Dangerous Pursuits

Brett Mordonius sat behind the wheel of his classic Jaguar sports car. He was a tall, fair haired, strongly built man. While not particularly handsome, he was possessed of the world-weary, sunburned-adventurer look, which a lot of women found fascinating.

There was a relaxed calm in the way he held himself, spiced with just a touch of the appearance of being ready to react in a second, which radiated a subtle danger, giving you the impression that he was not a man to be trifled with.

He was listening to a blues CD in the player he had fitted to the 1961 E-Type shortly after he bought it. It was a top of the line stereo system, which had cost a fortune, but he had plenty of money, so it didn't worry him. The slightly run-down look of the Jaguar was also testament to his wealth...no one with a car like that lets it get dirty and run-down, unless they were filthy rich. He was, he supposed, demonstrating to the world that he had so much money that this was just a run-around car, one which he didn't care all that much about, and couldn't be bothered to spend time cleaning and detailing.

He looked across the road and saw a dark-fronted building, narrow and aged, with people walking by, totally oblivious to its existence. A crooked sign hung over the door, but he didn't have to read it to know what it was. The Leaky Cauldron. He sighed and looked at his watch. Time to get it over with, he thought.

He locked up his E-Type and set the alarm (he might be showing off his wealth, but he wasn't stupid) and walked across the road. He stood for a moment, looking at the absurd old building, and then at the crowds of people walking past, not even noticing it was there. He stopped a passing policeman, and pointed to the entrance, asking,

"Excuse me officer, but do you see the pub there?"

The policeman looked at him strangely, then at the entrance, then back at Brett.

"There is no pub there, it's just a shopfront, sir...or perhaps," said the policeman tiredly, "we've spent too much time in a pub already today, have we? Now, can I be on my way, if you don't mind?" and he walked off, shaking his head.

Brett laughed and shook his head.

"Thought you were only a Muggle," he said under his breath, as he entered the Inn.

He went and sat at a table in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron. He had ordered a mug of ale, and sat looking around the room at the magic folk, who were either sitting and talking, standing at the bar, or walking through on their way to Diagon Alley, an entrance to which he knew existed behind the Cauldron. He looked at his watch again and looked at the back entrance, waiting...it was not like them to be late. Then they arrived, precisely on time.

An old wizard, in finely cut grey robes and a floppy hat, and a witch of about the same indeterminate old age wearing glittery black robes and a prim bonnet, entered and looked around. They spotted him and smiled. He stood and forced a smile and as they approached, he greeted them with as much warmth as he could muster.

"Mother, Father...how are you?" He said, sounding slightly strained.

The woman hugged him and had tears on her face, and his father merely greeted him with a brief smile.

"Hello son...it has been far too long. I am glad you received our owl. It is getting so hard to catch up with you nowadays," his father said haltingly. His mother still looked overjoyed.

"Oh it is so nice to see you again. Where have you been all this time?" she exclaimed excitedly.

Brett shrugged.

"Oh, here and there. Africa, also recently Iraq," he said in an even tone.

His father looked sternly at him.

"Not mercenary work again surely. Do you know how dangerous that is?" Brett had been waiting for this turn in conversation.

"Of course it's dangerous...that's why I get paid as much as I do. Do you suppose I would rather be working behind a bar somewhere? Maybe here? I don't have any qualifications...it's not like I got a nice degree from Hogwarts or anything," he said somewhat angrily.

His father pointed a long finger at him.

"Now we've been through this before...a degree from Hogwarts isn't everything in this world, you know. There are life skills, there are other jobs that can be done. Professor Dumbledore talked to me and told me that there must be something for you to do, apart from this life of just wandering the globe and wasting your skills in battles and other nastiness. It is simply not becoming for someone with a heritage such as yours," he said sternly.

Brett laughed out loud, drawing a few looks from other people in the Cauldron. He shook his head.

"Dad, I'm afraid I'm just not cut out for the wizarding life of sitting around with spell books and potions...you know that perfectly well. I enjoy what I do. I enjoy the places I go. I enjoy the people I meet. Hogwarts is just a bit too straight-laced for me I'm afraid."

His mother wiped a tear from her eye.

"You enjoy it, Brett...even when the people you meet are shooting at you in some god-forsaken country somewhere no-one has even heard of? What if you were killed in a place like that? We'd never know. Your talents can't protect you forever if you intend to keep fighting Muggles battles for them!" she said in a wavering, yet firm voice.

Brett stood and had a cold look on his face. He gathered his coat and gloves and his mother said quickly

"I didn't mean that, Brett...please, don't just run off again."

He turned his back and walked away.

"I'm going back out there amongst the Muggles...at least when I work out there I know where I stand," he said in a cool voice. He walked out, trying to shut out the sound of his mother crying...

He thrashed the Jaguar along a country road, heading towards his country retreat. It was only his home for about three months of the year, when he wasn't travelling the world doing dangerous things.

He skidded up to a gate in a stone fence, and said loudly, "Open" and it swung open for him and he sped through with inches to spare as it closed behind him. He parked the car in a long, low garage leading from the house, and looked briefly at the other vehicles there...several vintage cars, a Ferrari, a Maserati, an old Austin, the E-Type, a few other vehicles, and a horde of motorbikes from all over the world of all shapes and sizes. He closed the doors and walked to the house, passing the groundsman, a wizened old wizard who used to work for Hogwarts sometime about the year dot, who merely bade him good day as if he had only been away for an afternoon run into the city, instead of six months and had kept the E-type in long term storage near the airport.

He entered his house, a rambling country affair with a nice rustic feel to it, and vines growing over the front walls. He threw his coat aside and went to the sitting room, plonking down into a deep old leather armchair. A house elf, named Gluff, entered in a huge hurry, and began asking if he wanted anything, anything at all, in a fawning tone while wringing its' hands.

Brett believed in treating the elves kindly.

"Yes Gluff, a glass of Glenmorangie and ice would be nice, please," he said, answering the creature, and the happy elf hurried off to oblige. Brett smiled and watched the little creature expertly pour the scotch and clink a scoop of ice into a wide glass.

Gluff handed the drink to Brett and then backed away bowing deeply.

"Oh it is so good to see the master home again...its been lonely without him," he said, running off towards the kitchen, where he could be heard calling out to the other elf, named Wummy,

"Wummy! Master is home, master is home, and he said even "please" to Gluff!"

Brett smiled a rare smile of genuine happiness and settled back in his chair and took a sip of the smooth liquid. He looked around the walls at pictures of his travels, and picked up a large album beside him. It was full of pictures of his travels, and various jobs he had done as well. He opened it and began perusing the photos.

They were taken for him by Muggles around the world, so they didn't move. He saw a black and white, artistically posed picture of himself, standing beside an absurd looking aeroplane, its huge radial engine apparently far too large for the body. It was a crop-dusting plane, which he had flown for a year in Australia. He had taken extraordinary risks doing that job, pulling up at the last instant, flying too low, flying too fast, trusting his abilities to keep him alive.

The next series of photos were of himself, when he fought in Afghanistan, with a militia group against the Taliban who were in power at the time. He again took huge risks, not the least of which was being a white European in amongst his Arabic-featured, bearded and robed fighting companions. He had purposely kept himself clean-shaven, and wore American combat fatigues...throwing out a kind of challenge to be noticed. This brought a smile as he looked up to his bookshelf and spotted the textbook "Muggles Who Notice".

There were a dozen other high-risk occupations he had pictures of...oil rig worker, underground miner, explosives clearance diver for a private little army in an obscure coastal country, more pictures of him holding machine guns amongst groups of rag-tag "soldiers" somewhere he chose to forget.

Also on the wall were magical photos and paintings of his ancestors...all of whom did well at Hogwarts...Prefects, Quidditch players of great renown, a couple of Professors, heroes who did great magical things. He was like none of them...wanted to be like none of them. He wanted to be different.

He finished his drink and turned on the TV, watching CNN, hoping to get a handle on where in the world he might try and ply his trade next. There was always a war going on somewhere, and a need for a man with his particular skills.

He was surprised when the phone rang. Who but his parents knew he was back in England? He answered it and said hello, and a voice that sounded slightly uncertain and hesitant could be heard faintly through the receiver.

"Ahh, yes...hello Mr Mordonius. I see my information was correct and that you are home from your latest little...trip," the voice said.

Brett knew the voice immediately.

"I don't think you can offer me anything. You have tried before, but I'm afraid a man like me just wouldn't fit in there," he said plainly.

There was a sigh over the phone.

"Oh I do hate these devices. Just a minute." The line went dead, and there was a swirl of light and a pop, and a tall, bearded, longhaired old wizard appeared in the room.

He looked around and spotted Brett, looking at him over the top of his half-moon glasses.

"That's better. Now we can talk man to man. How are you Brett?" He asked in a pleasant voice.

Brett sighed and held out a hand.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore. I am fine thank you. How are things at the school?" He replied politely.

Dumbledore shook his hand and smiled, then folded his arms, and said

"Well, they could be better. But how about you...what have you been doing with yourself? Your parents have been very worried about you."

Brett told him all about his military activities, and his latest "work" in an African nation fighting rebels who were intent on overthrowing the moderate government.

Dumbledore listened.

"Well, it certainly sounds like you have had an exciting time. A lot of killing and bloodshed, but it appears you enjoyed it," he said as he glared over his glasses, and Brett felt like a schoolboy again. Brett knew from the tone of voice that Dumbledore didn't approve of what he had been doing, but damn it, he always tried to pick the side of the good guys to fight on, and had no part in the looting and pillaging that sometimes followed actions in various places. He tried to stop it in fact. He didn't have to defend himself to this man.

Brett looked at Dumbledore defiantly.

"Were you here for a reason Professor?"

"Oh, no reason in particular," Dumbledore said. "I just thought you might be interested in what was going on at Hogwarts lately and the troubles we've been having. I thought a man of your military expertise might come in handy soon. Of course, you would have to actually come to Hogwarts and work as something simple for now...we can't have an armed guard running around the place."

Brett saw where this was leading...trying to tie him up in that world again. His parents had been attempting this all his life, but he had always resisted, wanting to follow his own path.

"No thanks Professor. I have other fish to fry. I'll be seeing you around. Say hello to my parents if you see them. I shall be leaving England again soon. I could be away for some time," he said with as much politeness as he could muster.

Albus took the hint, and said goodbye and left in a puff of smoke. Brett returned to his reading.

Three weeks later, Brett had made up his mind. There were a few interesting little bush wars going on in South America. He would head there...Orlando Metz should still be running black ops for someone or other from his villa outside Rio, and he could quickly find him a job.

He left the house, and got into his E-Type to drive into London to arrange tickets, and also prepare a few things with some contacts. He started the old Jaguar, and spun the wheels out of the driveway onto the road, starting the long drive into London.

When he was approaching a bend in the road, he saw a flash up ahead, and wondered what it was. But as he rounded the bend, he saw the unmistakable figure of Dumbledore standing by the roadside with his hand held high. A glowing ball rose and flashed, then another. This was what he had seen...Dumbledore signalling him to stop. He pulled over to a roadside rest area and hopped out of his car. Better be polite, he thought. He greeted the old wizard but saw that Albus had a stern look on his face and he was walking briskly with none of his usual composure.

"Brett, come with me at once...we must go to your parents house. The quicker the better." Dumbledore said solemnly.

Brett had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Get in Professor. I don't now, and never will, like the Disapparate spell." he said firmly.

Dumbledore looked a bit apprehensive, but walked around and climbed down into the long, low car. As soon as the door was shut, Brett pushed the gearshift into first gear, let out the clutch, and shot off down the road.

The drive was what could be called spirited...Brett drove like a man possessed, already feeling something was very wrong. Dumbledore was silent, and Brett was concentrating on driving. Perhaps Albus was petrified with fright. Brett didn't actually know if the Professor had been in a car before, certainly not in one doing almost 120 miles an hour, and bellowing like an animal through its' open sports exhausts.

Eventually they reached a long gravel driveway, and Brett swung into it, bouncing the rear of the car slightly off the gateposts as they flew through them. As they approached what should be a sprawling country manor, he saw a crumbled ruin, smoking and with licks of fire here and there.

Brett skidded to a stop and threw the door open, scrambling out and standing before the ruined house. Even from here in the air, he could smell a certain burned odour that was eerily familiar...he had smelled it before. He knew it from parts of the world he had visited and fought in, where after a battle, or in an area of disease, the people had to burn the bodies quickly for health reasons rather than spend time burying them...

Dumbledore stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Brett looked around at the devastation numbly.

"What happened Professor?" he asked quietly.

"Death Eaters. They are part of the troubles I mentioned we were having. You know what Death Eaters are of course?" Dumbledore answered simply.

Brett nodded solemnly.

"I mightn't spend much time in the magic world, but I know what Death Eaters are. The Cruciatis curse, and others best not mentioned, assassinations, all that stuff. Why my parents?"

Dumbledore shrugged sadly.

"Your Father was an influential man, from an old and proud pure-blood family. Perhaps he upset the wrong people. Perhaps they offered him a place amongst them, and he turned it down, threatening to turn them in to the Ministry of Magic. We may never know."

Brett nodded.

"That sounds like him. He wouldn't sign up with an outfit like them, even if death was the result," he said softly.

Brett walked over to the ruin, and spotted his fathers' wand lying in the shattered wood. He recognised it, as he had purchased it himself for his Father as a present at Olivanders, when they had visited Diagon Alley five years ago. It was a dark wood, and had a distinctive engraved gold ring near the handle. Brett picked it up and waved it a bit, then slipped it into a long pocket on his coat. He remembered the last time he had seen them in the Leaky Cauldron...he hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

He turned with a sudden resolve.

"I'm putting myself and my talents completely under your command. I am sick of taking orders from no-name no-ambition nobodies in third world countries...I'd rather work for someone honourable like you. What do you want me to do," he said to Dumbledore with a voice of fire.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Come Brett...we have much to do. Let us take this vehicle of yours, and we shall go back to your house to get your belongings. We shall soon head to Hogwarts and plan our next move."

They drove off back to Bretts' house, after Dumbledore sent an owl to the Ministry of Magic to send a clean-up crew to take care of the house.

Brett began to pack while Dumbledore left to return to Hogwarts. He said he would be back in three days.

Three days later, as promised, Dumbledore apparated in the driveway of Bretts' house, and looked around. He saw only the old wizard gardener pottering around the rose beds, and then was startled to see two elves skipping merrily out of the house, wearing bright yellow jumpers which were far too big for them, holding hands and singing happily.

"Master gave us clothes, master gave us clothes! We's free!" and, after greeting Dumbledore with glee, they vanished into thin air.

Dumbledore shook his head and looked up as the garage door opened. There was the rumble of a large engine, and an American Hummer drove out of the doors, which closed behind it. It drew to a halt, the large diesel V8 idling roughly, and Brett stepped out. He was dressed in army greens, with a pistol at his side, and a black army beret on his head. His face was a look of steel. The Hummer was packed up with weaponry of various sorts, and packages of clothes and gear.

"Let's roll, Sir. We've got a job to do," he said to Dumbledore.

The Professor said he wasn't sure all that stuff was needed, but deferred to Bretts' military knowledge and left with him anyway in the huge four wheel drive. Partly because knew that the transportation spell was one that Brett particularly hated, but mostly because he felt it would be a good idea to spend a little time talking with Brett on the journey, rather than let him travel alone.

They pulled into the town of Hogsmeade five hours later. Brett had taken back roads and other ways, until they entered the magic world, because he certainly didn't want to be pulled up by the Muggle police with what he had on board.

Dumbledore had provided lodgings for him in a rented farmhouse, just outside Hogsmeade on the Hogwarts side of town. Putting aside his hate of doing it, Brett and Dumbledore apparated as close as they could to Hogwarts, and walked the rest of the way. The place looked much as it did the last time Brett visited, when his older brother William was made a Prefect, ten years ago. After a short talk about the activities of Death Eaters lately, Brett went for a walk and stood on a balcony at sunset, looking out over the lake.

Shortly, he felt someone walking up behind him. It was Dumbledore, with Professor McGonagall. God, she hasn't changed at all!

Brett greeted her with genuine warmth, and they all stood looking over the lake.

Finally Dumbledore stepped forward.

"The paperwork is all done Brett. To all outward appearances, you will merely be a worker, helping Mr Filch and Hagrid around the place, but when you are called, you shall become a hunter, a defender, using your particular skills against the Death Eaters and their kind who seek to take control of our world. Isn't that better than fighting rebels trying to take control of a country?" He said reassuringly.

Brett nodded in silent agreement. It did sound rather more risky and exciting than his former employment...it was a mixture of undercover and mercenary. Right up his alley. He felt a strange emptiness inside him though.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment.

"What is it you have been looking for, Brett? I know it is something you could not find here before," he asked.

Brett suddenly felt overwhelmed by all that had happened.

Professor McGonagall stepped closer.

"Your family is special Mr Mordonius. They have a long and proud tradition at this school. They are amongst the oldest pureblood families. Why do you feel this need to put yourself into dangerous pursuits in the Muggle world like you do? I have kept an eye on you, you know, all these years. Even though I do not approve of some of your more...unsavoury activities, I have always been proud of your accomplishments, as I am sure you father and mother were, in their own way...they just had trouble expressing it," she said compassionately.

Brett suddenly felt all his hidden emotions come to the surface, and allowed a few tears to roll down his cheeks. Professor McGonagall put a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it away.

"You know why I had to drive myself, to push myself to my physical and mental limits, in battle and in other dangerous jobs, wherever and whenever I could. I was...proving myself...showing that I was a person who was worthy to have my name in the great books with our families' high achievers. I have to push, I have to do great things, or at least try my hardest to do great things. My families' history goes back over a thousand years or more, and further than that as magic workers. "Purebloods one and all", everyone knows that about the Mordonius family...it's almost a damn family motto!" Brett said angrily as he squeezed his eyes shut, and Minerva put a hand on his shoulder again, and this time he leaned against her, feeling like he was a child again instead of the world-travelling mercenary he was.

She shushed him quiet.

"Yes, pureblood wizards and witches one and all...except for you. For some unknown reason you're the first and only Muggle to appear in the family line. Don't feel ashamed. There is a place for you here now, and you have an important job to do," she said in a barely controlled voice.

Brett composed himself and hardened his resolve.

"Yes. Yes I do. I have Death Eaters to hunt down. When do we start?"