Striking Out

My contacts had decided to take me to a baseball game. It would be the perfect place to talk, they said, without any chance of being overheard. Besides, they argued, it would give me an inside view of American life. Well, the night really was as American as apple pie. We had American hamburgers and cold, bland American beer in a bar while some Muggle crooned overhead about an American girl.

And then there was the game. America's pastime, they call it. Muggle America at least. For a culture that loves and thrives on violence, the sport is about as exciting as watching fairies fuck. I could say one thing about the game though - there's no way in hell we'd be overheard. Snape, Malfoy junior and Macnair wouldn't be caught dead in anyplace with that many Muggles floating around. In fact, I'm surprised they ran to America at all. Macnair may have about as much class as a flobberworm, but Snape and the brat had taste, at least. No morals, but they did have taste.

Which is why I got stuck coming to this hell-hole. When two of the most wanted Death Eaters, and the boy toy that Snape keeps dragging around with him, can't forget him, when they ran across the ocean, who do they send? Shacklebolt, and the pink-haired chippie that partners him? Course not, can't take them away from their little private club (and how stupid must they think I am to not notice? Yeah, I know about the Order. Couldn't care less, either).

So, they send me, Connor MacLachlin, all around troublemaker and bad egg. Really, I think they just wanted me out of their hair, especially after that little incident in Nocturne Alley. It's not like I really meant to blow the bloke up, but sometimes these things happen. He was only a Death Eater, too, or the son of one or some such. Scum, really. I don't see why we have to waste good money putting them up on trial or keeping them in prison. Too good for them really.

But anyway, somehow or other the Potter brat got wind of where the three of them had gone. Shacklebolt pulled some strings and had me on the first overseas Portkey to the States. Apparently, they had to keep the little wonder kid from following me. That would be just what I would have needed, some little twerp that thinks too much of himself dogging my footsteps and getting in my way. Kids, eh. They're almost as bad as dames.

And speaking of dames, my main contact, Agent Evelyn Parker Rose, Philadelphia Division of the Federal Bureau of Aurors (the FBA, aren't they creative), was quite the dame. One of those new fangled women that thinks they're better than men, yet walks around flaunting her curves. I could think of a few things that I wanted to do to her, and sitting there in the cramped seats, surrounded by drunk Muggles, listening to her and her partner Blavish ramble on about the stupid game wasn't high on that list.

"I don't know, Evie, Houston took them pretty easily last time. They better step up the game, is all I'm saying," Blavish, "call me Blake," was saying.

"Oh, be serious, Blake, Houston's win was a fluke. It's not going to happen again. Philly can take them. What do you think, Connor?"

Connor. Ugh. "It's Mac. No one calls me Connor. Mac. And I think I'll be getting myself a beer."

I got up and pushed my way up to the stairs to the outer-level. This was pointless. I didn't want to be here. What did I care about learning about bloody American culture? I didn't plan on being here long enough. I had a job to do. Shouldn't take long really. If there's one thing I've learned about Death eaters, it's that they're not too bright when it comes to hiding. I'm sure this bunch was no different. I should be out of here within the week.

I finally spotted a stand that wasn't too busy and made my way over. Of course, my luck being what it is, bad, some little blond haired twerp banged into me and sent me into the bloke next to me. That was when my luck went worse.

A hand grabbed my upper arm in a vice-like grip and an oily voice said, "Well, well, imagine finding you here, Auror MacLachlin. Taking in the sites, are we?"

Well, fuck. I'd found Severus Snape. He thinks he got the drop on me, huh? Well, he'd find me harder to hold than most. I made to pull my wand when I felt something poking into the small of my back. "I wouldn't," Snape said. "Mr. Malfoy is more than capable of inflicting serious pain on your person, with the Muggles none the wiser. Now, come, let's take a walk."

The two led me out of the stadium and into the packed parking lot. I was on the lookout for their third, but Macnair was no where in site. Interesting.

"You're taking quite the chance, you greasy bastard. You think my contacts aren't going to notice me missing? They'll be out here in a heartbeat."

"I'm sure they would, if I hadn't taken care to modify their minds after you left your seat. They have no more recollection of you being here than any of those countless Muggles. You, Mac, and that is what they call you, is it not, will not be missed."

"So, what, you and junior here going to kill me out here in the parking lot, is that it?"

"Hah." Ah, so the brat can speak. "Kill you? If we were going to do that, you'd be dead already, half-blood. And you would never have known what hit you."

"Now, now, Draco. There's no call for that. Keep your wand on our friend here and let me do all the talking." So, the greasy bastard was in charge. And the way the kid mumbled, "Yes, sir," it seems he wasn't too happy about it. I could make use of that, if given the chance.

"But of course, you won't be given that chance, my dear Auror. Oh, didn't Shacklebolt tell you, I'm a master Legilimens. There's nothing you can hide from me in that puerile, dirty little mind of yours. Let's begin."

And then I felt it, the invading touch of his mind, as oily as his voice. He began flipping through my memories, looking for information, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"My, my, I wonder what dear Nymphadora would say if she saw the things you would like to do to her. I'm quite sure her little pet werewolf would be less than pleased."

"Professor, please, she is my cousin," I heard the twerp say, as if from far away.

"Hush, Draco. Now, let's see...hmm, so Potter was the one to find us. I wonder...and of course he tried to follow. Stupid Gryffindor, will you never learn. How many times do I have to pull you from the fire?" That last was mumbled, and I'm sure Malfoy missed it, but not me. No, I heard it loud and clear. And that was an interesting bit of information. So, Snape was looking out for the wonder boy. Wonder if his boss knows that.

"Let's see what else you have for me..." The invasion continued for I don't know how long. Finally, he was finished. As I came back to the present, I became aware of Snape's sneering face, his wand pointed at my head, and his lips forming the word "Obliviate." Then everything became dark.

Needless to say I was confused to wake up in a bed at St. Mungo's, Shacklebolt bending over me, blinding me with the reflection from his dome. "Why the bloody hell are you gawking at me, Kingsley? I'm not an exhibit, you know."

He laughed, the bastard, and sat in the chair beside the bed. "Ah, feeling more like yourself, I see. Good job on capturing Macnair. It's a shame about the other two though. We would have liked to have them alive."

Macnair? "What's that now?"

The bastard had the nerve to smile at me again. And he patted my hand, can you believe it? "I'm sure you're still a little hazy from the bump to the head. You managed to tell us what happened, don't you remember?"

Well, fuck. This was not good. "Can't say as I do, Kings. Wanna fill me in?"

And he did. It seems I took the emergency portkey I carried back to Auror HQ in London, Macnair's unconscious body in tow. I told them as how I had gotten into a firefight with the escaped Death Eaters. Macnair ended up taking a stray blast from the twerp's wand. And I managed to blow Snape and the twerp to kingdom come. Which made sense, as it was me we were talking about. I'd gotten banged up a bit, and spent the last two days in and out of consciousness.

All around, it was a good story. Except for one thing, a little detail I like to keep to myself. Obliviate doesn't work on me. Never has. I remember every last little detail of that meeting. And that bastard, he must have put Imperius on me, to make me tell that story. Bastard. But I remember everything. Especially, I remember that greasy prick's comment about Potter. I owed Severus Snape one. Well, two actually. One for rifling through my head, and one for the Imperio. And Potter was the key.

"Yeah, that's what happened. I remember now. Say, Kings, how's Potter doing? The kid seemed worried last I say him. Don't suppose you can bring him by, let me set his mind at ease?"

"Sure thing, Mac. I'll see what I can do."

Kingsley left me to get some rest. But rest was the farthest thing from my mind. I had some planning to do. I'll be seeing you again, Severus Snape. Real soon.