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The War to End Wars by Jack Ryan
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The War to End Wars

Jack Ryan

Chapter One---When Harry Met Hermione

Monday, December 21, 2004

Department of Central Intelligence Headquarters, London, England

"Goddammit, Mark, this is on need-to-know basis, all right? I don't want any more leaks," Harry Potter said angrily to his secretary, Mark Evans.

"Yes, sir, I'll tell them immediately."

Harry sighed as Mark left the room. Some idiot in the Intelligence Directorate had leaked information about the terrorist ring they were trying to bust up to a reporter. Again. Dammit.

"Mr. Potter?" a voice called, on the other side of the door.

"What is it, Nicole?"

His other secretary, the operations one, announced, "That reporter from the Prophet is waiting at the front entrance. And if I may say so, keep your cool, boss. We don't want an unfavorable article. Remember, even though the Minister likes us, if we get unfavorable reports, some other people in the Ministry will push to downsize us and that means jobs."

"Yes, I know, Nicole," Harry said tiredly, "send her in."

As he waited for the goddamn reporter to come in, Harry drummed his fingers angrily on his desk. His job was…well, he was basically a spy. He was the head of one hundred fifty or so field officers. They would go into the field and get information; the DI (Intelligence Directorate) usually analyzed it. Sometimes, he would be in the action himself, especially on the tough ones. Harry really loved his job. Especially when he caught the bad guys.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Harry looked up from his desk, expecting to see some hotshot young kid who thought he knew everything there was to know in the world. He'd dealt with reporter types before. He was surprised to see…well, a girl in front of him. She couldn't have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four. Suddenly, he remembered that he was only twenty-four himself. Whoops.

"Hello," he said, smiling politely, masking his hatred for reporters.

"Hi," she said, sitting down in the chair across from him. She was wearing a white blouse and a navy blue knee-length skirt. She had little make-up on (surprise there, Harry thought, the few female reporters he'd come in contact with wore make-up like it was God's own gift to women), but this only brought out her cute pink cheeks, and she had very nice brown hair.

"What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger," the reporter said, "as you know, the Daily Prophet wants to do a piece on the Department of Central Intelligence. Many people want to know what kind of stuff you do here. Your own director, Mr. McLeod, is out of town, so we were told to come see you."

Typical reporter, stating everything he already knew.

"Since…well, you're a famous figure, the head of the Prophet has told me to do a two-part piece. One focusing on what this Department does and why, and the other on you, your history here, and just general information about you."

Harry frowned. He didn't know that they were going to be doing a report on him.

"Sure," he decided, "but what do you really want? Do you want to expose us as a `waste' of the Minister's budget? Or is the Department piece just a cover so you people can do a report on me?"

He noticed Hermione's look of surprise. She definitely hadn't expected him to pick up on that. He smiled inwardly. He wasn't an intelligence officer for nothing.

"Well, I'm going to be in and out here for the next couple weeks…I figured it would be best to start off by asking you what the primary goal of the Department of Central Intelligence is."

Harry closed his eyes before beginning to talk, remembering his practiced lines, "As you know, the Department of Central Intelligence was founded seven years ago by Minister Weasley for two purposes: the Intelligence Directorate was to analyze information about Death Eaters, Voldemort, and any other possible threats to wizard-kind. The Operations Directorate was to get and then act on that information."
"Have you ever killed anyone?"

Harry opened his eyes, before coldly looking at her, "I am not at liberty to answer that question."

She was scribbling notes as fast as she could, "The question is, of course, why is this even there? Don't we have Aurors?"

"Aurors are good; they can be useful. But they are so fundamentally ingrained into the system that they cannot be of any use in this sort of thing. Some of the stuff we deal with in here is `black,' meaning that the average person will never, ever know about it. Only a few people have access to `black' stuff and some Aurors would feel…shall we say, conflicted?...about what to do. No, if Aurors get their own information and get someone, good for them. But Aurors will never join this Department."

"It seems like a waste of time," Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowing, "why don't you just work together?"

"Let's face it, Aurors leak like hell. They give information away to reporters like you guys deserve it (he noticed Hermione's involuntary flinch). In the Department of Central Intelligence, we can't have that kind of stuff. There is a reason for it, and although most of the time you won't even notice what we did, what we're doing keeps you alive."

Hermione was writing so fast, her hand was a blur.

"Didn't you learn shorthand?" Harry said, in his first moment of levity.

She smiled, "Never bothered. Longhand is the way notes should be taken. That way you'll never mess up."

Harry nodded, agreeing. She was right…he'd heard some stories of reporters misrepresenting the facts and then blaming their shorthand. His old buddy in the Department of Mysteries, Neville Longbottom, had once gotten screwed by a reporter that way.

"So…why don't we talk about you? Why did you join the Department?"

"I want to be able to stop Voldemort," he said, ignoring her shudder, "and this is the best place for that. Since I started working here after my graduation, seven years ago, we've caught thirty-six Death Eaters and developed several reliable sources of information everywhere."

"Even in You-Know-Who's own personal army?"

"Please, say the name. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Harry said, feeling a bit like a teacher, "and I'm not answering that question."

Hermione looked disappointed, but Harry didn't really care. He couldn't tell a reporter anything important…that kind of stuff would get real people killed and Harry cared about those people a lot more than he did about some reporter hoping to get a raise.

"What was your schooling life like?" Hermione asked, changing the subject, realizing Harry was not going to give her anything juicy about the DCI (as the Department of Central Intelligence was referred to).

"It was fine," Harry said, with a smile, "I had a great time at Hogwarts. Made some good friends and everything."

"The Triwizard Tournament…" she started.

Harry shook his head, "I don't like talking about that. I shouldn't have been in it, but I was, because of some crazy loon. You may or may not know who he is. Whatever it was, I did not deserve that 1000 Galleons so I gave to my best friend's brothers for their joke shop."

Hermione looked up, interested. She had not known that.

"What joke shop?"

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"You staked them?!" she said surprised. This was definite news. The Weasley twins operated the most popular joke shop in Diagon Alley. Most people knew that Harry was best friends with their brother, Ron, who also worked in the DCI, but she didn't think anyone knew about the original funding of the shop.

"Damn right," he said, with a wry grin, "so what? Tell me…doesn't your boyfriend like them?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said.

"Oh," said Harry, silently chastising himself for his joke.

"Anyway," she said, "what kind of job do you hold? I mean, what's your official job title?"

"DDO, Director of the Operations Directorate. Along with Sonny McLeod, who's the Director of the whole department, and Ron Weasley, head of the Intelligence Directorate, I help make most of the decisions here."

"Does the Operations Directorate mainly do the `field work'?"

Hmmm, she even knew some of the spy jargon. Harry was mildly impressed. For some reason, he liked this reporter more than the other ones he'd dealt with in his life. God knows she's better than Rita Skeeter, he thought. And prettier too.

"Yup."

"How much field work do you do?"

Harry smiled, "Enough."

Harry was surprised to see a smile creeping onto the face of Hermione Granger. Most reporters would have pressed him for more details, but she seemed to know that that would be an exercise in pointlessness.

"Listen," said Harry, "why don't we head down to the café we have in this Department? You can talk to the other guys and girls in there. It'll help your story…"

If Harry had been surprised at Hermione's professionalism, Hermione was astonished that Harry James Potter was being so civil to her. He had a real reputation for being nasty to reporters. It was that damn Skeeter woman's fault. Hermione had read about how she made up lies about him when he was fourteen and since then, he seemed to have developed a cold-blooded hatred towards reporters. Her only close acquaintance at the Prophet, Kim Holtzman, had told her that she had better not take everything he said too seriously, lest she get upset at his harsh diatribe.

"Okay."

Harry led the way down a couple floors to the in-house café. There were a few people sitting here and there around the place. Most were reading documents that Hermione would probably never be able to touch.

"Two lattes," Harry ordered, "thanks, Jim."

She noted with interest his friendliness to the café owner and operator. He certainly acted like he genuinely liked the guy, which totally went against the reports she had heard from her fellow reporters at the Prophet. They had told her that he was totally condescending to everyone unless he believed you were at the same level with him. So far, he had been almost-nice to her and friendly to this café guy.

Jim handed them the two lattes (Harry handed him a handsome tip) and they went and sat down in an empty booth.

"Hope you like lattes," he said, winking at her.

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt flustered. Here she was, with the most famous guy on the planet, and he was ordering her lattes and winking at her. She simply smiled weakly at him.

"Harry!" she heard a shout.

They both looked up and saw a tall, red-headed figure heading towards them. Harry stood up with a smile and shook hands with the guy, ending by clapping him on the back.

"Who's the babe?" he asked, sliding into the seat next to Harry.

Hermione blushed, as Harry said, "Hermione Granger; she's a reporter for the Prophet. Hermione, this is Ron Weasley, DDI, or Director of the Intelligence Directorate. He's also my best friend…or at least that's what he says." Harry finished that remark with a sarcastic grin.

"Why's she down here?" Ron asked, confusedly.

"She's doing a story on us so I offered to show her the café, so she could meet some people…like you, for example."

Hermione smiled warmly, "Yes, he's been very nice to me."

Ron spat out part of the latte he was drinking (stolen from Harry).

"Harry, nice to a reporter?" he asked, wiping his mouth off.

Harry smirked, "She's not that bad. At least not like Skeeter…"

Ron shuddered, "Don't remind me. So whaddaya want to know?"

Hermione stirred her latte, thinking. Her main assignment was to cover Harry, although that was being supported by the story on the DCI. Well…she did need more information for the latter story.

"What do you think of the DCI?"

"I think it's a great idea," Ron said, "we've been really successful here, and I'd wager that in a couple years, we'll get Voldemort himself."

"So you say his name too?"

"I never used to," Ron explained, "but after messing around with Harry for the past thirteen years, I've finally gotten used to it."

"Don't you think this is a waste, with Aurors also trying to do the same job?"

"I'm sure Harry already gave you the speech," Ron said, Hermione's nod confirming that, "but the short version is that Aurors aren't the most trustworthy beings, at least in my opinion."

Hermione continued writing extremely fast. This was really juicy stuff. The DCI didn't like the Aurors…she couldn't wait to go over to the Ministry of Magic building and interview some of the Aurors, especially Zacharias Smith, who was a noted advocate for breaking up the DCI.

Harry smirked inwardly. She probably thought this was juicy stuff. Everybody inside the establishment already knew these facts and either didn't care or politely ignored them. It would only be news to her readers…well, that would be enough to sell her paper, and that's all she probably cared about, and rightly so.

"Anyway, I've got work to do," Ron said, standing up, "thanks for the latte, Harry. Oh yeah, after you're done with her, come up to my office. I've got some information for you."

Harry nodded as his best friend walked off, "So what else do you want to know?"

"I think this is enough for today, actually," she said, smiling at him, "I'll be in and out for the next couple of weeks like I said earlier. I guess I'll see you later."

"Know the way out?"

"Yes."

"Okay, see you later," Harry said, watching her retreating back.

***

"Okay, what is it, Ron?" Harry said, walking into Ron's office ten minutes later.

He sighed, "Take a look at this."

He placed a few satellite images on his desk. Harry sat down and began to look over them.

"Damn," he groaned, "so those Iranian wizards really have started training?"

"Yep," Ron said grimly, "it looks like our reports were right. Malfoy and the Lestranges are training those guys in those boot camps. These satellites are heat-sensored and it's definitely picking up some bodies."

"Who's satellites are they?"

"America's."

Harry nodded, looking at the images, showing a dusty, windy desert place with sand-colored tents scattered around the picture. The satellites that the U.S. used were top-quality. Of course, the U.S. Muggle government didn't know that they took copies of those images from them every day. They had one guy…what was his name…oh yeah, Mike Morrow…who worked in the government, and made copies of the readouts every day to send back to his mother's homeland. They also had several guys like that in other countries. It was very good for identifying possible outside threats.

"I don't like this."

"Me neither," Ron said, "do you think we should send a couple guys undercover out to that country to see what they can find out?"

"Do it. Send Ryan and Murray."

Ron nodded, "Agreed. Should we ask Sonny first?"

Harry shook his head, "He won't mind. We can just tell him when he gets back from Moscow."

And that was something Harry was looking forward to hearing about. Sonny was having discussions with the Russian Ministry of Magic. They were trying to open up some lines of communication. Sonny, Harry, and Ron's dad, the Minister of Magic, all wanted desperately to have Russia on their side. They all felt that the war with Voldemort was getting global, and the Iranian training was proof of that. The Russian wizards, especially the ones in their Magical Law Enforcement Department, were tough, smart, and really good. They could probably count on America (nothing was really confirmed) and France and Germany to back them when the time came. Voldemort was sure to have Asia and most importantly, the Middle East behind him. The Iranians were probably the canniest wizards Harry knew. He remembered a duel he had had with an Iranian operative two years ago. It had been messy…

"Okay, Ron…I'm heading off-duty."

"All right, maybe I'll come over to your house tonight or something," he said.

"Sure," Harry said, "I might or might not be there. I think I'm gonna go out tonight."

"Too bad you don't have a girlfriend," Ron said, sticking out his tongue at Harry.

"Better than being married," he shot back.

Ron shrugged, but grinned at Harry. Harry smiled back and headed out of the office. He grabbed his coat off the rack in the front of the building.

"See ya, Nicole and Mark!" he called back.

"Bye, boss!" they chorused.

Harry laughed as he kept on going. Those two were a pair, all right. They both excelled at their respective duties…and there were rumors of them dating, which Harry did nothing but encourage. They both were young and attractive and deserved another good person.

Pulling his coat on, Harry crossed the street and headed towards his favorite pub.

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