Disclaimer: Lots of characters, places, etc. in this story are property of J.K. Rowling. Other characters and places are found in the Tom Clancy, Patrick Robinson, and some real life people will be making cameos. The idea behind this story was inspired by Tom Clancy's books. Lots of characters and lots of love story lines throughout this…so try and keep track of everything. There are also many countries that are the "enemy" in this story. However, no racism is intended towards people of these countries (however, some characters in the story will use racist terms when referring to some of these people----please don't take it as meaning I'm racist. I'm just being realistic. I do not think of these races in these way----but people often do.) They were mostly picked for their strategic value and also to stack the deck against Harry and England. I tried to show the good sides of some of the people of each country and that often an entire country is harmed because of the actions of a few power-hungry rulers. I hope I did a good job with that.. All of this is purely in good fun, for your enjoyment, and is in no way intended in making money.
Chapter Two---An Unexpected Meeting
Finnigan's, London, England
Harry walked into Finnigan's, which was owned by one of his former schoolmates, Seamus Finnigan. He ordered a beer and sat down at an empty table, looking around the room. His eyes didn't register any threats. He relaxed. Loud music was playing and Harry could barely hear himself think.
Of course, that was one of the reasons he came here. To get away from it all. Not think about his government's problems. Not worry about Voldemort. A waitress came up to him and he ordered some fish and chips to go with his Guinness.
His eyes once again roamed the establishment. He felt bored. None of the regulars seemed to be here today. Suddenly, he saw Hermione, sitting in one of the corner booths, writing away on a piece of parchment.
"Hello," he said, after walking over to her.
"Oh, hi! I didn't expect to see you here! Do you want to sit down?" said Hermione, hastily pushing away some parchments to make room for him.
"Sure," he said, sitting down across from her.
"So, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Just organizing everything I learned today into categories of importance…so, what are you doing here?"
He shrugged, "Just getting away from it all."
She nodded interestedly. The waitress, who had immediately noticed his change in seating arrangements, brought the fish and chips over to the table and Harry gave her a tip on the spot.
"You give very large tips," Hermione noted, sipping her own soft drink.
He shrugged, "It's the least I can do. They don't make much in that kind of job, so I like to give them money."
Hermione watched him eat, utterly fascinated. This man was so complex…so utterly contradictory. This was the same man who had once turned a guy named Draco Malfoy into a ferret in front of Diagon Alley because Malfoy had made some sneering remark. He was a man who hated all reporters, yet was being nice and courteous to her. This was going to be an amazing story.
"Where'd you go to school?" Harry asked.
"Beauxbatons. I moved to France when I was nine and moved back here after I graduated. France is okay, but I like England better."
"Do you like being a reporter?"
"It's fun and gives me a good income," Hermione said, before continuing on, "but what I'd really like to be is an artist."
"An artist?" Harry said, surprised.
She blushed, "Do you think it sounds stupid? I've never told anyone, besides my parents, that before."
"It sounds fine," Harry said, shrugging, "if you're good, you could become really rich."
"Yeah, I know," she said, sighing, "but I'm not good at all."
"Oh, come off it," Harry said. "I bet you're loads better than me."
She laughed and smiled. Harry grinned back. For some reason, he was beginning to feel drawn to her; drawn to this woman he'd only met a few hours back. Frankly, it was scaring him.
"Got any friends around here?"
"I've got some acquaintances at the office," she replied, "not many, though. I've never really had a lot of `real' friends."
Harry shrugged, "Neither have I. Ron, Sonny, and Neville Longbottom. I've pretty much got three really good friends and a few other acquaintances, but that's about it."
"I always wondered what it would be like to have a real best friend," she said wistfully.
"It's great," Harry said, "it's such a relief when you can tell other people what's going on in your life. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I do."
Harry decided to change the subject, "So, how come you don't have a boyfriend?"
"How come you don't have a girlfriend?" she shot back, "You're only the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world according to Witch Weekly."
Harry laughed, "I don't know…I guess I'm just waiting for that perfect woman to come along and knock me off my feet."
Hermione couldn't help but notice the way his eyes seemed to burn into hers at that moment. He had the most gorgeous eyes…emerald and deep. She could feel herself slowly sinking into the depths of those endless pools. No wonder he had won that award from Witch Weekly.
Harry, meanwhile, was noticing how pretty Hermione was. It wasn't in that fake, artificial way a few of his officers loved to get at the nightclubs and whorehouses. She was just naturally pretty. Her hair was a little bushy and her clothes weren't tight, but she still seemed attractive. Whoa, Potter, slow down. She's a reporter and in a couple weeks, you won't see her again for the rest of your life. Forget it.
Suddenly, his pocket began to glow with heat.
"Dammit," he said, "listen, Hermione, I'd love to keep chatting, but I got to go. Ron's signaled me. Something important back at the Department. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."
"Count on it," she replied, watching silently as he walked away, her own jumbled thoughts flying around in her head.
DCI Headquarters, London, England
Harry walked into Ron's office, "What's going on?"
Ron sighed, "Got a report from Chavez in Edinburgh. Some terrorists just blew up half of the shopping alley up there. Sixty-six dead, twenty-four injured."
Harry sat down, his mind processing the information. Wizarding terrorists were a new problem for his country. In the past, it seemed like only Death Eaters and Voldemort would be the things that he had to fight against. Over the past five or six years, that had been completely wrong. A bunch of Arabic wizards had formed some scattered terrorist organizations, learning from their Muggle counterparts. It was pure hell for Harry and the other workers of the DCI. It meant more confusing stuff to go along with the usual Voldemort killings.
"Any Aurors dispatched on the scene?"
Ron checked the parchment, "Yeah, two from the local office. Chavez says they're doing a decent job, but it doesn't really matter. Those dudes are dead…and you know that the media's gonna blame us."
"That's what we get for being an intelligence department," Harry said, sighing.
"If only damned media knew how many terrorist acts we prevent each year."
"Ain't that the truth," Harry said. They didn't tell anyone about stopping terrorist acts because they didn't want to tip of their methods and surveillance capabilities to the other terrorist organizations or to Voldemort himself.
"That reporter friend of yours is gonna be asking some questions about this tomorrow," Ron said, filing the parchment away in one of his cabinets.
"I know how to deal with it."
"You lie like a pro, Harry," Ron said.
It was almost a compliment.
Tuesday, December 22, 2004
Abdullah's Café, Tehran, Iran
The man in the hooded cloak sat in a café, indulging himself in a doughnut and coffee. A terrible smile echoed across his face. Wouldn't this be a sight to that damn fool Potter? Lord Voldemort enjoying a strawberry-frosted doughnut and black coffee in a café.
Of course he wasn't sitting here just to enjoy himself. At least he didn't have to worry about someone exposing him. Most Iranians supported him and his following, and even if one alerted England that he had been here, what good would that do them? By the time they arrived, he'd be long gone.
He was waiting for his contact in the United Islamic Wizards terrorist organization to show up. Voldemort was having preliminary talks with the organization. In the upcoming global war, he definitely wanted the Arabs and their terrorists on his side.
Not that he liked them or anything, but they were very effective. One of his intelligence sources in Moscow told him that the head of England's DCI, Sonny McLeod, was having high-level talks with the Minister of Magic there. Voldemort knew that Russia would probably not join his own organization, so he had made no attempt to ask them to help him. A murder of ten Russian babies of high-level officers at their Ministry nineteen years ago had erased that possibility. Voldemort raged at himself in hindsight. That had been such a stupid thing to do…he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to look back. He had to look forward. He was so close to accomplishing his goal.
The Persian stepped into the booth, ordering a soft drink. Voldemort remembered that according to their religion, they were not supposed to drink alcohol. He smiled to himself. What a stupid rule.
"Hello, Mohammed," he said.
"Good afternoon, Lord Voldemort," Mohammed said. Voldemort noted with some displeasure that he didn't say `my lord.' Then again, this man didn't really work for him, did he?
"What is your boss's response to my request for a high-level meeting?"
"He agrees," Mohammed said, "it will be conducted in our headquarters. As you know, some of your Death Eaters have already started helping some of our wizards in training. My boss is very glad of this and is open to any offers you will make."
Voldemort smiled. It was so easy.
"Tell me, were you behind the attack on Edinburgh yesterday?"
Mohammed smiled, "Yes, my friend. Some of our friends journeyed into Paradise yesterday. It was a successful mission. Allah will receive them well."
Voldemort nodded, not really caring. He didn't give one damn about religion. These fools didn't really follow Islam after all. They called themselves Muslims, but if they followed their own holy book, they would realize that they were not supposed to kill innocent life. Oh well. So much the better for him.
"I'm sure He will," Voldemort said, pretending to agree with his contact, "and, when will this meeting between take place?"
"Next week. You know where our headquarters are, don't you?"
"Yes." Actually he didn't, but he knew his intelligence chief could find it out for him. Rookwood was very good at that kind of stuff.
"Salaam aleikum," he said and left.
Voldemort found it a bit odd that the messenger had left with the message, "Peace be unto you." And in Arabic too. This Iranian guy was supposed to speak Farsi. Oh well, these terrorists were an odd bunch. It didn't matter that they were wishing peace onto someone who had terminated overt three hundred wizards' lives. Shaking himself off the thought, he paid his bill and Apparated back to his headquarters.
Ministry of Magic, Moscow, Russia
James "Sonny" McLeod stretched tiredly as he stood up from the table. It was time for the lunch break. He had been in continuous negotiations with Andrey Nikolayevich Narmonov, Russia's Minister of Magic, for nearly five hours now.
"Care to join me for lunch?" Narmonov asked.
Sonny nodded. Narmonov would have to know the best places to eat around here. For the past three days, Sonny had tried the food around here and everything he had eaten so far was bad.
Narmonov and his security detail led him to a restaurant across the street. Sonny ordered a vodka and borscht, a Russian beet soup. Narmonov had ordered some potato dish or the other, and of course, the customary vodka.
"How's the family?" Narmonov asked.
Sonny smiled. He and Narmonov had been pretty good friends going back to the time six years ago when Narmonov had his wand pointed at Sonny's face and was threatening to kill him. He silently laughed. The irony always amused him.
"My family's fine…Caroline enjoys working at St. Mungo's and Eddie likes playing Quidditch, which really keeps him busy."
"Quidditch, a fine sport," Narmonov said in approval, "how old is he again?"
"Eight years old."
Narmonov nodded, and their waiter returned with their drinks and their food. As trivial as some of the information they were exchanging was, it was important to their diplomatic discussions. Sonny knew that it gave both sides a sense of familiarity and friendliness, which was only enhanced by the comradeship Narmonov and Sonny already shared.
"So, how are the wizards in Russia doing?"
"We are having surprisingly little trouble," Narmonov said, "there is little unrest. There is, however, widespread poverty among wizards, and it is proving increasingly difficult for my people to get food."
There it was. An opening. Narmonov had willingly showed it. Sonny smiled into his vodka.
"Perhaps England could assist you in this problem," Sonny allowed, knowing that he would having to talk to Minister Weasley about this before he could make any promises. But he was confident that Arthur would have no problem authorizing it…if Russia would play ball and join them in their fight against Voldemort.
"Perhaps," Narmonov replied.
Sonny grinned to himself through the rest of the meal, knowing that they finally had their position. Russia was going to join them.
Fundamentalist Hotel, Tehran, Iran
"Hell of a place to be in," Benjamin Murray observed to his DCI counterpart and friend, Katie Ryan.
Katie nodded grimly, "Yeah. First time I've been to an Islamic nation."
"Well, I suppose Harry knows what he's doing," Ben said.
"Yeah."
Ben Murray was twenty-seven years old, and although he was older than Harry Potter, he had supreme respect for the twenty-four year old. The kid had showed his worth in several battles. Murray and Ryan were one of the best pairs of field officers in the Operations Directorate and Harry knew it. They were among the best-paid and always got the difficult assignments (the "best pair" was on probation currently----though Ben and Katie, and even Harry, would argue that they were better). Murray had graduated from Hogwarts, first in his class, and loved working for the DCI. Certainly, he and Katie had brought in their share of terrorists and Death Eaters.
Katie was two years younger than him, but also a good field officer. She was the one who had bagged Antonin Dolohov four years ago, when Ben had been incapacitated by one of Dolohov's buddies. She was a pretty brunette, and sometimes Ben fantasized about dating her. Of course, he had never told her that, because it would ruin their working relationship.
"Let's go to the market first…that's a good place to see what the locals think," Katie said.
Ben agreed. Their covers were as Canadian journalists. Canada was friendly with Iran, so it was likely they would not be hassled too much. They walked into the market, and Ben headed towards a goldsmith.
"Hello," Ben said, using his best Canadian accent, even though he was speaking Farsi, "I am John Paige, a Canadian reporter, and this is my photographer, Nicole Larson."
The goldsmith looked at them suspiciously, "What do you want? I have done nothing illegal!"
"We know that," Katie told him with a smile, "my partner and I are doing a report on Iran and its wizards for our newspaper back home in Ottawa. We just wanted to ask you a few questions."
The goldsmith still didn't look happy, but he acquiesced.
"What do you think of your Ministry of Magic?" Ben asked.
"My name will not be used, correct?" the goldsmith asked and was rewarded with a nod, "I think that the Ministry is one big bureaucracy and they do little serve the people. I hate it."
"What about the terrorist organizations operating in your country?"
The goldsmith made a face, "Those people are not Faithful to the word of the Prophet. They do not deserve to call themselves Muslims. The Holy Koran says that one shall not take innocent lives. Their acts are hateful to man and to God."
They asked him a few more vanilla questions before heading off to question some more people. The results would be tallied and sent back to the DCI headquarters. It was important to get a feel for what the people on the street felt about Iran's Ministry and about the terrorist organizations. That way you could look at the possibilities of rebellions, helped along by England of course.
At the end of the day, their general results were that most of the people disliked Iran's Ministry; however, many seemed to like the terrorist organizations, even though the goldsmith had not. This was a bit disturbing, but not unexpected. Ben immediately sent the reports (encrypted in a form that a few members of the DO knew how to decipher) back to England, via his speed owl, Dante.
"Care to join me for dinner?" Ben asked.
"I'd love to," Katie replied.
DCI Headquarters, London, England
Harry had been going over the initial intelligence reports from the Edinburgh attack when Hermione walked in. Hiding his displeasure at being interrupted, Harry looked up at her with a smile.
"Listen, can you not bother me for the next couple hours? I have important work to do that you're not cleared for. You can go and visit other places, but you can't be in here."
"Will I be able to ask you questions about the Edinburgh attack then?" she asked, hope evident in her voice.
"Yes," he said in a tired voice.
That was good enough for her. She left the room quietly. Harry noted with some interest that she had straightened her hair slightly and had put a nice pink ribbon in it. She looked even better.
Shaking his head, he turned back to his report. He needed to talk to Chavez. He had been on the scene. It was time to use one of the one good things that Muggles had invented.
Telephones.
He walked into his secretaries' office.
"Hey Nicole, where's Mark?"
"He's sick today," she said sadly. She really liked Mark.
"Can I use the telephone?"
"Sure."
The wizard telephones in this office and others around the building had been developed by an engineer specially commissioned by the DCI. They didn't short out like normal Muggle stuff or anything when exposed to a magical environment…they were magic as could be. Of course, this new technology had not reached any homes---most citizens didn't even know the existed----and it was too damned unlucky that they couldn't afford to have given one to Ben and Katie in Iran. Chavez had the only portable one, because they had been suspecting an attack on Edinburgh for a couple weeks, although they hadn't known any of the details. Harry hated when that happened.
"Hey Paul," Harry said.
"Hey Boss," Paul Chavez said, grinning slightly. Harry hated when people called him that.
"Very funny, Chavez; got any new information about the terrorists?"
"The Aurors confirmed it," Chavez said, "we're pretty sure they were those blasted Iranians. Funny, even Aurors can be useful sometimes."
"Right," Harry said. "Any IDs?"
"Well, it was kind of hard to sort through the rubble and the bodies, but according to my source among the Aurors, they got some DNA strands. He gave them to me and I already sent them to you. You'll probably get them in a couple hours. We'll probably get a couple matches with known terrorists."
"Yeah. Damned shame we couldn't stop it."
"Yup," Chavez said, "I bet the media's lighting into us down there. I wish they'd realize that we can't do everything. I mean, we knew they were thinking about doing something in Edinburgh, but we couldn't stop them, could we?"
"They'll never learn. The media is a vicious dog. But occasionally we'll have to throw it a bone," Harry said.
"Damn right. I'll call your secretary if I get more information."
"All right, thanks, Paul."
"Have a good one, Boss."
Harry hung up. Damn. Those Iranians were getting on his nerves. And one of his sources in the United Islamic Wizards told him that there were rumors about an agreement with Voldemort coming into place soon. That would be a pleasant thought for the rest of the world.
Well, he'd better get ready to start lying to that Hermione girl.
"Hey Nicole," he said, "get someone to go tell the reporter she can come back into my office."
"Okay, Harry," she said, and then winked at him, "she is pretty, you know."
"Oh, shut up," Harry said, but smiling nonetheless, "she's a reporter and you know they're just thirsty bloodhounds."
"Too right you are," Nicole said, before standing up to find someone who would in turn, go find Hermione.
Harry went back to his office to wait for Hermione.
Ministry of Magic, London, England
"Arthur?"
Arthur Weasley looked up and saw that his primary adviser and chief of staff, Tom van Damm, had walked into his office.
"Yes, Tom?"
Tom grimaced, "The numbers have been confirmed. Sixty-six dead and twenty-four injured. Ron's going to be in later to brief you on what the DCI has so far. Smith says that the Aurors have found out that it was a group of Iranian terrorists."
Arthur sighed. When he had taken this job seven years ago, he hadn't expected to be ravaged by anything other than You-Know-Who. But shortly after he had taken the job, terrorists had popped up. Every single wizard knew about the attack on the World Trade Center in the Muggle world. Arthur lived in fear that something like that would happen to wizards in his country. He had formed the DCI to combat Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, but now it was getting sidetracked by these damned terrorists.
"Very well. Political ramifications?"
Tom van Damm was a genius at the political game. He had gotten Arthur elected, even though before his campaign very few people even knew who he was. His rival in the election, Cornelius Fudge, the incumbent Minister, had often played upon the fact that Arthur's highest previous job was as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, not exactly the usual stepping-stone to the Ministership. But with van Damm's genius campaign, Arthur had won by a 7 percent majority. It was one of the greatest upsets in Ministry election history.
"Negligible," Tom said, "there'll be a few protesters calling for the removal of the DCI, but nothing else much. People think you're doing a good job, Arthur. As for the rest of the Ministry, you'll get some complaints from the usual people, but nothing else. Oh yeah, Sonny sent an owl from Russia. It sounds like Narmonov wants a food for help kind of deal when the war starts."
"Tell him to go ahead and do it. Food isn't a big deal to us. We've got a surplus."
"Very well, that's all."
"Okay, good. Tell Ron that I want him in here soon. And maybe he can bring Harry too."
"Yes, sir."
DCI Headquarters, London, England
"Okay, Hermione, it's simple. We just didn't have the information. Intelligence is all about information and we just couldn't get it," Harry said, neglecting to mention the fact that they had known something was going to happen in Edinburgh, they just hadn't known what. They didn't need to let her know that.
"Why not? I guess the question is: why should the Ministry spend money on keeping you around if you can't even stop terrorist acts?"
Harry leaned back in his chair, giving an audible sigh. Damn these reporters.
"Dammit, it's not that simple! Even if we can get information, we have to be able to stop them. That takes manpower and money, two things we don't have a great supply of around here. Look, Hermione, there's a bunch of things we do that you don't read about in the Daily Prophet, but it doesn't mean we're just sitting here on our rears doing nothing!" Harry shouted, trying to keep his temper under control.
Hermione nodded, "I'm sorry, don't get so upset. I have to ask these questions. I'm a reporter."
Harry gave her a grim smile, "I know."
"Why don't we talk about something else?" she suggested.
"Go ahead," said Harry; silently wishing that he didn't have to deal with this reporter right now.
"I hate that some of these are personal questions, but my boss told me I had to ask you these questions…er, how many girlfriends have you had?"
"Two. Cho Chang for a few months in my fifth year at Hogwarts and Sandra Ross for two years after I got out of school."
"If you don't mind me asking, why'd you break up with Sandra? That seems like the more serious relationship."
He smirked, "She didn't like the hours I was working at the DCI. I barely ever got to see her, so she decided she wanted to break up with me. We still see each other every now and then. She's now married to this Muggle guy named Daniel Radcliffe."
Hermione wrote it down. Personally, she wouldn't care if Harry worked long hours. She certainly wouldn't mind dating him. Hermione! a voice shouted in her head, Don't think about things like that. You know how boys are. They just want to use you, get a couple shags out of you, and then they'll dump you. And this guy's no different, even if he is the famous Harry Potter! Shaking her head, she returned to her questions.
"If there's one thing you regret in life, what is it?"
"I guess I regret inadvertently causing the deaths of Cedric Diggory and my godfather, Sirius Black. I'm sure you know the story behind both of those."
"Yes," she replied quietly.
"So, let me ask you a question," Harry said smiling, "if you really want to be an artist, why are you a reporter?"
She blushed before answering, "I guess it's my parents. They think pursuing an art career is stupid. They told me to get a real job and I guess this is it."
"You said it's fun and gives you a good income."
"It does," she said, before shrugging, "it's just not what I really want to do. What about you, is there something you'd rather be doing than catching bad guys?"
Harry laughed, "Nope. Nothing else. It's what I was born to do."
Hermione eagerly scribbled that down. That would be a great quote for the lead-in of the article about him. She had to get some other opinions too for the article on the DCI. Zacharias Smith would probably give an interesting view of what he thought about Harry and the DCI. Hmmm…she could probably go and talk to him tomorrow. She made a mental note to remind herself to do that.
"What was Beauxbatons like?"
"It was fun," Hermione said, "a bit strict, but the school was simply amazing. The decorations and the feeling of…royalty, I guess…was great. I really learned a lot there and graduated top of my class."
"What's someone who graduated top of their class doing in a profession like reporting?" Harry asked, winking to let her know that he was teasing her.
She laughed, "You know…I've never met anyone like you. In any of my interviews. You're so complex…yet simple. Nice…but mysterious. A dark side…yet a funny side, too."
Harry shrugged and winked, "I try."
Hermione looked at her wristwatch, "Well, I've got to go. I've got a meeting with a couple of my coworkers at the Prophet. I guess I'll see you later."
"All right. Good-bye, Hermione."
Almost as soon as Hermione had left, her pink ribbon trailing nicely behind her hair, Ron entered.
"Entertaining?" he joked.
"Haha," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "What are you here for?"
"Got an owl from Ben and Katie."
"Hope they're not snogging already," Harry said.
"Oh please, they're not even dating," Ron said, before amending that, "yet, anyway. Read it."
Harry skimmed through the later. The basic information was that most of the Iranians didn't like their Ministry, but supported the terrorists.
"Damn," Harry observed.
"Yeah," Ron said, agreeing, "no chance of getting a rebellion or anything. The terrorists are well-connected. People like them. They think they're doing `God's own work.' And now that there's a possible connection with Voldemort…"
Harry shook his head, "Nothing we can do about it…let's just hope Sonny can get the Russkies on our side."
"Tell me about it. Man, this global war's gonna be something, isn't it?"
"Especially since ninety percent of the world doesn't even think that something like that's going to happen. They're going to be in for a big surprise."
"Damn right."
Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks.
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