Unofficial Portkey Archive

Prince of the Dark Triangle

Details, descriptions, items and characters of the Harry Potter series are the sole property of J.K.Rowling, et al and used only within the context of this story and my not be otherwise reprinted, sold, or used for any other purpose. Original characters and plot are mine and my not be used in any other {for profit} form without permission…

Chapter 2

The week at Merchants Bank passed just like any other since Byron started working for Prestige Security Inc.

It wasn't what he wanted but since he liked to eat and pay his bills he had settled for what he had thought was the next best thing.

Even though his fellow security lads were nice enough to him most of the time he kept his distance. It was something that had become habit. The thought of someone finding out he was…different or strange was a constant albatross so most of the time he kept to himself.

He was friendly enough to others. It was unavoidable in his line of work but he didn't have close friends.

He knew he had gotten the position on the security firm basically on his military record alone. The letter of recommendation from his former C.O. hadn't helped either and apparently the word had spread…decorated war veteran and recipient of a Purple Heart.

Many of those he worked with had seemed to respect him but most times it was just from a distance. He was still a bloody Yank after all.

Byron didn't think all that much about it. He tried to be proud of his life as a marine but it had not translated into the type of success he had thought it might after he had healed.

After two years with Prestige he had made first shift which, when asked of any other employee, was like a reward in and of itself.

A fellow guard named Phillip Dresden was about the only one who really tried to get close to Byron. He was a bit older, in his mid thirties. He was married and had two rambunctious boys he loved to brag about constantly.

Byron spotted Phillip waving him over that Thursday afternoon. He was on front entrance duty that day.

"Say listen," Philip smiled, "Some of us are getting together for a night out this Friday, just us lads. Even got permission from the little wife," he beamed, "Big football game on the telly, so what say, you in?"

When Byron hesitated Philip pressed.

"Oh come on lad," he quipped, "I hope you don't take all that Yank drivel to heart do you? We're just having you on, I hope you know."

"Yah," Byron grinned, "I know," but then Byron decided why not…a few pints and some laughs. Sounds like just what the doctor ordered, "Alright, I'm in."

"Tha's the spirit," Philip beamed. Byron couldn't help but like the guy.

That Friday evening Byron found himself having a few beers with some of the guys he worked with. He felt the guys were extending the hand of friendship so he decided to take them up on the offer.

The pub was quaint and homey and the guys really were trying to include him in the conversation so he found himself relaxing and began enjoying himself.

What started as a serious attempt at watching a soccer match between Spain and England sort of morphed into what became more like a small celebration. What they were celebrating was anyone's guess but Byron quickly found himself being swept up in it.

He was having fun just being a part of the group being silly and talking about things unimportant. They relentlessly poked fun at Byron but he didn't take it personal. He laughed right along with them and they began to see him as a very personable bloke.

One of the guys spotted three rather attractive young ladies eyeballing their group and whispered to Byron telling him he might just get lucky. Byron laughed shoving on his mate in jest but then his fellow got up, pulling Byron by the collar and towed him rather reluctantly over to the table where the young ladies were sitting and introduced themselves. Byron was trying hard not be shy but he knew he wasn't as open and friendly as his friend.

His mate invited the ladies to join them and they did so willingly, acting rather excited at the prospect tittering like little birds.

When they all settled and ordered another round of drinks everyone introduced themselves. Byron found himself loosening up and was having one of the most wonderful times of his life that he could remember.

The guys he worked with were all very decent guys, friendly and happy. The conversation was light and cheerful and Byron found himself marveling in the ease which these people, some he barely knew and some he had never seen before that night were so at ease with one another, as if they had known one another all their lives. He was eating it up. He couldn't stop smiling.

"Blimey, Byron, I don't think I've ever seen you smile this much since I met you mate," Philip said laughing, "Better be careful there or someone just might think you're up to some kind of mischief my good man."

Byron couldn't help but laugh loudly, holding up his mug of Guinness saying, "Cheers you dodgy old tosspot!" in a horrible English accent.

That cracked everybody up like crazy having a raucous go at him for that one.

At one point in the evening he quite unexpectedly found himself having a rather intimate conversation with one of the girls.

She was pretty with blond hair, blue eyes and the cutest dimples he had ever seen. She wasn't astoundingly gorgeous and a bit on the plump side but she was as sweet as she could be and when she smiled it seemed to light up the entire pub.

Byron liked her very much and he was beginning to think the attraction might be mutual. He was doing his best to be a perfect gentleman and she seemed to be responding. They had made eye contact a few times for a bit longer than Byron thought normal and it seemed to warm him all over. He couldn't help but smile. She smiled right back.

One of the guys made a crack about the `Yank' once again and Byron was about to fire something back when a rather large, burly bloke at the bar cut into the conversation in a most unwelcome fashion.

Words were exchanged and Byron, trying not to be the one to cause trouble remained silent and attempted, albeit unsuccessfully, to look invisible but the Guinness was talking and before he knew it the burly bloke was standing at the table running his mouth.

He was drunk and being loud and obnoxious. He stuck his big finger in Byron's face having a go at the U.S. at his expense.

Byron just let it go but when the guy's eyes turned to his fair blond-haired companion, one of his big hands wound its way around the girl's neck. She did not like being pawed and tried to shrug him off. That was when Byron had had enough.

He slowly stood up and told the big bloke to back the fuck off and leave the girl alone.

The bloke just laughed and grinned at Byron. Everyone else sat silent and still watching. One of the other girls was trying to defuse the situation by pleading with the big lug to go back to the bar and leave them be but he wasn't going to play. His eyes were locked on Byron.

The blond girl tried to wedge herself between them but the big man just shoved her back into her seat. Byron stepped forward about to take a swing at the jerk when something completely unexpected happened.

All Byron could remember was feeling terribly angry that the guy had stuck his big fat mug into what was one of the best times he had ever had. He wanted to kill the bastard for being so inconsiderate and rude. When he had snapped back into himself he had realized the big bruit was no longer standing in front of him.

In a strange wave of pure power the guy had been literally punched clear across the pub and his body smashed into an old-fashioned juke box against the back wall. The most remarkable thing about it was…Byron had never touched him.

When what had happened finally sunk in to the rest of them they all moved away from Byron, the blond girl looked completely terrified and he noticed she had moved to the other side of the table and stood in a huddle with the other two girls looking at him like he had sprouted another head.

There was dead silence as Byron's shocked gaze swept around the table. The party was over and he knew it.

The owner and bartender came out from behind the bar raising three different kinds of hell that his place had been torn up. It wasn't much longer after that the authorities showed up.

They quickly determined the guy who ended up in the jukebox was dead from a broken neck.

Byron suddenly felt sick. He wanted to vomit and run…or maybe run first then vomit. It was a toss-up. He just slumped back in his chair and waited looking at his hands. He knew it was going to be a long night.

---@>---

Rebecca Dooley, the operator sitting at a communications console and elaborate graphic computer system at the compound set up for the new Special Operations Unit, a division of the Muggle Liaison's Office in the Department of Muggle Affairs out of the Ministry of Magic noticed the anomaly at once.

She jumped up right away and made for the Director's office. She stuck her head round the open door.

"Excuse me ma'am," the young girl said, "thought you might like to see this right away."

Without looking up from her desk Hermione Granger held out a hand. The girl quietly slipped inside and pressed the paper in her boss's outstretched hand. Without another word the girl turned and disappeared around the corner back toward the communications room.

Hermione's well practiced gaze slid down the Magical Anomaly Report and one eyebrow rose only slightly.

"That's," she paused to scan the page again, "rather odd," she whispered.

In one smooth motion she scooped a small ear bud up that had a short, slender microphone attached and slipped it into her right ear, the free fingers of her hand brushing her long hair back behind.

"Tobias," she spoke out loud going back to the work she was engrossed in before the interruption, "I need you to assemble the investigation team. Send them immediately to an establishment called The Falconer Pub. It's located on Dresden between Park Terrace and East End Boulevard in Surry. We've received a report of an anomaly."

"Is it the C.D.T.?" A male voice cracked in her ear.

"I don't think so," she replied as if it were a matter of recourse, "It's seems to be a singular event involving a Muggle but best bring back up just in case the report was incomplete or inaccurate. Have the investigators check in with Detectives Clark and Bitterman when they get there. They are the Muggle badges involved. Better have an Oblivator team on stand-by."

"Muggle?" She could hear the surprise and confusion in her Number One's voice, "Yes ma'am, we're on it. E.T.A.," he paused. She knew he was checking the map in the situation room against the distance and travel time. The man was nothing if not efficient, "ten minutes!"

"You've got eight," she quipped, smirking to herself, "and I want a full report on my desk upon your return."

"Oh certainly, your Highness" the voice quipped snidely, "no worries…sheesh! Tobias out."

He was the only one in her command that had the stones to talk to her like that and she didn't put up with it very often from him…much. He never did it around the others. He would never attempt to undermine her authority like that but when they were alone together he was just himself…an obnoxious tool!

Besides, he knew she would just kick his scrawny arse if he dissed her in front of her subordinates.

She also knew, however, beyond a shadow of a doubt her team would carry out her instructions to the letter and their duties like a well oiled machine. They were all highly trained and highly skilled in their respective positions and she had made certain to surround herself with only those who could `cut the mustard' as the saying went.

Everyone in her department was hand picked by herself and Kingsley Shacklebolt vetted against a very strict set of requirements. If they did not fit 100% they were out before they had a chance to start.

Hermione was not going to tolerate any bullshit. It was one of her requirements when she was given free reign to create this division of the Muggle Liaison's Office. It was the only way she would agree.

If she was going to be place in charge of bringing down this newest dark threat to the Wizard world then she was going to do it her way!

Kingsley Shacklebolt remembered the meeting with the Wizengamot very clearly. He would never forget it as long as he lived. When asked why she felt she needed free reign over a completely new and untested division of the Ministry her response had been simple, direct and to-the-point…

"Because you need me more than I need you. As far as I'm concerned the whole damned Wizard world can be thrown into the seventh circle of hell to burn for all eternity for all I care."

She had eased far out over the desk they had been seated at leaning on her stiff arms and gave the council such a look of dark loathing her gaze could have killed them all where they sat.

"You want me to save your arses again then you'll give me what I want, when I want it and you'll ask no question. Furthermore, you'll stay the hell out of my way or suffer the consequences. That clear enough for you or would you like me to put it in writing?"

No-one had disagreed or put up any kind of argument…they all just got the hell out of the woman's way.

Now 28 years old, over eleven years out of Hogwarts, life after Voldemort had not been the care-free and wonderful future they had all anticipated…not even close!

It had kind-of started out that way, with a whisper of a promise at something better for all of them…then the whole world, it seemed, went to hell at the speed of a bullet train…

---@>---

Thaddeus Hudson and Rychart Listell showed up on the scene just after receiving instructions from Tobias Fox, their Number One, to investigate what he had called a rather strange magical anomaly in Muggle London.

When they entered the pub they showed their credentials to an officer and asked to see Detectives Clark and Bitterman. The officer pointed toward the back of the place where most of the activity seemed to center around a pile of rubble set against the back wall.

Hudson could see part of a denim covered leg and an old work boot sticking out from under a crime scene blanket. He knew what that meant. They had a corpse.

When they approached Bitterman turned and eyed the two special investigators.

"You two with the S.O.U.?" He asked. His disposition was not exactly warm and fuzzy.

They nodded.

"What have you got for us Detective," Listell asked, "We were told it was an anomaly."

Detective Clark turned and handed Listell a sheet of paper.

"This is what we've got so far. Young lad, a Yank, late twenties, was here with some mates he worked with. From eyewitness accounts his lot was minding their own business when this bloke," he motioned to the sheet-covered body on the floor with a stab of his folded reading glasses, "started some trouble."

"Seems the Yank took offense when the bloke started manhandling one of the ladies they were with. That's were the strange shite begins."

"Strange shite," Hudson asked, eyebrow raised.

"Luckily," Bitterman chuckled, "That's your department lads. Yank's over there." He pointed behind them toward the tables off to their left.

Hudson looked down at the dead man.

"Any charges pending?"

Clark seemed to sigh heavily.

"From all accounts the young man never laid a hand on the bloke and from what we could ascertain it was really nothing more than a case of self-defense. If it was something else the only folks giving out less information is this unfortunate sot. We really don't have any evidence to charge the fellow with anything yet but," Clark looked up at the two Special Investigators grinning, "the night is still young."

Bitterman gestured to the corpse.

"This one's got a record of assault and violent behavior. Spent a few months in the clink for roughing up his own mum!"

"Brilliant," Hudson groused, "Real sweetheart wasn't he?"

The two Scotland Yard Detectives just glanced at one-another and shrugged. This was nothing new for them.

"Alright Thad," Listell said, glancing at his partner, "best go have a little chat with our Yank. The boss will want a report as soon as we can get it to her."

He glanced back at the detectives.

"Do you need us to call in a clean up team for this?"

"No, I don't think so," Clark replied looking around, "but I'll leave that up to you to decide. At least it wasn't the C.D.T. this time. I won't lie gents, we're getting awful tired of cleaning up after those deviants."

Hudson and Listell both scowled.

"We're working on that Detective just as hard as we can." Listell said darkly.

"We know how it is," Bitterman replied a bit warily.

"Send us a report as usual won't you gentleman," Hudson asked as they turned to go interview the man who perpetuated the anomaly, "and we'll have ours on your desk first thing in the morning."

"Consider it done," Clark nodded then he and Bitterman turned back to continue their own investigation.

"This is a first," Listell said as they made their way through the bar, "A Muggle…with no wand? Damned curious if you ask me."

"Not really," Hudson replied looking at Listell a bit surprised, "Wandless magic isn't all that uncommon. It's rare, I'll grant you but not unheard of. What's most surprising to me is why someone with magical powers from the U.S. is living in the middle of Muggle London apparently completely unknown to us. Now that's damned curious!"

"Think he might be a Squib?" Listell asked.

Hudson just shrugged.

"Possible I suppose," he looked back over his shoulder taking in the whole scene. From what his investigative mind could determine the victim had been thrown approximately 55 meters across the room to land in some mechanical device with enough force to break the bloke's neck, "but I don't think so. The power necessary to do that could not have come from a Squib but," he sighed, "stranger things have happened. Only one way to find out."

He looked at the sheet Clark had given him.

"Name, Byron Humbolt…age, 29 years of age, born, Syracuse, New York, 1983. No priors, wants or outstanding warrants. Lad's clean. Was in the U.S. Military for four years from '01 to '04. Wounded, then honorably discharged with a Purple Heart and commendations. Bloke's a bloody war hero."

"I wonder if Operations has been able to dig up any info at all from the Ministry on this one." Hudson thumped a hand on his partner's shoulder, "Why don't you contact Ops and check while I have a chat with our M.O.I." {Muggle Of Interest}

Listell nodded. He pulled a small device from his jacket pocket and slipped it in his ear as he turned to go outside the pub for better reception and not to be overheard by the Muggles.

After his interview with the Muggle, Thaddeus Hudson was left with more questions then answers. After Listell came back letting him know Ops had not found a single reference to the American in the Ministry records confirming his suspicions it made the situation all the more confusing.

The young Muggle's description of his version of what happened fit the evidence as they had found it so he couldn't find any real reason to detain him. The Muggle authorities weren't going to so Hudson decided to call in and get the official word from the boss before they wrapped up their end of things.

The word came down not to detain so they concluded their investigation comparing notes with Clark and Bitterman before they returned to the S.O.U compound.

Something just didn't add up in Hudson's mind so instead of returning to headquarters with his partner he took a side trip to the Ministry to have a chat with the Commander of the D.M.L.E. He needed answers.

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