A/N: This chapter is inordinately long; I'm sorry, it ran away with me. Don't hesitate to let me know if its too long and boring and I'll scale down future ones. I cant see them being all as long as this but I had to establish things. As always, let me know what you think.
- Ian
Chapter One
The following takes place between 2:00am and 3:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial election.
PC Rees stood back and watched as the team of paramedics worked near the dead body. It had taken three of them to move the poor soul's legs back into a position where he could be loaded on to the stretcher to be taken to a nearby hospital. Rees could imagine the post-mortem report listening any number of injuries as the cause of death. Yet while all this was going on, she couldn't quite tear her mind away from the letter, known only to her and burning a hole in both her pocket and her curiosity.
"Paperwork on this one's likely to keep you busy for the night."
PC Rees' partner, PC Ross Jennings, had joined her near the ambulance and both watched the scene before them. Jennings was an older man and Karen's mentor. She felt glad he was there, reassured by his presence and certain that he would offer his time and experience to help her complete the paperwork he was referring to. He had seen all this before having been a solider in the Gulf War and later a homicide detective. This was supposed to be his `easy' job.
"Any early idea on cause of death?" PC Rees asked.
"Take your pick," said Jennings. "The guy looks like he's been run over by a tank. Forensics will have their hands full with this guy."
"Any ID?"
"Nope; no wallet, no driver's licence, nothing," said Jennings. "It's like he just dropped out of the sky."
"Look how he's dressed though," said Rees. "With clothes like that he could easily be a drifter. That`d explain the lack of ID."
"He could have been on his way home from a party," said Jennings. "If he is a drifter he probably won't even be on Dental. That'd be a nightmare."
PC Rees looked on solemnly as the paramedics wheeled the body towards them. His mangled face had already been covered up and the looks worn by both paramedics spoke quite clearly that they'd not seen the likes of this before.
"We're taking him to St. Philip's Infirmary," said one of them. "We'll need to co-ordinate with you for the Coroner's report. Harring Street Station is your nick, didn't you say?"
"That's right," said Jennings. "Did you get anything from him?"
"His pockets were empty. All he had was a leather pouch with some odd looking silver and bronze coins, nothing I recognise. We'll pass them on to Homicide, see if they can't make some sense of it."
The body was eased into the ambulance and driven away from the scene. PC Rees looked pensively around; the town square seemed to have an unearthly silence after all the activity of the past fifteen minutes.
"Karen? Are you alright?"
"What?"
"You're a millions miles away," said Jennings. "Are you sure you're okay."
"Yeah, I'm fine," said Rees.
"Seeing a body, especially one like that, is never easy," said Jennings. "I can have a word with Dr Regis when we get back to the station if you like."
"I don't need a shrink, Ross," said Rees. "I'm alright."
"Karen, we've been partners for two years, I know when something's up."
"Alright," said Rees. "I'm not okay. I've done something and I'm not sure what to do next."
"Well that clears that up," said Jennings sarcastically.
"Listen to me," said Rees, a trace of urgency in her voice. "I need your help, Ross. I can trust you, right?"
"Of course," said Jennings.
"Then If I tell you something it stays with us, I cant have it going back to the Sarge."
"What have you done? You didn't kill that bloke, did you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," said Rees.
"Just kidding, Karen," said Jennings. "Come on, spill it."
"Well, before he died, the man spoke to me."
"You said he was dead when you found him."
"I know I said that," said Rees. "But I wasn't sure what to do with what he told me."
"Which was?"
"Between us, yeah?"
"Karen?"
"He gave me a letter," said Karen, taking the blood-soaked envelope from her police jacket. "He said I have to get this letter to the Prime Minister."
"Come again?" said Jennings, taken aback. "You did say the PM, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Did he say why?"
"He could barely say anything at all," said Rees. "He said this letter has to reach someone called Harry Potter and that the Prime Minister would know how to get it to him. By the way he said it, it was like he was the only one who could."
"Harry Potter?" said Jennings. "Never heard of a Harry Potter in the government. You're sure that was what he said?"
"Positive, Ross," said Rees.
"He could have been pulling you leg," said Jennings.
"It was said with his dying breath!" said Rees. "Not the best time to crack a joke, is it?"
"Alright, alright, don't get hysterical," said Jennings.
"I am not hysterical," said Rees. "He said it was a national security matter and I had to handle this myself. But I don't know what to do. He said millions could die if I don't manage to get this to whoever Harry Potter may be."
Jennings looked concerned for the first time. His air had changed the moment the phrases `national security' and `millions could die' came up. He smoothed the stubble on his chin as he thought. PC Rees waited for her partner to come up with a suggestion. Presently, he began to speak.
"You believe this message was genuine?" said Jennings. "That John Doe was serious?"
"Absolutely," said Rees.
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," said Jennings. "I've got a friend at Scotland Yard who owes me a favour or two. I'll give her a call when we get back to the station, ask her to run a background check on this Harry Potter and we'll go from there."
"Thank you, Ross," said Rees happily. "I don't know what I'd have done without your help."
"You can thank me by buying me a pint next time we're out," said Jennings. "Come on, we have to get back."
* * *
2:12am
The waves of a calm tide lapped up along the beach and rolled gently over craggy rocks on the picturesque Greek island of Zante. The soft hiss of the sea spray paled against the distant drum of night-club music and the revellers indulging in the balmy night. At a private villa overlooking a small stretch of secluded beach, Harry Potter slumbered and stirred. He made to reach over and hug his wife, but she picked that inopportune moment to fart in her sleep. Harry recoiled and turned away to try and drift off. It was a vain hope and he soon gave it up and got out of bed, making his way to the balcony.
Harry leaned on the balcony rail and watched the reflected moon ripple in the dark waves. Peering closely he could make out two figures strolling along the surf. It was his son, James, and his girlfriend Celesca; they had taken to late-night walks along the water's edge and Harry could think of no good reason to stop them doing it. After all, inviting Celesca had been the bribe to get James to join the family on holiday and Harry didn't fancy arguing with his son in relation to her. He marvelled that they found so much to talk about that spending all day together wasn't quite enough, so they needed the night, too. Ginny had suggested they were sneaking out to the nearby bars but though this suspicion had merit Harry had never yet caught them. James, he well knew, was the equal of his namesake in cunning and, just like his Grandfather, would probably revel in the challenge of not getting caught.
"Daddy?"
Harry was startled by the little voice speaking behind him. He turned to find his daughter, Lily, standing there in her nightgown.
"Is everything alright, sweety?" Harry asked.
"Can't sleep," said Lily. "I keep having bad dreams."
"Come here and tell me all about them," said Harry, who had learned to make time for Lily ever since she'd run away six months earlier.
"I keep seeing bad things happening," said Lily. "People dying and fighting. I can't stop seeing them."
"Have you been reading James's Agent Cajun books again?" asked Harry. "I told you you're too young for them."
"I haven't been reading them, Dad, honest," said Lily. "Make these dreams go away."
"Come here," said Harry scooping up his daughter. "How about I come and sit with you till you fall asleep? I'll stay with you and nothing will hurt you, I promise."
Lily smiled and seemed pacified. Harry carried her to her room, which she was sharing with Celesca, and tucked her into bed. He sat with her, smoothing her hair and watched as she drifted off. Most parents would pass off such an event as an over-active imagination or too much cheese before bed, but Harry was disquieted. Lily had been prone to prophetic dreams before and he had often thought of testing her for latent Seer ability, but Ginny wouldn't hear of any mind-probing. Harry lay there some time with an unaccountable sense of worry growing in his head, leaving only when he heard James and Celesca returning from their walk.
* * *
The Scotland Yard offices were dark and largely deserted. A light drizzle was beginning to fall and blur the few windows which still had lights on. One of these, on the third floor, was a filing room; inside, Detective Inspector Susan Mills was thumbing through a sheaf of paper, alphabetising witness statements from a recent robbery at the plush Knightsbride store, Harvey Nichols. The Yard didn't usual deal with such crimes but as there were firearms involved DI Mills and a colleague were called to investigate. She was just about done when someone knocked on the filing cabinet at the end of the aisle. It was Siobhan, the night receptionist.
"Sorry to disturb you, Susan, but there's a call for you on line two. Says its urgent."
"Thank you, Siobhan, I'll take it at my desk."
The receptionist nodded and left while Susan shuffled her papers and made her way back into the sprawling office space. It was eerie and full of shadows when empty and DI Mills harboured a secret loathing for the place at night. Her telephone was ringing by the time she reached her desk and she wasting no time in picking up the receiver.
"This is DI Mills," she said. "Who am I speaking to?"
"Well that's a charming way to greet a friend," said a jovial voice on the line. "I see Mark still hasn't been able to talk some manners into you."
"Ross Jennings! This is a surprise," said Mills. "Sorry, I didn't know it was you."
"Not to worry," said Jennings. "Have you got a minute?"
"For you, I have three," said Mills.
"You are charity itself," said Jennings. "But I have a serious matter on my hands."
"Go on," said Mills.
"We picked up a body tonight, a John Doe," Jennings began. "Beaten to death in Barnet town centre."
"You want some help with ID?"
"No, not that," said Jennings. "Before he died, he gave my partner a letter and a warning. Don't want to say too much over the phone. I need a background check on someone. Can you help?"
"I've got to finish up a few things but sure, what's the name?"
"Harry Potter," said Jennings. "I'm looking for government connections, maybe Secret Service. Get back to me on this number as soon as you have anything, will you?"
"Yes, of course," said Mills. "Any reason for this?"
"It's connected to the John Doe somehow, I'm hoping you can tell me more."
"I'll see what I can find. Bye Ross."
"Thanks Susie, I owe you."
Her attention caught, DI Mills put off going back to her filing and fired up her computer. She entered the name `Harry Potter' into all search filters and waited for the results. It took a minute or two and churned out over eighty matches. Narrowing the search filters by age cut the list to thirty, but none had either government connections or criminal records. Curiosity aroused, DI Mills pondered a risk. There was one other database, an intelligence file that had restricted access. DI Mills had infiltrated a hacker group once and had picked up some skills, some of which she was debating about using now. She decided to take the risk; she owed Ross Jennings both her career and her life, this was the least she could do for him.
Her breath caught with her heavy heartbeat as she began the hack. Soon she was staring at the restricted section, partly smug at her ability to break in. She quickly typed in the name and hit the search key. The computer immediately stopped and the screen turned red, the sign of a high-priority security breach. DI Mills began to panic and tried to shut down the computer. It failed and she could do little more than sit there and wait, shaking and wondering what was going to happen to her. She didn't have to wait long.
The phone on her desk began to ring. Slowly, with her mouth dry, she picked up the receiver.
"H-hello?" she stammered.
"DI Susan Mills?" said a firm voice at the other end.
"Yes?"
"This is Agent Richard Scott, MI5. You have just accessed a restricted file. Explain what you were doing."
Quickly, and not at all eloquently, DI Mills gave a quick account of all that had taken place in the five minutes since Jennings had called. There was a brief pause when she finished before Agent Scott spoke again.
"I know of Ross Jennings," he said. "He wouldn't have called you if it wasn't a serious matter. Did he give you any more details than you've given me?"
"No, none," said DI Mills. "What's going to happen to me?"
"We have to get to the bottom of what's going on before I can answer that," said Agent Scott. "Stay at Scotland Yard. I have to speak to my Director and I'll get back to you."
He hung up. DI Mills quickly dialled a number.
"Susan? Have you found anything?"
"Ross, I can't talk for long," she said. "I've activated some security protocol in searching for this Harry Potter. I found nothing but he must be important; just searching for him in the databases alerted MI5. They caught me doing it."
"Oh, Susan, I'm so sorry," said Jennings.
"Don't worry about it, I can look after myself," said Mills. "Look, I have to go. They're going to call me back. Stay available, okay?"
She hung up without waiting for a reply and sat staring at her phone, waiting for it to ring and wondering what on Earth she'd stumbled in to.
* * *
A loud knock on the mahogany door of his office disturbed MI5 Director George Barnes from his Brahms and Earl Grey tea. Piqued, he tapped the remote to turn off the CD and placed his cup back onto its saucer.
"This better be good," he thought as he pressed the button which deactivated the electronic door lock. "Come in."
"Sorry to disturb you, Sir," said Agent Scott as he entered.
"You will be if this isn't important," said Barnes curtly. "What is it?"
"A red flag on a database access," said Scott. "I thought you should take a look."
Sighing, Director Barnes followed Agent Scott from his office, down the burnished-wood panelled halls and up to a work space on the main office floor.
"We detected unauthorised access to our database," Scott began. "A DI over at Scotland Yard was looking for a name. It activated a security protocol."
"What was the name?" asked Barnes.
"Harry Potter."
Barnes shuddered involuntarily. The associations with that name were of the highest secrecy and made the experienced Director distinctly uneasy. His change of demeanour was not lost on Agent Scott.
"You know this name, Sir?"
"I'm familiar with it," said Barnes evasively. Scott couldn't know about Potter and what he was connected with. Not yet anyway.
"Director, this name, this Harry Potter," Scott continued. "I've not heard of it. But it generated a Priority 0.5 breach. What exactly is a 0.5? If a directive from the Prime Minister is Priority 1 what can a 0.5 be?"
"A matter of extremely high security," said Barnes briskly. "A matter which supersedes the Premier's office."
"Sir?"
"What caused this breach?" asked Barnes, ignoring Scott's query.
"The DI was given the name by an ex-agent, a PC Ross Jennings," said Scott. "Says he got the name from a John Doe found dead tonight in Barnet."
"I remember Jennings," said Barnes. "Good guy. Excellent work in the Balkans on a Special Op I recall. We need to bring him in."
"I'll send a car."
"No, I want you to do it," said Barnes.
"Me, Sir?"
"Don't act like it's beneath you," said Barnes shortly. "I'm not asking you to be a taxi service. This is a matter of the highest nature if Potter is involved. That's all you need to know right now. I don't want to risk these people. I need a capable field agent to bring them in. Do as I ask."
"But, Sir, can't you explain -"
"No, I can't," snapped Barnes. "I have to speak to some people. You have your orders, Scott. Get Jennings and that Scotland Yard DI, too. Bring them directly here."
Barnes swept away looking worried and leaving Agent Scott severely nonplussed.
* * *
2:27am
Director Barnes had cherry-picked almost all of the senior agents under his command. A veteran of thirty years in the shady world of intelligence service, Barnes had developed a deep appreciation of the trust necessary for people to work around him and the competencies they brought with them. He had picked them all, all except one. One, operating in perhaps the shadiest areas of the entire Ministry, had been fostered on him from the very beginning and though he both trusted and respected this man he couldn't help but dislike him.
He worked in an office deep in the bowels of the building and only the most senior people had the specific clearance to get to him. Barnes tapped in his access code, swiped his card and moved through the door at the end of a sloping secret passageway. There were no security cameras here, no electronic locks, no motion detectors, nothing at all that worked with electric power. Still, the whole place hummed with energy and activity as rooms dedicated to monitoring that other world worked away on both sides.
At the end of the corridor, which seemed to house an ethereal mist, was a handsome oak door. Barnes read the name on the brass plaque as he knocked three times. He was the Director of the organisation but every time Barnes had to meet with this man he felt an inexplicable sense of inferiority. It was true that he could probably do things to him which defied rationality but it was more than just simple fear. The man had an air, a presence of power in which most people would probably quake.
The door opened and Barnes entered. The Agent was sat near a roaring fire, though the room itself bore no symptom of the flames. Indeed, it was positively chilly. The Agent was facing away, half in shadow, and didn't even look up as the Director entered.
"Yes?"
"I have work for you," said the Director. "An Agent is bringing some people here and I want you to question them."
The Agent still didn't look up from the sheet of parchment he was reading. "And why would I need to do your interrogating for you?"
"Because this is to do with your specialist area."
"How, exactly?"
The Agent may have been abrupt and slightly disrespectful but Barnes had always appreciated forthright and frank people. He continued,
"They claim to have a letter for Harry Potter."
The Agent looked up sharply, fixing his grey eyes on the Director as if considering him anew. As always when this agent studied him, Barnes felt like he was being probed. The Agent seemed satisfied.
"I will be ready."
"Thank you," said the Director. He looked at the Agent with the unshakable sense of begrudging respect and left the room. The Agent didn't acknowledge him leaving. He was writing a hasty note onto a corner of the parchment sheet. Tearing it off then folding it up, he moved to the hearth and tossed it into the fire. The flames erupted green for a moment, then died away.
* * *
PC Rees filed away her report and made her way to the staff room to finish her tea. She was disturbed by the contents of PC Jenning's conversation with his contact at Scotland Yard and it was with no little wonder that she considered the events of the past hour. A dying man gives her a letter and through a series of events the Ministry of Intelligence gets involved. It was almost surreal.
Jennings was sat in the staff room watching his mobile phone over the rim of a coffee cup. He'd been hoping Susan from Scotland Yard would ring but so far was out of luck. Rees sat opposite him and for a few moments neither said anything.
"Any word from the hospital?" asked Rees presently.
"I got on to them when you went to file the report," said Jennings, leaning back in his chair. "They've sent his teeth to be ID'd but without any kind of name to go on they aren't hopeful."
"This is all so weird, isn't it?" said Rees.
"A lot of unidentified bodies turn up all over the country, Karen," said Jennings. "It isn't that uncommon."
"But for the M I to get involved? That's not normal."
"You're not wrong," said Jennings, glancing again at his phone.
"No word?"
"None. If she gets into trouble, it's my fault. I asked her to do it."
"And I asked you," said Rees. "If anyone's to blame its me for getting you involved in the first place."
"What else were you to do, in the circumstances?" said Jennings. "Look, this blame-laying and paranoid second-guessing will get us nowhere. We have to just sit tight and wait."
They wouldn't have to wait long. Agent Scott was already en route having picked up DI Mills from Scotland Yard. He gunned the car along largely empty roads and was making good time.
"Will I get in serious strife? Tell me honestly," Mills was saying.
"I doubt it," said Scott. "The name threw up a high priority signal. It could be that getting us involved was the right move, even if you handled it in the wrong way."
"I shouldn't have hacked the system," said Mills. "What was I thinking?"
"Didn't you say you owed Jennings a favour?" said Scott. "Director Barnes knows him, too, and he's a fair man. You might get lucky and get away with a slapped wrist and a lesson learned."
Agent Scott doubted his own words. Hacking into MI5's secure database was a serious offence and warranted instant dismissal and criminal proceedings. It was an impressive piece of work, though, and Scott thought he wouldn't be surprised if Mills was offered a tech job at the Ministry. Her law-breaking might have landed her a promotion. He chuckled to himself at the irony as he drove on.
* * *
2:38am
A car door slammed loudly outside Harring Street police station. PC's Rees and Jennings heard it through the staff room window, which faced onto the road outside. A set of footsteps quick-marched along the pavement and the familiar creak of the station door followed soon after. Both the Constables shared the same sense of anticipation, fulfilled a few moments later as the door opened and a man walked in. He was tall and broad and PC Rees couldn't help notice he was ruggedly good-looking and worldly for his age. She coloured a little as he spoke to her.
"PC Jennings?" he asked.
"No, I'm PC Karen Rees, this is Jennings," she said, introducing her partner.
Scott seemed to noticed her awkwardness but wasn't put off by it. Indeed, there was a hint of a smile when he continued to talk.
"So you're the one who found the body?"
"Yes, but how do you know about that?" asked Jennings.
"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Special Agent Richard Scott, MI5."
The air seemed to tauten in the room. Agent Scott continued nonetheless.
"I have DI Susan Mills with me. You called her?"
"Yes," said Jennings. "Is she in trouble for what she's done?"
"That isn't something that concerns you at this time," said Scott. "DI Mills gave me the details of what happened tonight but we need to get to the bottom of it. I believe you have a letter from the man who died this evening?"
"Yes, I have it," said Rees.
"Good. You'll need to bring it with you."
"Bring it? Where?" asked Jennings.
"I have orders to bring you both back to MI5 HQ," said Scott. "It's simply for a debrief but we have to be watertight on this. It's a matter of high security, that's all I'm at liberty to say."
"When do we leave?"
"If you have the letter, right now," said Scott.
He moved to the door and held it open for PC Rees. Jennings followed but stopped to speak to Scott.
"I know you have to get things done, but be easy with Rees, she's had a tough night."
"I know you used to be an agent, PC Jennings, and you're well -thought of, but don't tell me how to do my job," said Scott. "You may have done things differently but my way works for me, alright."
Jennings glowered at Agent Scott but said nothing and followed PC Rees to the car outside. He got in and saw DI Mills sat in the passenger seat.
"Susan, I'm so sorry I got you into this," he said as Scott got in and began to drive.
"It's alright, Ross," said Mills. "I probably wont get into that much trouble."
"It was wrong of me to ask you to help," said Jennings. "I took advantage of what's passed between us."
"Hey, what's the use of a favour if you can't ask for one back?" said Mills. "It'll be fine, don't worry."
"Why are MI5 involved in this?" asked Jennings. "I wouldn't have thought this would be a matter for you lot."
"The name Harry Potter flagged up a security issue," said Scott. "As soon as DI Mills hacked the system with that query it alerted us. Jennings - back when you were an agent what did you understand about the Priority protocols?"
"The Priorities? My understanding was the lower the number the more serious a threat," said Jennings. "Priority One always concerned the Prime Minister, whether it was from him or to do with him. Why?"
"The Potter name threw up a 0.5 Priority breach," said Scott. "You ever heard of anything like that?"
"0.5?" said Jennings, astonished. "What would that be?"
"My Director didn't say," said Scott. "He didn't look comfortable when I mentioned it."
"An issue of security above the Prime Minister? Now that is big."
"Could it be concerned with the Royals?" asked Scott.
"I always thought they were tied in to the Prime Minister's security," said Jennings. "Priority One again. This is really confusing."
"Has anyone heard of this Harry Potter, then?" asked PC Rees.
"The Director knows who he is," said Scott. "But he isn't telling. He made it quite clear I wasn't to ask questions. Its damned peculiar for him to keep something from me."
There was little conversation after that. The events required such analysis and thought that only the odd wild conjecture punctured the silence.
* * *
An owl flying through the night reached a rural area of Shropshire and began to make a dive. For any casual observer who might have been out wandering it may have looked for all the world that the owl had spotted a field mouse and was shooting in for a meal. What they would have missed was the leather pouch attached to the owl's leg. It carried a very important document and the person it was intended for was eager for it to arrive.
The owl soared through the window of a country manor house, the only building of note for some distance around. It was sheltered by a wilderness of forest on three sides and a large lake provided a handsome prospect from the front windows of the house. The place was largely dark, but in a stately drawing room a number of candles provided illumination for the activity going on there. The owl flew into the room and nestled on a table so large it dominated almost the entirety of the space.
"Is that the owl? Unhook the pouch."
A man sat in an armchair with his back to the room had called out the order. He kept his face covered at all times and was referred to by his assumed title only. The people who worked for him called him the Red Baron.
"Haven't you removed that damned pouch yet?"
The Baron was an impatient man.
"It's tied tightly, its tricky to undo," said a subordinate who had hurried to the owl.
"Remove that pouch, Armitage, or I will have you removed and killed for sheer incompetence," said the Baron. "That pouch contains the single most important document we have acquired. All that will happen today hinges on it. I want it NOW!"
"I h-have it, Sir," said Armitage, fearful and relieved. He had worked for the Baron long enough to know he didn't hand out idle threats.
"Give it here," said the Baron. Armitage handed him a large sheet of parchment which had been magically resized to fit in the pouch. "Thank you, Armitage. Now get out of my sight."
"Yes, Sir."
Armitage scuttled away. The Baron perused the sheet and nodded at it's contents. He took a handful of green powder and threw it into the fireplace before him.
"Nelson, we have the schedule," he said into the flames. "Come into the drawing room."
A moment later a stout man with a pencil moustache Apparated at the Baron's side.
"Ah Nelson, we have the schedule for Lucien Carlton's campaign tour today," said the Baron.
"Is that it there?" asked Nelson.
"Yes," said the Baron. "There are a few places where he will be most vulnerable during the day. You have two hours to produce a risk analysis for each one then we shall decide where to take him out."
"Yes, sir."
"What is the progress on Plan B?" asked the Baron.
"The final ingredients are being delivered today," said Nelson. "Once the potion is complete the plan to administer it can proceed."
"Excellent," said the Baron. "Things are progressing well."
"We do have one minor problem," said Nelson.
"Which is?"
"The Weasley woman from Magical Law Enforcement," said Nelson. "Potter may be out of the country but she's been snooping around our operation for months. We've kept her at the fringes but if one thing goes wrong -"
"It won't," said the Baron. "Once we have word that Fallow and McCullough have dealt with the traitor there will be no holes to exploit. Still, keep our tracker on Weasley. I don't want her harmed, though. Not yet."
"And Potter?"
"By the time this is all over there wont be a thing even the great Harry Potter will be able to do about it."
* * *
2:48am, Auror Headquaters, Diagon Alley
The emerald flames of the fire died away but the vitriol from the Special Agent hung in the air. The junior Auror, Amanda Banks, didn't blame him; she wouldn't fancy being stuck as Muggle liaison in their intelligence service. Still it was a job that needed to be done and times likes these, when the two worlds came that little bit closer, were the entire reason that this special role was set up in the first place.
Auror Banks was young and new to the job. She had not long completed her training having been recruited straight from Hogwarts. The liaison agent had been furious that there were no senior Aurors on site for him to deal with and no matter how hard Amanda had tried she couldn't make him see that it wasn't unusual for the Aurors to be at home at this time of night. The late shifts were always given to the juniors under the pretence of `essential training' but Amanda knew it was just the sort of job the seniors could bequeath on their younger subordinates.
Amanda was just simmering over the way she'd been spoken to and feeling a little mutinous when she heard footsteps behind her in the otherwise deserted office. She turned and jumped at seeing a person right behind her.
"Stian! You scared the life out of me!"
"Sorry, Mandy," said Stian Dahlgren, another junior Auror.
"I've told you before I don't like being called Mandy," said Banks.
"Sorry, Amanda," said Stian. He smiled his traffic-stopping grin and Amanda felt that all-too familiar weakness in her knees.
"What are you doing here? I'm on the nightshift," she asked.
"I was asked to help out," said Stian. "With Head Auror Potter on holiday Deputy Weasley asked me to help out with his workload."
"He asked you?" said Amanda, affronted. "Why you?"
"Because I'm flexible," Stian swooned. He swept up on Amanda and began kissing her neck. She giggled and half-heartedly tried to fend him off.
"Stian! Not here," she said breathlessly.
"Who were you talking to just now?" he asked, ignoring her false pleas to stop.
"The Auror who works for Muggle intelligence," said Amanda. "He said there's been an incident."
Stian stopped briefly, then continued his ministrations.
"Muggle intelligence," he scoffed. "It's a contradiction in terms. What did the liaison say?"
"He said we might have to get hold of the Head Auror," said Amanda, her voice breathless.
"He said there was an incident, didn't you say? What sort?"
"He wasn't specific," said Amanda.
"I can think of a specific incident that I want to take place in the broom cupboard," swooned Stian.
Amanda giggled again. "No way."
"Come on, you can be spared for five minutes from all this."
Stian gestured around sarcastically at the empty office. Amanda was easily convinced.
"Okay, five minutes," she said. "But you're such a bad influence on me."
Amanda led the way out of the main office and into a side corridor. There was a large broom cupboard there and she slipped inside. Stian was right behind her.
"Stupefy!"
Amanda flew into the back of the cupboard and was out cold before she hit the floor. Stian considered her prostrate form with callous disinterest. Lowering his wand he closed the door before sealing it magically and blasting the handle off. He strode into the main office and made for Amanda's work station. There on the desk was the note regarding Harry Potter from the Muggle Liaison Auror; Stian set fire to it with his wand and threw the ashes out of an open window. He then made his way across to the Head Auror's office. Inside was a special device; all Aurors were issued with a portable FlooPhone, a handheld ring of fire which allowed instant communication through an adapted form of the Floo Network. Head Auror Harry Potter, however, could only be contacted via this special router which filtered access to his own FlooPhone. Without it, he was almost unreachable.
"Reducto!" Stian Dahlgren reduced the router to a thousand little bits. He pocketed his wand and returned to the office.
* * *
Across London, at Downing Street, a telephone was ringing. It was answered by the head of the Prime Minister's staff who seemed less than pleased at having to field the call. His attitude changed swiftly when he realised who was calling.
"George, how are you? Sorry I was so rude, we've been getting a lot of calls from the Press regarding this new Health bill. Its driving me mad."
"It's fine, Martin, I understand," said Director Barnes on the other end.
"What can I do for you?"
"I need you to wake the Prime Minister," said Barnes.
"It's three in the morning, George, can't it wait."
"No, it can't. I need to speak to him now."
"He's got a long day ahead, George. A message is the best I can do."
"Martin - I'm calling on a Point Five Priority."
"Point Five?"
"Yes, now wake the bloody Prime Minister!"
* * *
The Baron was not happy. The two assassins had returned to collect their payment but The Baron was less than thrilled that the target had not been properly dealt with.
"There were Muggles everywhere," said the gruff-voiced man. "It was impossible to do it cleanly. But it was done."
"You're certain?" asked the Baron.
"We beat the life out of him and checked for the amulet," said the assassin. "By the time we were through he possessed neither."
"You sound convinced and I am heartened by it," said the Baron. "You will be paid once we confirm he is dead. Armitage! Send word - I want Muggle hospitals checked for a recent corpse. Our friend the traitor should have signed in by now."
"Yes, sir," said Armitage. "Search hospitals for Dafydd Roberts."
"No," said the Baron suddenly. "They wont have his name. Tell our men they are looking for an unidentified body or a John Doe. Make sure they understand."
* * *
2:58am
PC's Rees and Jennings followed Agent Scott down the long corridor. Scott was perturbed; he was going to hand them over to Barnes to be taken to a classified location. It was getting far too suspicious for Scott's liking. He didn't like being kept out of the loop. They met up with Director Barnes at his office.
"I'll take them from here, Scott," he said.
"Where are they going, sir?" Agent Scott.
"I can't tell you that," said Barnes. "Its classified information."
"I'm the Deputy of MI5!" Scott protested. "What gets classified from me?"
"This does," said Barnes simply. "Go to your office and find something to do. I'll brief you when the time is right. Rees, Jennings, follow me."
Barnes didn't like keeping Scott in the dark but it was necessary for now. He intended Scott to be his replacement and when that day came he would have to learn about all this. It was life-changing stuff and would be as shocking to Scott as Barnes remembered it had been to him many years ago. He put such thoughts from his mind and led the way back towards the restricted zone, swiping through the door and moving once again into that strange mist.
"Where are we?" asked Jennings.
"Deep below the main building," said Barnes. "That's all you need to know."
They had reached the oak door and Barnes knocked upon it. A voice inside called to them and Barnes led the way inside. The Agent was stood against the window on the far side of the room, looking out onto the Thames. His blonde hair stood stark against the mahogany bookcase behind him. He turned and fixed those grey eyes upon the two strangers, both of whom felt oddly exposed as he surveyed them.
The Director spoke. "Malfoy - they're all yours."
"Thank you, Director. I'll contact you when I'm done."
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