea was. "Congratulation, I guess."

"Thanks. I have to say that to Hermione too,"

"Why?"

"Well, she was the one who gave Ron my owl address. Then he owled me and...here we are."

"Oh," he said once again, feeling alittle better.

"But you don't know why," said Luna softly, finishing Harry's thought.

"W-what?"

"I think they're done dancing," said the Ravenclaw who then released Harry and threw her arms around Ron. Hermione smiled softly at the sight; they seemed so happy.

"I-I thought you liked him," mumbled Harry, averting his eyes to the ground. She turned around and laughed.

"No way. I think that was done with years ago. C'mon, let's dance...Ginny's dancing with Neville but he's still staring at us."

Harry happily obliged.

They danced a few numbers before finally joining Ron, Luna and Neville at a table near the back of the courtyard.

The wedding was a wonderful escape for Harry. He was surrounded by everyone he loved and it was as if nothing else mattered.

He almost fooled himself into thinking that there wasn't a war going on

The first scream brought him back to reality.

Harry's head whipped around and his eyes quickly focused on the source.

It came from a woman with brown hair and large glasses with her back turned from Harry and the others. She hurried stepped backwards before falling flat on her back. Harry finally saw why this man scared her so much.

He was holding out a wand. Gradually, his skin began to bubble and fatten, his black hair turned to brown, and his height shrunk a few inches.

The man was a polyjuiced Death Eater.

Screams instantly took over the relaxed atmosphere from minutes before and suddenly, everyone was running.

A louder yell, this time coming from a man, signaled Harry's eyes to fall on another Death Eater who just turned in his original state. From the corners of the yard, witches and wizards changed, revealing their true identities.

The Death Eaters found a way to get pass the Anti-Apparition ward in the courtyard. They've succeeded.

Harry suddenly felt weak, falling to his knees. His eyes glazed over as if struck by the Imperious Curse.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing onto his hand. She fell to her knees by Harry's body and watched in horror as her friend suddenly smiled.

It was Harry's, though. The laugh that escaped his mouth wasn't his either.

"Hermione! The Death Eaters, shite...get Harry!" Ron yelled, head frantically whipping around.

Wizards and witches were running in every direction, heading for exits and apparating once they were clear of the wards.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, holding down his body as his hand clutched his sides. He was laughing manically and couldn't hold still. She stared wide-eyed at Ron whose color had drained from his face. His girlfriend held the same expression. Shakily, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a water charm, spraying Harry in the face. He choked as he inhaled water and his laughs stopped.

Harry quickly sat up and shook his head. "Voldemort..."

"Kids!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, pushing aside the hysteric guests. "Head inside. Head inside, now!"

A stray spell flew over her head and she ducked. Harry took this opportunity to leap up from the ground and was about to escape when Hermione held back his arm and Mr. Weasley shouted.

"Get down, Harry!" Mr. Weasley yelled, reaching a hand and painfully pushing Harry's head down. Agitatedly, Harry pushed his arms away, swiftly pulling out his own wand.

"Harry!"

"Mr. Weasley, This isn't right. Voldemort...I HAVE to fight. I already survived the Ministry attack, I think I can handle this one!"

"Harry, that was a close call. The Death Eaters are after you for--" Mr. Weasley ducked away from a stray spell "they're after you!"

Harry shot a Stunner over his shoulder, not even glancing behind at a fearful Hermione and said, "Don't you think I know that?" before running off in the opposite direction.

He watched as Lupin fought Snape. The two were dancing the dance of war. Snape moved with agility that Harry has never seen from his Potions Master before Suddenly, Lupin was blasted away by a nameless spell and Harry prayed that his father's best friend would be okay. Snape smirked in his evil, slimy way and turned to find another match.

Images of Snape and Dumbledore danced around Harry's head, how he murdered the Headmaster that night.

"Snape," Harry said just a bit quieter than a yell. Through the battles of undistinguishable sounds, Harry was sure that Snape wouldn't hear him. But miraculously, Snape sensed someone was near and stopped, slowly turning on his heel. Harry found himself under the wand of Severus Snape.

"Potter. I'm surprised the Weasleys let you battle. What a mistake on their part," he drawled, smirking again.

"I want a duel," was Harry's response. This caught Severus a bit off guard but he quickly recovered, masking his face with a look of menace.

"Oh? That'd be an unfair advantage on my part, Potter."

"Like you with Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked innocently. Suddenly Snape’s face was inches away from his and had a strong grip around Harry’s throat. Snape’s wand was against his throat, and he jerked his head back but Severus' hand still gripped the collar of his dress robe.

"Y-You...killed when he was defenseless," gasped Harry, never minding that he was about to be choked to death.

"Dumbledore was nothing but a fool. And an old beast to think that he could ever fight against the Dark Lord by using you as the weapon. That you, Harry Potter, could ever take his place."

"Dumbledore was a courageous and great wizard...unlike you. That's why Voldemort is scared of him,” Harry managed to say.

"Was, Potter. Or are you not accepting the fact that your beloved headmaster is dead?" The point of the wand dug into the side of neck and Harry tried to stop squirming.

Suddenly, Snape released him and Harry quickly regained his balance before falling. Snape his cloak and walked a few steps away from Harry. He took this as a tacit command to draw his wand.

Simultaneously, their wands were at ready and pointing at each other.

"Duel," commanded Snape in a low, snarling voice. Not even a second after his last word, Snape shot a quick Stunner at Harry in which he skillfully dodged with a somersault.

"I see you've been practicing your dodging. What other tricks do you have, Potter?" Another spell was shot and this time, Snape did his own dodging.

"Plenty," growled Harry in response, whirling his wand and casting a stronger Stunner at his former teacher.

The real battle began.

"The Party has started, Master," Wormtail informed with a look of glee on his face.

His master, in turn, was satisfied as well. He knew that his efforts to bring down the muggle government will be fought, but there's no harm to having fun.

"Then send the others to kill the Muggle. That will surely be something to enjoy."

"Tell me,” Harry asked through shorten breaths, “because it was never really clear. Whose side were you really on?" He was bleeding out of a cut on the left side of his face and though it stung, Harry ignored it. He wiped a hand across his face, bringing blood onto the back of his hands.

Harry stood five feet away from his opponent.

Snape tried not to look too tired. He stood straight but his shoulders were beginning to slump and the grip on his wand loosened.

The boy has improved in dueling since their last encounter. Whatever had happened in the two months since school closed had changed Harry Potter.

Harry glared at Snape as he seemed to analyze him. It was dumbfounding that Dumbledore had once trusted Snape. Harry used to think that the two shared a secret, and Dumbledore was most honorable to keep it. He believed Snape was on their side. The teachers even believed so!

Snape smiled cruelly, wand still pointed.

"The Dark Lord will forever be my master," replied Snape and something inside Harry snapped.

Before his mind could process what his body was doing, Harry’s hand reached down to the holster against his hip, quickly grabbing his weapon. Snape, though he didn't know what Harry was getting, fired a spell and he had to roll over to dodge it.

Harry rolled on his side and got up on his knee. With both hands, he held the gun and aimed it at Snape's head. His opponent's eyes widened, in shock or realization, Harry would never know.

He pulled the trigger.

The unknown sound rang through the clearing. All heads turned to the source and the Death Eaters, who were distracted, saw their Master's best henchman falling at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Fury raged in all of the black cloaked wizards and they turned their wands onto their master's target. That also meant they were turning their backs on the people they were fighting with. In simultaneous movement, the fighting wizards and witches shot a full Stunner among the mass of Death Eaters.

The Aurors, who were at the wedding, blinked. They just managed to capture nearly fifty Death Eaters before any could apparate. Immediately, they began their work, tying up and bringing the followers to Headquarters.

Harry killed him. He killed Severus Snape.

Just like Snape had killed Dumbledore.

And strangely…Harry felt no remorse. He didn’t feel anything as he gazed at the body of his former Potions teacher.

Harry's registered footsteps behind him but he couldn't turn his head. He lifted himself of the ground and shuffled towards Snape’s body.

"Harry?" called a nervous voice.

He gripped the gun even tighter as he kneeled beside Snape.

Was he becoming just like Voldemort now? Voldemort killed without care and Harry didn’t seem to care one iota about Snape. Not one. Maybe…

Maybe he was already like Voldemort. They shared the ability to speak Parseltongue and can see into each other minds…perhaps Voldemort was taken over Harry’s mind and soon enough, all of his being. Then what would Harry do?

"Oh dear!"

It was Mrs. Weasley's voice.

Snape’s eyes were left open; surprised and incomprehensible. His mouth was filled with blood and it was beginning to drip onto the once clean and healthy grass. The bullet that pierced the spot in between Snape’s eyes looked foreign on his face. His skin was even paler than normal.

"H-Harry," Hermione breathed, kneeling at a 5 feet distance, "let go of the gun."

Automatically, he felt a small hand on top of his, prying his fingers away from the gun’s handle. The person whispered—something—to another whom was farther away.

“Harry, look at me,” Hermione shakily commanded. She reached out with her arms and beckoned him.

"I-I killed him," Harry whispered, falling into her embrace. He didn't put her arms around her but let them fall idly by his sides.

"No-no you –didn’t.” She turned so that the two of them would face away from Snape as his body was being taken away. Harry was muttering something against her shoulder and soon enough, she felt something wet. Harry was crying.

Hour later:

They were at Grimmauld Place, sitting in one of the gloomy living rooms.

Hermione couldn’t believe how ignorant Ginerva Weasley was. Sure, Ron, her brother was rude sometimes but he knew where to draw the line. People were mourning the deaths of brave wizards and witches who fell at the hands of the Death Eaters and some were praying by their love one’s bed side for their survival.

And all Ginny wanted to do was talk to Harry. She basically believed that maybe Harry would cheer up when he sees Ginny. Obviously the girl has no knowledge of Harry’s real feelings towards her, Hermione thought exasperatedly.

"Ginny, I don't think you should--" Hermione began to warn the younger girl but Ginny merely threw her a dirty look before walking up the stairs.

"It won't be my fault if she gets blasted," piped Ron with surprising seriousness. He was sitting besides Luna on the couch, caressing her hand which was in his. Even Luna knew that this was no time to be foolish. Hermione rolled her eyes and furiously sat herself down on the couch with her arms crossed as she listened to Ginny’s soft voice in the upstairs hall, trying to coax her way into Harry’s room.

Not even ten minutes later, there was a, “GET OUT!” (from Harry, of course). Ginny ran down the stairs, bawling, rushed to her room and closing the door with a sob.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction as she heard Mrs. Weasley knocking on the door and her daughter answering with a, "Go away!"

She shook her head; Ginny knew what was coming.

“So Harry…shot Professor Snape with his…gun?” Luna, a pureblood, asked just to be sure.

Snape, Hermione suddenly thought. When she nodded, Ron said, “Well…Snape deserved it. Harry should be happy that he’s dead. He did kill Dumbledore.”

But Hermione shook her head and asked, “How would you feel if you killed a person?”

Ron couldn’t say anything to that so he proved her point. “That’s right. Harry’s seventeen and he killed his former professor. Killed. Didn’t you know that was his deepest fear?”

“To murder someone?” Ron asked, perplexed.

Hermione shook her head again and leaned on, “To become like Voldemort. Voldemort has committed hundreds of murders without any regret. And I bet Harry is also thinking about his scar being a—“ She glanced briefly at Luna. “—some sort of part of Voldemort that is stuck inside of him. He may think he’s Voldemort because of it, and that it’ll take over his body or something.”

Ron sat back, taking in the words that were just said by the witch sitting opposite of him. Luna looked thoughtful. Hermione was aware that she almost let slip the Trio’s secret and mentally chastised herself.

Moments later, Lupin and Shacklebolt walked into the living room looking grave. Lupin looked as worse as ever. Snape had shot some sort of spell and he was blasted away. Apparently, Lupin's leg was broken but then healed. As a means of adapting to his newly fixed leg, he was walking on crutches.

Hermione stood up, wanting to ask if he was okay and hoping that there was some information on the casualties at wedding. Moments before, she thanked God that the attacks were limited to the wedding (no news of attack on other wizarding areas were reported). But now, Hermione knew she was wrong to think that.

“W-what happened, Pro—Remus?” Hermione asked, afraid of the information that was to come.

Lupin swallowed hard, exchanged a glance with Shacklebolt, who nodded briefly, and announced to the three young students, “The Muggle Prime Minister…he’s…dead.”

Now that Ginny was gone, Harry flopped back onto his bed and rolled over to his side, furiously jamming his hands under his pillow. He shouldn't have made her cry but Harry didn't know any other way to convince her that they were never going to be together again.

At least it’s done with, he thought carelessly.

He didn’t want to think about what happened during the. He felt Voldemort’s happiness. Perhaps it was because of the wedding, but deep down, Harry knew another plan of Voldemort had worked. Somewhere in the world, someone else was dead.

"It has started, my master," informed Wormtail nervously. Harry nodded, feeling anxious but satisfied. His followers were already at their locations. Downing Street was completely surrounded by Death Eaters, ready to attack. Today, Voldemort will destroy the muggle government.

“The Prime Minister?”

“We were prepared if the Prime Minister did not show up. Elisix and Tortice were positioned with the others at Downing Street. Once the Prime Minister had left the building, they used the Avada Kedavra curse and killed all 8 of the bodyguards and then took care of the Muggle.”

“Excellent,” commented Voldemort. Wormtail stood a bit straighter at the compliment. “And the Weasley’s?” Voldemort had heard about the Weasleys' happy occasion and commanded his other Death Eaters to send his regards.

Wormtail slumped. “Master, we never expected—well, it was odd—that Potter boy—“

“What is it?” Voldemort asked in a harsh tone. What did that boy do?

“Severus is dead, my master,” Wormtail finally admitted. He instinctively curled after saying last word, expecting some sort of angry reaction from his Lord. Instead, he received no curse or reprimand.

Voldemort leaned back into his chair, contemplating with an odd expression on his face that Harry has never seen. “Interesting…Severus, a Death Eater, killed by a mere teenager? Severus, Severus,” he tutted.

“And how did Potter kill Severus…Wormtail?”

Wormtail gulped. “A gun, sir.”

Voldemort let out a low sort of laugh that sent chills down Wormtail’s spine. “A gun! My, my, he’s learning our game…”

Slowly, the Dark Lord rose from his seat and stepped down his podium…

“Hand me a mirror, Wormtail,” he commanded. Wormtail spent a second to process the command in confuse. But then, afraid to refuse his master, he did as he was told and handed it to Voldemort.

His master’s bony, pale hand curled around the handle of the mirror and very slowly, Voldemort gazed in the mirror. His eyes were searching for something that Wormtail could not see.

His thin mouth curled into a small smirk and he let out three words that resounded in the chamber with an ominous tone.

“Enjoying this Potter?”

Harry woke up with a scream.

IMO, I thought the ending was a bit rushed. Maybe because I just want this out before some of you start to verbally attack me on my awesome updating skills. Well, my time away from the computer was good for me because I just got a 90 on my AP History test! Woot! Lol.

Sorry about the extremely short wedding. I should have put more details. But weddings and fashions are not my forte so w/e.

So yes, Harry shot someone. And he's not taking it very lightly. I mean, would you? I haven't used the Hero's Journey thing for a long time but I think this is the point where he faces a truth or an obstacle.

Also with Uncle Benny versus Harry...I really hate fics where Hermione's father immediately takes a liking to Harry without even meeting him. They're like, "Oh I see my little girl hugging a broody, somewhat depressed and suicidal teen. I like him."

uhhh no. Harry's gonna have to earn Benny's respect. But how?

Welllll…I'm still figuring that part out but mark my words, an idea will come.

I tried to portray Slit as a person during the scene where Elaine died. He seems like a cold-hearted, drone type of deadly assassin and I feel guilty that I portrayed him liked that. Hopefully, the future chapters will shed light on Slit or Jameson Tanner’s true character. I think I’m going to put some history about how Slit met Elaine. Would you want that?

Also, a random fact, I read some stuff on Wikipedia on the last book and when I read about how Colin Creevey had died and how he looked small in death I was suddenly so sad. I mean, I knew he died but to think a kid...shit.

It’s gonna be hard for me to write dying scenes. It was so easy for Snape because I hated the dude. I don't even believe the crap that JK threw at us. It sounded like a poorly written fanfiction...Snape loves Lily...ew.

Oh…I forgot one small thing…

DUMBLEDORE’s GAY?!?!?!? NEVER SAW THAT COMING LOL

14. Chapter 14

Operation CoJacks

Viopathartic

Chapter 14:

Author's Note:

I'm done with midterms! That is the best thing about being in high school. After all the tests are done, the classes slack off for awhile before starting to learn again. During my free time I've been working on this chapter. A lot will happen.

This chapter will highlight the lives of Benjamin Lester and Jameson Tanner (Slit). There will be some Harry and Hermione, but I guess you say that they're not the ones being focused on.

Ben is 47. Emma Granger is 4 years younger and she had Hermione when she was 26 years old. Slit was 17 when he went in Operation CoJacks. The year was 1987 slash 8.

I think that's all for now. Read and possibly review?

The last time Benjamin Lester had ever gone on the tube was nearly a decade ago. He rode it when he was younger with his sister, but he could never get used to the loud grinding sounds of the railroad tracks or swaying and uneasiness that a standing passenger like him would have to endure.

Had it ever been this crowded?

A man pushed against him, momentarily losing his balance after someone else had knocked into him. By instinct, Ben, who had a grip around a bar above his head, grabbed him by the collar of his trench coat and pulled him back. He muttered a "thanks", and Ben gave a brisk nod.

Certainly not against his nature, his eyes took in his surroundings. Ben looked to his right and took note of an elderly couple, looking ahead and not supporting any sort of confabulation. He wondered if they were just content with being by their companion's side—no words were in need of being said.

In the front of the room was a group of teenagers. From the looks of it, they just got out of bed. One boy's hair was tousled and uncombed. Ear buds produced loud sounds in his ear, noise that only Ben, with his trained ear, could hear from far distance. The boy's head bobbed along with the music and his hands imitated that of the drummer.

The girl beside him--around Hermione's age, Ben thought absentmindedly--wore pajama pants and a pair of camouflage army boots. Her hair was dyed pitch black, and she had several piercings from what Ben could tell. She would have looked intimidating if it weren't for the green pigs printed on her pants.

The world changed. A lot.

Ben wasn't entirely oblivious to the world. Ask for the most recent conflict in whatever country and he could name it. But when it came down to a popular band or technology that was unrelated to espionage or the sort of work he was involved in, he was clueless.

It wasn't as if he never left Operation CoJacks Headquarters. He did. He had gone to Paris, Venice, Baghdad, and the island of Hokkaido...

...but only for the purposes of work matters.

Ben sighed, shifting weight from his left leg to his right.

He hardly remembered how he got into this business. It wasn't as if he wanted to be head of a spy organization when he was little. He wanted to be an author...and a science fiction one at that. Emma always loved to read his stories. But his mother and father didn't completely approve. So, he went into business (he later used entrepreneur as his cover-up) and eventually enlisted in the army in the year 1970.

Honestly, it wasn't important. What was done in the past had made him the man that he was today.

Now Hermione was still at that wedding with Potter and she said she'd be back in a few days, but who knows, she might be lying about that as well! She's done it before…eighteen years would mean she was a pro!

He was going to have a talk with Emmy. Ask her why they felt the need to keep Hermione's witch character in the dark. After all, here he was, riding on the Tube, to see Emmy.

Benjamin quickly looked down at his trousers and hastily pulled out his vibrating cell phone. He saw it was his crew at Headquarters.

"Benjamin Lester. Report?"

"Grant—headquarters—found in warehouse—all dead—Tanner—"

He felt a chill pass down his spine. Damn reception.

"EYES—dead—what—unknown—investigation starting—asking for your immediate presence."

The line went dead.

Ben flipped his cell phone shut, grinding his teeth. Slit had gone with the others to the warehouse and now, from what he heard, everyone was dead. Was Slit—

"Damn," he swore, pondering his next move. He glanced at his watch. The next stop was in fifteen minutes. If he got off there and reestablished connection, then he would be able to catch a ride and head back to Headquarters in short time.

Ben closed his eyes, willing himself to calm.

There were other times where he canceled a family gathering due to his "work" problems. One more wouldn't hurt but…

He stood up straight, gripping the pole that was holding his balance. Ten more minutes.

“The Muggle Prime Minister…he’s…dead.”

"What?" Hermione asked weakly.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "The Prime Minister and his bodyguards were hit by several Killing curses. Of course, no one survived. Also, it appears that Death Eaters had not only attacked areas in our world but also the Muggle world. Other areas targeted were isolated villages. We're trying to get those areas under control and avert the attention of the Muggle authorities. So far, we've succeeded.

"Prime Minister...dead! The Muggles must be hysteric," whispered Ron in awe. At this statement, Remus and Shacklebolt exchanged glances. This did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

"What is it?"

"We can make it seem as if the Prime Minister was not dead," announced Remus slowly.

"You have a plan...don't you, Remus?" She asked, stepping away from the couch. Her former professor allowed himself to be surprised of her acute observations and smiled slightly.

"I think we may."

He turned to Shacklebolt, shifting on his crutches. "Should we?"

"Tell us!" Hermione demanded.

"Only minutes of his death was reported. The Ministry was able to get the broadcast under their control and had cast a Memory Charm around the perimeter using the Ministry's best. Right now, no one knows that the Prime Minister is dead," Lupin explained. "Because of this, we have to continue the facade. So..."

He leaned on one crutch and with his free hand he pulled out a small vial containing, from what Hermione could see, strands of brown hair.

They can't be serious. "Is that—?"

"Yes, this is the Prime Minister's."

Ron stood up beside Hermione. "So you mean...you're gonna Polyjuice the Muggle Prime Minister?"

"This isn't possible," Hermione murmured.

Lupin continued as the girl didn't say anything. "Kingsley will. He has been working under the Prime Minister since last year. He knows all of the people working with the Muggle and knows how everything works. Aurors like him will be stationed at the office. How long we're going to keep it up...we don't know. But we can't let this out--it'll cause chaos among the Muggles. We need to keep everything orderly."

"But what about his family...and the family of the other bodyguards...will they just keep on living thinking that their father, husband, or son is alive while really, they're dead?" Hermione asked in a soft, incredulous manner.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley said, "we know that you are thinking of the personal consequences but right now, we must focus on larger matters."

"But they will know! The Death Eaters and Voldemort!" Hermione said, trying to think of every situation that would stop them from doing something so ridiculous…

"Yes, they'll know. But do you want to make it worse by having the Muggles run around, scared? That already happened a decade ago. We can't let them terrorize the Muggles even more."

Hermione wanted to say something else, but Harry's scream assaulted her ears.

"Harry," she whispered before sprinting to his room in Grimmauld Place.

They found him on the floor, in a daze and tangled in his blankets. Ginny had left her room and now stood under the threshold of his room, confused. Mrs. Weasley held her daughter by the shoulders, watching worriedly.

"Dear Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Wha--" Shacklebolt did not finish for he rushed to help Hermione untangle the young man.

She asked the question that everyone was trying to find out. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry was pale with beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Hermione brushed his bangs back in a gentle manner to sooth his quickening breaths. "H-he saw me..."

"Who? Voldemort?"

"He knows! He knew I was watching...he was talking--talking about something...he knows that I killed Snape!" Harry finished with panic in his last words.

"He's traumatized from his duel; he's never acted like this," Hermione muttered to Remus as she was crouched beside him.

Harry didn't seem to process that the two were discussing him; he merely sat there.

Hermione grabbed onto his shoulders and with the help of Ron and Remus, they put him on his bed. "Harry, take a minute. Calm down."

The boy slowly laid back as commanded and someone—Hermione—opened his hands that were balled in fists and was holding them. Harry took inhaled and exhaled through his nose.

His mind played the dream and the wedding again. They were attacked; the Death Eaters used the Polyjuice potion to sneak in. There was a battle. And…he killed Snape.

Harry opened his eyes, finding himself back in reality.

Then, once he gathered himself, he asked quietly, fighting down the dread that was building up, "The Burrow was not the only place attacked, right Remus?"

Remus nodded and limped with his crutches so that he was beside his godson. "What did you hear in your dream?"

"Wormtail said that some Death Eaters were positioned on Downing Street and that they killed...the Prime Minister," said Harry, looking to see that Remus confirmed it as a fact. "Then Wormtail informed Voldemort of the wedding and that Severus was dead. But Voldemort didn't seem angry...he said that I'm learning their game."

Harry shuddered slightly. "If they knew the Prime Minister was not going to be at that place than that means something happened at Slit's location!"

He turned to face Hermione. "Have you--"

She shook her head, "I don't know any more than you, Harry."

"What if—"

"Don't." Hermione couldn't take anymore of Harry's voice. It was so unlike his. Vulnerable. Panicky. "We'll deal with everything later."

Slit woke up to the rhythmic sound of IV drops dripping into the bag. The world before him swirled as his vision was gathered. He blinked several times as he took short breaths.

He was in the medic center at Headquarters. This area was usually for injured agents in the field or trainees in sessions. If it was serious, they usually took care of you while you were unconscious so you wouldn't have to feel the pain. After, they would leave you in a small area with curtains drawn around. Privacy.

Slit's eyes focused on the blue fabric curtain that boxed him and his gurney.

It didn't take long for Slit to remember what had happened hours ago.

He lifted his hands to eyes and observed them. These hands had held Elaine seconds before she was hit by that—that curse. These hands had reached out for her in the dark. But Slit couldn't reach her because she was already dead and gone from the world.

He let his hands drop to his side and his head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. By statistics, sixteen agents were killed per year and mostly on separate missions. Five had died on the same day and within minutes of each other. One of the fallen agents was Elaine.

Other agents who had died in previous years were merely fellow agents. Slit had talked to them before, but he was never really friends with any of them.

He and Elaine had a lot in common. And Slit remembered how it had led to their first meeting.

There was a small funeral for the Tanners.

Arnold Tanner was a great man who loved and supported his family while running a small tailor shop in downtown London. He was 45.

Lydia Smith Tanner was an exceptional woman who was brilliantly educated. But in the end, she chose to raise a family and did well with it. She was 39.

Amy Lynn Tanner was only a baby, but she knew how to bring smiles to everyone's face. She was only 16 months.

Slit sat slumped in the farthest corner of the room, a cup of water in his hands. He ran a hand over the scar near his ear, a reminder of the incident that would always stay with him. 17 and he was already experiencing hearing problems, the doctors said.

He could still feel the burning on his skin, the smoke in his lungs, but most of all, he saw the remnants of the car as his family slowly burned.

His nightmares would never cease.

"Hi."

Slit looked at his cup and at his reflection before staring at the person before him.

It was a girl who was around the same age as him. She had her long brown hair tied into a ponytail. She had barrettes in her hair. The girl was dressed modestly in a flowery skirt and a pink blouse. Slit didn't see anyone else around her.

"You're Jameson, right?"

Slit, he thought in his head. That was his new name. He decided so when he first woke up from surgery.

But even so, he nodded.

"I'm Elaine," She gave him her hand and he, almost hesitantly, took it.

Elaine smoothed down her skirt and took a seat next to Slit.

"I'm very sorry. You know, about your family."

She gazed at the boy who had his face set behind a mask.

"They said you were around my age. Seventeen, right? I suppose they thought you would be able to relate to me more…or will it be the other way around?"

Slit made eye contact with her when she said "they."

"They said my observational and mathematical skills would profoundly assist Operation CoJacks." The girl laughed nervously while Slit continued to stare at her. He then took a glance around and finally realized that he did not recognize a single person in the room. All of them, men and women, wore stiff suits and were somberly discussing serious matters.

Slit understood now. "They want to recruit me."

It was a statement, not a question.

Elaine gave a small nod.

"You know, I'm a bit scared. I never really…grasped that super secret spy organizations actually existed. Now they want me to join? Absolutely surreal."

Slit knew she would continue to talk if he didn't say something. He knew that she was forcing the conversation; this was not how she usually was.

"Did your family die?"

The girl jerked back, surprised at his blunt assumption. Her expression hardened, and Slit could now see the real girl behind this façade.

Elaine sighed, "My dad…he did. He apparently worked with your dad in the same branch. For my whole life, I thought he was a linguistics professor at the local academy. He even took me to his "work" one time. Did you always know—"

"Since I was 11. I don't know if my mum even knew…"

"I've heard your father trained you in all sorts of stuff…"

"He never used the word 'trained'. Said he wanted to expose me to everything in life."

"So your dad knew…that you'd become an agent too."

Slit shrugged, gulping down the last of his water.

"Well, my father died. A month ago. My mum too."

She cleared her throat.

"They said I would have a lot to learn. But you…well, apparently not."

Slit saw a man nod at him. He didn't even speak as he left the room. It was almost over.

Elaine continued to speak, "I think your dad wanted you to become this. Part of Operation CoJacks."

"I don't want to be part of an organization that will get my family killed," he replied in a hard voice.

"Not to be too harsh but…you don't have any family left."

Slit turned to glare at her, only to find her glaring back at him with the same fire.

The conversations around them were mutters and mumbles as the two teenagers held each other's gazes.

Elaine finally backed down though she did not seem disappointed or defeated. She gave a small jerk of a head saying, "That's Mr. L. He was the first person I actually talked to. He's the one who told me all about this. I think he knew your father too. He's nice."

Slit found himself observing Mr. L who was already looking at him. Finally, someone drew his attention away and the man turned his back on Slit.

"I don't think you can fight it. What's coming at you. I have no one else around so why not go with the people who want to help? I think I'm ready. To move on…"

Elaine trailed off, leaning back in her chair. Slit stared at his fist where he crunched the paper cup that he was drinking from before.

The two sat, waiting for the mass of people to disappear and let them be.

Slit blinked, pulling himself from his memory. Tears were pouring freely down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. In the past, he didn't cry; he thought it showed weakness. But now he did not care.

He lost a friend, and he was at his lowest.

It was okay to cry.

Memories of their first encounter, their first training sessions, and their first of everything…oh, he remembered.

Slit and Elaine…were….they were….

Friends.

He may have never acknowledged it, but Elaine was his friend. And he was hers.

In another world, in another time, they could have been more. Much more.

Those Death Eaters. They killed her.

"Sl—Jameson."

Slowly, Slit lifted his head and saw Mr. L in the exact place where he stared at moments before. Struggling to sit up straighter, he wiped away his tears.

"I thought you were going to see Hermione's parents."

Ben took this as an invitation and stepped forward so that he was at the end of Slit's gurney. "I was, but then I got the call…are you okay?"

Their relationship had grown in the decade they’ve known each other. What started as agent and trainee changed into something close to father and son.

"I wasn't hurt. I think I just passed out."

Ben nodded. Slit was acting strange. Quiet. He did not miss the tears that were on the young man's face. He remembered how he first met Elaine and how he pushed her into becoming companions with Slit who had lost his parents in an assassination. The two were matched; some days they were sort of friends and other days they were opponents. Elaine was a good agent and like many of his own before her, he would never forget them.

"Agents are on the case. They're investigating, they say. But—"

"You and I know they will not be able to trace the evidence. The Dark wizards did this. Not EYES. And only we know about them," said Slit, looking away.

Ben paused. "…we found the bodies of people suspected to be part of this EYES organization, hidden behind the warehouse. Seems like the EYES were partners with the Dark wizards, but the Death Eaters got a better deal."

"And they got rid of them."

His mentor nodded.

Slit sighed, suddenly feeling tired, "I knew it was a trap. Potter said it was a trap. But I thought…maybe the team could handle it."

Suddenly, he remembered the attackers' words. He sounded confused as he said, "…after they took down the team…they said something about the Weasleys…then Downing."

Ben frowned. The Weasleys. Hermione and Potter were there. Downing…the Prime Minister? "Are you absolutely positive? What you heard?"

Slit asked his question. "Are they really trying to kill the Prime Minister?" Ben waited for his agent's answer.

"They killed Elaine. Todd. Jenna. Emily and Taylor. They would have killed me if I didn't feign death. I'm sure that they are not playing games," Slit stated.

"What if it already happened?"

Slit nodded in the direction of the exit through the curtains. "Go and check before it's too late."

Benjamin wanted more than anything to make sure that what had happened in the mission would not happen to the Prime Minister. But he noticed Slit's reserved manner, his indifference.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Slit was already staring to the side. Resigned, he rotated and began to travel.

"Benjamin."

The head of Operation CoJacks turned around to face his fallen agent again. Tears had replaced the old ones on his face, but he asked in a voice unlike his own. "Will there…be a funeral for them? For Elaine?"

Benjamin Lester nodded. "Yes. Of course."

He had his team check the Prime Minister's office and the person in "danger" had answered himself. Ben quickly apologized to him when the Prime Minister had worriedly asked if anything was wrong.

So nothing had actually happened…yet. Ben sent some of his men to the office for security. Now he needed to worry about the wedding.

He still had to make sure if anything happened to his niece.

Despite the few times Benjamin contacted his sister by phone, he had the number memorized.

Each ringing that the phone produced caused his insides to squirm. Someone he loved was in danger. And the only way he could find her was to talk to the person who would know how to.

"Hello, Granger Dentistry Clinic, Dr. Emma Granger speaking."

"Emmy!"

"Ben?" She asked unsurely.

"Yeah. Listen, do you know how to contact Hermione?"

"Well, I don't know. She doesn't have a cell phone—"

Ben vigorously shook his head. "I mean in her world."

A pause. Something that has become common in his conversations.

"You know?" His sister's inquiry came out in a whisper.

"Yes, she told me."

Emma Granger sounded confused, "But…how?"

"Everything will be explained later on. For now, Hermione and her friend are in danger. She went to some wedding her world—"

"Bill and Fleur—"

"Yes!" Ben did not know who these people were but his sister apparently did. "Can you contact them in any way?"

"I—yes, I can."

He pulled back the sleeve of his blazer to check the time. "Then I'll be there shortly."

15 pages. Not too shabby for my return.

Also, if I am not mentioning something that was said in previous chapters, things that I left unfinished, tell me! I tend to forget to deal with those things.

Thanks to everyone who patiently waited for this chapter's release and I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Viopathartic