Take My Hand

"What exactly are we doing?" Hermione asked desperately, as she struggled to match Tate's steps down the stairs.

"Regrouping," said Tate, over her shoulder. "We have orders to follow."

"None of us are familiar with military code, Tate," Hermione said quickly, as they reached the living room. "You'll need to explain these...orders." Tate nodded sharply.

"Hang on a minute." Tate dropped on all fours and reached under the dusty sofa. Hermione heard the slight grating of metal against wood, as Tate pulled a crowbar from beneath the couch. Silently, she watched as Tate strode purposefully to the photograph-covered wall. She jammed the crowbar between the merging of the floor and the wall. Using her foot, she put all of her weight into the crowbar, and the wall rocketed upward, revealing a white surface.

"What the fuck?" whispered Harry.

Tate seized her wand from its holster, and began tracing it along to shining, white wall.

"Objective 1," she said, her tone strong and professional, as the words appeared letter by letter on the gleaming surface. Without really thinking, Hermione and Ron straightened up considerably. Harry hung back, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He wanted to know what the hell had just happened. Tate swung around to glare at Harry.

"You've read the books, Agent Krypton." Her voice left no room for humour or dissension. "From this point forward, we will operate as a team. I was commissioned ten years before you were. That makes me the ranking officer here. Straighten up, and listen up. You have orders to follow." Harry maintained his furious glare. Tate narrowed her eyes at Harry.

"Must I remind you, Agent Krypton, that when the time comes for you to apply to the Auror Institution, you will need recommendations?" Harry's glare faltered briefly. "I don't think I need to elaborate on why my recommendation will mean more to the agency than most of your teacher recs. Don't make me characterize you as one who 'does not play well with others'. That would be a serious black mark on your application, Boy Who Lived or not." Harry was beyond furious - red splotches clouded his vision...but he straightened up accordingly, and lifted his chin.

Tate returned her attention to the board.

"Objective number one is the shutdown of SIMTRAN. We can remotely shut down the SIM, but that won't be necessary. We have to get out there anyways - we're going to need transportation. Objective number two is to neutralize the entry points. Accio Map!" The office blueprint of the ranch flew down the stairs and attached itself to the wall.

"This is us," explained Tate, pointing to the brown square with the end of her wand. "This bridge is the major entrance to the ranch," she indicated a long gray rectangle, approximately five inches from the square. Hermione quickly did the math in her head. Sixteen miles, give or take.

"There is one other smaller entrance here." She pointed to a minuscule block of grey nestled in an amorphous shade of green woods, "And here." She indicated another barely visible gray block on the other side of the map. "Thankfully, I can easily remote-disable those from the basement." Her finger traced over the lake, thoughtfully.

"So here is what we are going to do. Harry and Ron, I need you guys to shut down the SIM. Pull two four wheelers and two brooms from the utility shed. Lock everything after you finish, manually and magically. Hermione, you're going to help me mix some explosives in the basement while they're gone."

"Explosives?!" cried Harry, "What the hell for??"

"We're going to blow the bridge."

*** *** ***

Harry and Ron were silent as they quickly walked toward the Playground. The moon was waning, and darkness seemed to seep into their very beings. Even the snow seemed to absorb the light. Both boys held their wands at the ready, just in case. After what seemed like hours, they finally found themselves in the calming vicinity of the softly lit Playground. They approached the SIM - strangely, it seemed to be cloaked in a pocket of darkness amidst the tree lights. Wordlessly, Harry provided his I.D., and walked inside to shut the SIM down, while Ron unlocked the utility shed and disappeared inside.

Once inside the SIM, Harry strode purposefully toward the large computer.

"Welcome, Agent Krypton."

"Hello, yourself," he said dryly. He quickly located the "Emergency Suspension" command - naturally, a large red button encased in a layer of glass. He pulled the edges of his jacket around his fingers and smashed the glass casing. He activated the switch, and the screen of the computer flickered briefly.

"SimuTran will deactivate in thirty seconds," boomed the genderless, mechanical voice. It began to count down, with a considerable breadth between each number. Harry quickly exited the SIM, and the door behind him slammed with unnecessary force. He stepped away from the slight building and approached Ron, who lounged upon a Kodiak 4-Wheeler, waiting for him anxiously.

"They've only got Nimbus 2001's," Ron said lamentably, tossing Harry a broomstick. Harry smiled, and assumed a face of mock disgust at his broomstick. Ron chuckled, and started his four-wheeler.

He had only begun to shift into first when Harry's wildly waving form deterred him.

"What is it, Harry?" Harry pointed toward the Apparition Pad, wordlessly and nervously. Ron swung his head around in time to see faint crackles and sparks of blue electricity dancing about the pad.

With a great SNAP, three forms materialized, and Ron and Harry raised their wands menacingly as the three men padded off the Apparition Pad towards the two boys. One blonde, one brunette, and one raven-haired. Luckily, Harry recognized them immediately, and stepped forward.

"Harry Potter!" cried the raven-haired man. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Harry Potter graced our Playground!"

"Hullo Sergei," smiled Harry, politely, extending his hand toward the Russian man. Sergei ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug. Harry caught his breath against the crushing embrace and awkwardly patted him on the back.

"Great to finally meet you!"

The blonde man began to chuckle. "Brothers don't shake!" he quipped. "Brothers hug!" This drew an even louder volume of laughter from the three, though Harry and Ron were left scratching their heads, so to speak.

Sergei finally released Harry, and advanced upon Ron.

"And this must be Ronald Weasley," he said, with a wide grin. Ron shrank back unconsciously, though he registered a bit of pleasure having his name known as well. "Pleasure to meet you too!" He crushed Ron in a massive hug, as Ron stared helplessly toward Harry over Sergei's broad shoulder. Harry shrugged at him, and returned his attention to the other two - Robert and Bryan.

"Hello Harry," said Bryan lightly, extending his hand. Harry took it and the two shook.

"Hello Bryan." Bryan's eye lightened at the mention of his first name, and he smiled widely. Harry inclined his head to the remaining member. "Hello Robert." Robert grinned, and slapped Harry hard on the back, causing Harry to stumble forward.

"You have a sitrep for us?" asked Robert quickly, moving right into business. Harry and Ron both shrugged. Their situations report was nearly as cloudly as when they had just begun.

"The SIM has been deactivated," began Harry.

"Hermione and Tate are planning to...uh, blow a bridge," finished Ron.

"Sounds dirty," laughed Robert. Bryan cracked up and elbowed him.

"Excellent," smiled Sergei, rubbing his hands together. "So, we lock the shed and your orders are complete?" Ron and Harry nodded. "You boys like Molotov cocktails?"

Harry and Ron stared at him blankly.

"No? What about fire bottles?"

No response.

"What! You've no preference for improvisational explosives? I find that very hard to believe!"

"Back off, Sergei," interjected Bryan. "Let's all regroup." Without a word, Bryan and Sergei leapt onto the two four-wheelers. Robert sat behind Bryan, and Sergei tossed the two broomsticks to Harry and Ron.

"Best you be off in the manner you find most comfortable," said Sergei, with a wide smile. Both Harry and Ron grinned. They mounted their broomsticks and followed the lights of the four-wheelers.

*** *** ***

Hermione sat at a small table, busily mixing equal parts sugar and potassium permanganate together, and inserting the thick liquid into narrow lengths of white, plastic piping. A small radio in the corner blasted punk rock. Hermione didn't entirely agree with the choice of music, but dead silence would have been unbearable. She finished filling her pipe with the solution, picked up a cap and threaded a long thin charge into the top of it. Then she carefully introduced the charge into the pipe, and screwed the cap on tight. She placed the pipe carefully into the growing row. Tate sat across from her, filling glass bottles with measures of sulfuric acid and kerosene, and wrapping them with rags soaked in a pan of evil smelling liquid. Near the trapdoor were two duffle bags, packed with sticks of TNT. Each bag held fifty kilograms. A crate of plastic explosives sat beside the two bags.

"I'm not sure I understand the point of all this," Hermione said lightly, as she seized another pipe and the bottle containing Potassium Permanganate. "It goes without saying that the Death Eaters will protect themselves with magic."

Tate nodded. "You bet they will." She corked a bottle, and reached for one of the wet rags lying in a pan.

"Then...why are we mixing all of these things?" Hermione reached for the sugar. "They'll likely fireproof themselves against the demon...not only that, but against you." Tate nodded again, as she carefully wrapped the rag around the top of the bottle.

"Trust me," Tate said, "They'll never expect this."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I doubt that. If they, in fact, do know everything, then they'll be aware of your prior training."

"And they do know everything. Draco isn't one to exaggerate."

"So this is all diversionary...unless..." Hermione suddenly stopped, her eyes growing slightly larger. Tate looked up from her work with a grin.

' "Well, even if it won't harm them, a fire blast will scare anyone..." Tate said leadingly, as she watched Hermione bite her lip and stare at the table in concentration. She didn't dare interrupt her - she knew the extent of Hermione's brilliance was far beyond that which she could imagine.

"Unless..." Hermione scratched at the table, groping at the idea that was slowly putting itself together in her mind. "Well, let's say that there is a definite blur between what is muggle and what is magic. Technically, muggles can be affected by magic just as we can be affected by muggles." Tate nodded, slowly lowering her half filled container to the table. "Tate...will a bullet penetrate a magical defense charm?"

Tate nodded vigorously. "Definitely. I'm aware of two spells that will block bullets. Both were developed by Cody, so they aren't exactly common knowledge. I highly doubt any others exist."

Hermione nodded. She knew that all of Cody Chalker's patented prototypes had never been distributed to the public.

"Well then, it seems logical that an organic explosive would penetrate a defense charm, wouldn't it? It's not magically altered, nor is it made with any magical ingredients."

"You got it," Tate said, grinning, "These bombs employ a certain type of firepower that isn't covered in the most advanced fire-proofing spells. Well...the most advanced spells known to the public, that is. How many pipes have you got there?"

Hermione quickly checked over her row. "Seventeen."

"Oh good," breathed Tate, "I forgot how fast you work. Still got a bit of a while before Niels and the team arrive. Once Harry and Ron get back with the four wheelers though, we'll need to get ready to blow the bridge. I'll have to prep all of you in demolitions safety."

A sudden crash from the front door upstairs caused Hermione to start. Tate grinned at her.

"Let's be off then, shall we?" Hermione nodded, and the two left the table. Each seized one of the black duffel bags and made their way up the cramped stairs, Tate behind Hermione. Hermione winced as the bright kitchen light cut into her eyes. She carefully nudged the swinging kitchen door open with her foot, only to come face to face with a very unfamiliar, very large person. Reflexively, she kicked the intruder hard in the kneecap, and shoved her bag into his arms.

"Stay back Tate!" she cried, and prepared to drive the blade edge of her hand into his throat. In a split second, her assailant recovered, and seized her wrist. He twisted it painfully, causing Hermione to spin around as he pinned her arm behind her back.

She found herself looking down the barrel of a handgun. She didn't even have time to process the nightmarish situation in which she found herself. Her line of vision followed the handgun as it jolted upward, leveling with the head of Hermione's attacker.

"Jesus Christ," came a strong voice from over her shoulder. "You look like hell, T. What the fuck happened to your eye?" Tate dropped the handgun, and stepped back a pace, her mouth open in shock. When she spoke, she sounded like a banshee that had lost its' voice.

"Sergei?"

Hermione could almost perceptibly feel the man's wide grin.

"This'll be Hermione, I'm sure." He released his grip on Hermione. She barely had time to leap out of the way before Tate launched herself at the man. She caught him around the chest, and they both went toppling over. Hermione skipped back a pace as the two embraced. The front door swung wide, and two more bodies piled onto the rolling blur that was Tate and, apparently, Sergei. Hermione bit back a laugh at the ludicrous sight. She could barely make out definitive features - the floor was a smorgasbord of limbs, hair, and big toothy grins. Harry and Ron stood in the open door, and Hermione caught Harry's eye. He winked at her and smiled. Hermione knew he felt it too - a shared emotion between the two very different groups. The unshakable bonds of friendship. Hermione went over to stand between Harry and Ron.

The tussle on the floor lasted for some time - nearly two minutes had passed before Bryan dragged himself to his feet. He extended two hands - Robert grabbed one, Tate and Sergei grabbed the other, and he heaved all three to their feet.

Harry's gaze fell upon Tate, and his jaw dropped.

Tate was crying. Two sparkling rivulets of tears ran parallel to the big goofy grin stretched over her face. She wasn't even bothering to wipe them - she just kept grabbing her friends in bone-crushing hugs.

Hermione took the moment to observe the reunited Special Team Halide. She recognized the three men immediately, now that her moment of terror had passed. She remembered them well, from her brief, shared trip into Tate's memory. She silently berated herself for attacking Sergei...but then again, she hadn't gotten a good look at his face. She was only protecting herself and her teammate.

At 6'1, Tate towered over the three men, but they more than made up for it with body mass. Each of them was worth two of her in muscle. Hermione's alert eyes immediately noticed the matching tattoos each team member bore: the black kanji symbol for justice on the left wrist, the black bar code, the Sanskrit translation for balance on the left shoulder blade.

Sergei kept laughing with a low-pitched, infectious, musical laugh that made the whole room smile. His ice blue eyes shone with happiness, and he kept punching Robert in the shoulder. Robert raked a hand through his spiky, brown hair, and put an elbow in Sergei's side for every punch the young Russian landed.

"Dios mio, T!" laughed Robert. "You've grown a good two inches since I last saw you! Christ almighty, stand still for a moment!" She laughingly did so, while the others got a good look at her.

"Stop growing!" shrieked Sergei, placing his hands on top of her head. He tried, unsuccessfully, to shove her into the ground "You're making us all look bad!" Hermione didn't think so. Her gaze fell upon Bryan.

Bryan had a thick mop of shaggy blonde hair that wanted cutting. It hung in his eyes and he was constantly tossing his head to clear his vision. He was the shortest of the group, but held, by far, the most muscle mass. Hermione nearly cringed when he drew up an arm to scratch the back of his neck - his bicep likely had about the same circumference as her waist. It looked nearly mechanical, in a beautiful way - the movement of dozens of muscles smoothly contracting and relaxing. It was enchanting.

Harry pinched her, and Hermione's entrancement ended, and rather more abruptly than she preferred to admit. Harry leaned into her ear.

"You know, for a Special Team," he whispered, "Whatever that means...they sure do act like kids." Hermione giggled and rolled her eyes.

"They are kids."

It would be ninety more seconds of belated introductions to Hermione and laughter from Special Team Halide before Bryan's wristwatch went off. Hermione heard the soft beep first, cocking her head toward the sound.

All laughter and talk ceased immediately - almost as though the room had been turned off. The change in atmosphere was so palpable that Hermione shivered against an invisible breeze. Greetings were over.

"Map?" asked Bryan.

"There," Tate pointed at the wall. Bryan pulled his wand from its placement on his belt, and twirled it expertly.

"Show-off," muttered Sergei, and Tate snorted slightly and nudged him.

"Shut it, both of you," boomed Robert, and even Ron shrank from his voice. "Although, he's got a point. That was quite a fancy little twirl there, buddy." Bryan cast an enlarging spell on the map, causing it to stretch over the entire wall, floor to ceiling. Then he shot a spark over his shoulder at Robert, who barely managed to jump out of its way.

"Chupeme, Roberto." Robert covered his mouth with his hand to stifle laughter. Bryan spun around quickly. "Is everyone done? Are we ready to work or shall we waste some more time?" He eyed his compatriots carefully. "Good. Hermione, Harry, and Ron? Come stand right by Robert. You will be able to see better." Hermione led the way, Ron and Harry flanking either side of her. Bryan smiled warmly at them. Then he pointed his wand at the map, and it came alive. The dull green paint that symbolized the trees seemed to bend and sway in an invisible breeze, and the few blue splotches meant to be lakes began to reflect light.

"I'll debrief you on Niels' layout for the first mission. There will be no separate operations. We will all operate as one unit. The second mission is up to T., and she'll split us up or keep us together according to whatever plan she's laid out. We have only these two major missions to accomplish, and a small window of time in which to do it. Our first mission is to knock out the major point of entry into the compound." He waved his wand and a large black dash appeared next to the house marker.

"We'll take the main roads to the bridge, on brooms." Tate coughed loudly. "Right, never mind. T doesn't 'do' brooms. It's a better idea to take the Hummer anyways. Although I haven't ridden in ages...."

Hermione exhaled a breath of relief. Both Harry and Ron smirked and nudged her. She lifted her chin and ignored them.

"T., I hope with all the spare time you've had these past few months, you managed to look over the structural design of the bridge?" A sharp movement in Hermione's peripheral vision indicated she had.

"And?"

"84 pounds of TNT'll do it. If all four of us work together, I'd say we could do it in..." she raised her eyebrows in an odd sort of squint as she did the math in her head. "...In thirty four minutes."

"Excellent," said Bryan sharply. "Once the bridge is successfully destroyed, we move into the second mission, which is basically diversionary tactics. Niels' has left this entirely in our charge." Bryan fell back next to Sergei, as Tate took his place in front of the map.

"O.K. We're up against wizards, so cratering won't be real efficient in slowing them down. There's no point in wasting C4 if they're just going to fly right over the craters. They can't apparate anywhere, they'll try to fireproof themselves, and they'll definitely be using brooms." There was a collective intake of breath, and everyone looked at Robert when he whistled through his front teeth.

"He does that when he's scared," Sergei quickly explained to Harry. Robert punched him. Harry, looking distinctly nervous, backed up a step.

"Statistically, no fireproofing spell or potion is 100% effective. Professor Snape has an unpatented prototype for a 95% fireproofing spell, so it's safe to say the Death Eaters will not have this new formula. We'd have heard something by now. That puts them at 60% fire protection - 30% if they don't have their wands. So, all that said, most of our traps won't work, half the incendiaries and explosives will be ineffective, and any ground obstacles are pretty much obsolete."

"Well, that's fecking great," muttered Ron.

"So, we're fighting dirty?" asked Sergei.

Tate nodded. "We've got several things to our advantage. One, we've got the home court. Two, we use muggle tactics, which they'll be unprepared for. Three, they're cocky. Knock them off their brooms, and they'll be totally screwed. It's a long walk to the compound, and, if we use every dirty trick in the book, most of them will never make it." Hermione bit her lip, and tried to ignore the meaning in that sentence.

"So here's what I want to do. I'm splitting everyone up - it'll go faster that way. We need all the time we can get. Harry and Ron will go with Robert. Y'all will be the red team. I want y'all to give us a good range of alternating Malaysian Hawks and Sheepeater's Rockfall in these areas." She traced her wand along the indicated areas, causing them to glow bright red.

Harry made to raise his hand, but Robert caught his arm and shook his head. Irritated, Harry lowered his arm more roughly than he'd intended. What good would a hawk do against a legion of Death Eaters? Peck them? He bit the inside of his check to stay his comments.

"Bryan and Sergei, y'all are the blue team. You guys are in charge of the dirty fighting. Concentrate everything here," the map alight in lines of bright blue as she traced her wand along an arc to the side of the house, "And here," she traced an arc on the other side.

"Hermione, you and I are the black team. Our job is to arm the helicopters, plant the incendiaries and design a foolproof plan of attack. We need you to specifically outguess the enemy. All three of you have ten times the knowledge we've got when it comes to dealing specifically with death eaters." She nodded meaningfully at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"But we all need to work on one thing. We have to find away to get them off their broomsticks. They need to be off their broomsticks within the first five hundred feet of the bridge, or half of our traps are all for shit. Everyone think on that for the next hour or so."

"How long has your eye been like that, T?" Bryan asked.

Tate shrugged. "Forty five minutes, maybe an hour." Her eye was almost completely swollen shut.

"Keep it," said Robert, "It makes you look scary." Tate cracked a half-sarcastic smirk.

"Excellent," said Sergei, rubbing his palms together. "Shall we open the arsenal?" Robert, Bryan, and Tate exchanged knowing glances.

"Yah, Sergei," grinned Robert, "Let's open the arsenal."

*** *** ***

Time began to pass in milliseconds as soon as Bryan and Robert had pried off the cast iron covering to the basement within a basement. All seven people, one after another, dropped several feet into the pitch-black space. Ron jumped too quickly and landed on Harry. Both were too nervous to swear or cry out in pain.

The arsenal turned out to be a tunnel. Once all seven people were safely inside, Sergei called out a password in Russian, and the opening sealed itself. Lights flickered on, like dominoes, away from the group. The space was massive. The word 'arsenal' hardly did justice to the alternate dimension in which Hermione found herself. The four team members scattered in all directions, shouting to each other from behind seemingly endless black racks.

They changed languages every few seconds. Hermione caught snatches of Italian, Swedish, Chinese, and Swahili, before she tuned out the shouting. A large pile of black and green objects was beginning to amass in the central hallway, courtesy of the members of Special Team Halide, who were unceremoniously tossing the various things from behind the racks. A loud mechanical grating reverberated off the walls of long enclosure.

"Was that a car engine?" Harry asked Hermione. She nodded.

"A big car."

In direct corroboration to her statement, a camouflage Hummer came into view between the racks. Robert was behind the wheel, and he reversed up to the pile of objects and shut off the car.

Hermione began to examine the rack closest to her. Pistols in every caliber, ever color, were arranged meticulously, handles jutting out. Single action, double action, closed bolt - every single mechanism was available. She reached out to touch the handle of a Desert Eagle .50, when a hand came down on top of hers.

"Wait on that," said Tate. Hermione stared at the handle. She was beginning to feel her repressed nerves whine and twist in fear.

"Guys?" Tate gestured for Ron and Harry to join them. She spoke softly and calmly, once all four were in close contact.

"We're going out in full gear. All of us. We now have four hours and eighteen minutes before Niels' arrives with a full team. Two hours and forty-eight minutes until sunrise. But we have no idea when the enemy might choose to attack." A muscle clenched in Harry's jaw. That was the only discernible reaction she got from all three.

"Y'all haven't had camo training yet." At this point, the other three team members came to stand behind Tate. "So, you'll be getting a crash course."

Sergei took Hermione's arm; Ron went with Tate, and Harry with Bryan. Robert set to loading up the massive black and green hummer.

Ron, even with his long legs, had to jog to keep up with Tate. She practically sprinted through the racks of artillery, gear, and other objects Ron did not recognize. She came to an abrupt stop in a darkened corner, and faced a small console.

"C'mere," she reached blindly for his hand, and he caught hers. She drew his arm up and placed his hand into the gelatin sensor.

"I could've done that myself, you know."

"Quiet," she hissed, but Ron didn't miss the slight tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Welcome, Agent Cobalt. Specify instruction."

Tate piped up quickly. "Status change," and the console buzzed and whirred in response to her voice. A red light blinked.

"Proceed."

Tate drew a plastic, white card from her vest and ran it through a sensor.

"Upgrade accepted. Congratulations Special Agent Cobalt." Ron's eyes widened, and he swung his head around to stare at Tate. She smiled sheepishly, and spoke to the console.

"Special Agent Cobalt requires CCD Special Op Outfitting."

"Access granted." The wall slid open. Ron removed his hand from the sensor and placed his bleeding finger in his mouth.

"Change into the supplied clothes. Your shoes are fine, keep them on," Tate instructed, her eyes on the console, her fingers dancing away at the keypad. "You'll be supplied with a backpack, a kit, and a duffel bag. Bring those back out here."

"Yeah, alright," he said nonchalantly, disappearing through the door. Sure enough, there was a backpack, a black plastic kit with a handle, and an army-issue green duffel bag waiting for him in the dimly lit cubicle. A stack of neatly folded clothes was placed on top of duffel bag. Ron's hands began to shake as he reached for the clothes. Furiously, he slapped his own wrist.

Buck up, Ron, seriously, said his subconscious. Valiantly, he swallowed the lump of fear intruding in his throat. He stripped off his jeans and t-shirt, and snatched the clothes from the stack. His hands continued to tremble as he struggled his way into a pair of tight-fitting camouflage colored trousers. He seized the canvas belt, which came fully equipped with attached pouches, holsters, and a knife, and fastened it tightly around his waist. He pulled a black tank top over his head, followed by a tactical black vest. Over the vest went the camouflage jacket. He took a deep breath, and gathered the rather heavy backpack, duffel bag, and kit.

When he returned to the arsenal, Tate was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Ron moved over to her and dropped the massive backpack, duffel bag and kit directly into her lap. It nearly knocked her over backwards.

Normally, an action such as this would have drawn at least a smile. But there was nothing. She shoved the massive objects out of her lap quickly, and beckoned Ron to the ground. He lowered himself slowly to the ground, eyeing Tate warily as she snapped open the black kit to reveal several tube-shaped objects.

"What are those?"

"Paint. For your face." Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Tate seized the back of his head and brought one of the sticks to his face. She dragged it across his forehead slowly, the stick pulling painfully against his skin.

"Ow!" he shouted, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. "That bloody hurts! Can't you make it softer or something?" Tate shook her head vigorously.

"Bite the bullet, Ron - it hurts. Get your ass back over here." Ron tried to scoot farther away, and hit the back of very hard rack. He put his hands up to ward off the incoming stick of paint. He'd barely blinked before Tate had leapt upon him, secured both his hands under her knees, and was busy dragging the paint across his forehead.

Any retort he had caught in his throat. His breath dried up, and his throat felt as dry as cotton. He barely felt the uncomfortable pull of the paint stick against his forehead...then his cheekbones...his nose...his chin. She kept alternating similar looking tubes. For all he knew, his face might've been bright pink and green. When she touched the stick to his left ear, Ron shot up as though he'd been electrified. Tate seized the edge of the rack to keep from falling back on her head, and she used her upper arm strength to force Ron back into his spot.

"Sit still for fucks sake! I'm almost done!" Ron didn't dare breathe until both ears were successfully covered in paint. Tate let her hand drop, and looked him in the eye.

"Was that so bad, you big baby?" Ron opened his mouth to speak, and choked on the first word. She winked, and scuttled off him. She seized his backpack and upended it, spilling several objects onto the ground.

"Stand up, buddy." Ron slowly got to his feet. She picked up objects and handed them to him, explaining as she went along. There were seven flasks of Insta-Mend - the lightening speed healing potion used in emergencies. Ten smoke grenades, three fragmentation grenades, an engineer field manual, a canteen of water, and infrared goggles. In the duffel bag was a ghillie suit.

She thrust the duffel bag and backpack into his arms, and tapped the black kit.

"This is an emergency first aid kit. In most cases, Insta-Mend will be preferable to any field injuries you may incur during battle, however there are exceptions to that rule." She opened the kit and pulled a black leather tool case from it.

"In here, you will find necessary emergency surgery tools, like forceps and scalpels. I must emphasize that these are used as a last resort, Ron. The risk of infection is incredibly high, and that's why you have these." She removed several bottles and hypodermic needles from the kit, and explained each one.

"And now, perhaps the most important tool in the kit..."

Ron shrank back in stark horror as Tate reached into the case and came out with a massive, heavy-gauge syringe. She pressed it into his shaking hand.

"You'll want to get a feel for that right now, dude. It's heavier than it looks."

"And what exactly is this for?" Ron asked shakily, regarding the needle with terror. "Will I need to be sedating an elephant with something?"

Tate afforded him a small chuckle.

"No elephants. You are holding an atropine syringe. In the event of a chemical attack, however unlikely that may be, that archaic muggle device is the only thing that will save you from a very violent, painful death. First of all, the charm sensors sewn into the lining of your vest will detect a chemical attack and immediately warn you against it. Don't worry about confusion because the sensors are voice commands. If you hear the words 'chemical attack in progress', then you drop everything you are doing and you get this needle. Inject the atropine directly into your heart, or you will die. In fact, lets be extra safe and put this needle in your vest so it will be close to you at all times."

Ron simply stared straight ahead as she tucked the syringe into one of his vest compartments. She replaced all the items, snapped the kit shut, and handed it to him.

"Go to the Hummer. I'll be there in a bit." She slid a red card through the console, made her request, and slipped through the wall. Ron seized his backpack and returned to the Hummer.

Hermione and Harry were already there. Her left hand was grasped tightly in his right, both with their heads bent to the floor. As Ron drew closer, Hermione lifted her head. Her face was streaked black and green, as his own must have been. Ron heaved his massive backpack, duffel bag, and kit up into the bed of the hummer, and pulled himself up as well. A comment died in his throat. He had no idea what to say.

All of a sudden, everything seemed so real. The fear was nearly palpable...Ron felt as though he could cut right through it with the large hunting knife attached to his belt. Not that he'd figured out how to work the clasp that released it yet. Hermione was damned near shaking. Ron awkwardly reached out and patted the back of her hand.

She turned her hand over and closed it over Ron's. Ron smiled wanly at her, trying to impart some sort of confidence.

In any other situation, it might have been awkward - even embarrassing - but neither Harry nor Ron felt anything beyond comfort and companionship when they simultaneously reached for the other's hand.

Harry exhaled deeply in relief, feeling some of his aching nerves soothe themselves. He'd felt nothing but blind terror since he'd stepped into the Hummer and Hermione had appeared, dressed head to toe in camouflage, her combat boots coated in dull mud, her face streaked with dark colors until only the whites of her eyes and the heat of her blood signaled that a person inhabited her body. This was it. They were going out to fight Voldemort...they were knowingly walking right into battle.

All the times before, he had somehow known that he would end up facing off against Voldemort...but he hadn't walked into the Chamber of Secrets thinking, 'I suppose I'll be fighting Voldemort'...he hadn't dropped through the trapdoor of Fluffy's room with the intention of sparring against a parasitic, ruined form of his greatest foe, and he certainly hadn't been expecting a battle when he took the Tri-Wizard Trophy with Cedric.

When the members of Special Team Halide arrived from wherever they had gone, one of them would start the car. And then, willingly, Harry would be carried along with the automobile, consciously walking into the beginning of what would likely be the final battle.

Only one of them would walk away from this one. There would be no trace elements of souls, no preserved memories left behind. Death was lying in wait for one of them; his scythe held high, anxious to collect his prize.

Sergei walked into view, carrying a large wooden box that he placed on the trailer hitch. Hermione drew in her breath sharply. Ron squeezed her hand comfortingly, trying his best to smile. He couldn't manage it. Hermione leaned forward, bowing her head toward the two people she loved most in the world.

Harry followed suit, leaning forward until his forehead touched Hermione's. And then Ron did the same. Every hand tightened around the one it was wound around. Hermione could hear the soft breathing of both of her best friends...she could hear the blood roaring in their ears. All life around them suspended, and the world ceased spinning on its axis.

All that mattered was each other. Silently, Ron made himself a promise. He would die before anyone harmed either of his best friends. Also silently, Harry and Hermione made the same pledge. They barely noticed when the car shifted under the added weight of more people.

When it started and sputtered to life, they didn't move.

Even as the car broke through the hidden entrance of the arsenal, cloaking everyone in the suffocating blackness of the night, the triangle remained unbroken.

*** *** ***

Tate and Bryan were each straddled over a four-wheeler, situated in the horribly bumpy trailer that was pulled behind the Hummer.

"What do you think they're doing," Bryan asked with genuine curiosity, his flashlight trained upon the three Hogwarts' students. Tate shrugged.

"I don't know. Making peace with themselves? Psyching themselves up?"

"Oh," Bryan said thoughtfully, watching the three with slight interest. "Maybe we should try that. Seems like it's working for them. They're all remarkably calm and prepared." He turned his flashlight on Tate.

"You really think that Sergei could keep a straight face if we did something like that?" Her sarcastic expression drew a chuckle from Bryan. "It's not our style."

"No, you're right about that," the older boy said softly. "Although...sometimes...I think it might be nice if we could take ourselves seriously."

"Maybe," Tate mused, grabbing onto the handlebars as the trailer jolted severely. She grinned suddenly, her white teeth stark and foreign against the streaking map of forest colors that covered her face.

"After we blow the bridge, it's time to sing." Bryan burst out laughing, gripping his own four-wheeler tight as the SUV plunged into the deep thickets.

"You're goddamned right it is," he said, his grin matching her own.

*** *** ***

Draco awoke to a relentless pounding of drums.

No, wait...that was his head.

"Oh, bloody Christ," he moaned, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. Dear god, the last time he felt this awful...well, he didn't really like to recall that. He had awoken in a hot tub, wearing someone's lacy bra, and draped all over Priscilla Bulstrode (a slightly less massive cousin of Millicent). However, that night he had imbibed at least a bottle of Rhiannon's Rum.

That provided reason. And excuse.

There was no explanation for his current state.

Additionally, there was no explanation as to why his pillow suddenly shifted.

Gingerly, Draco turned his head toward the ceiling.

His head was in Ginny Weasley's lap. And, as she came into focus, he realized that Ginny Weasley looked...different. Quite different. Draco tilted his head to get a better look at her.

Her sweet pout conveyed the very essence of purity and innocence. But her eyes spoke differently. Draco found himself reminded of a quant café he'd found in Paris. The outdoor tables were littered with chain-smoking women. He couldn't tell how old they were - none of them. But it was quite obvious they had been around the block a few times. They knew what was going on - they understood the workings of the world better than he ever could. For years, before he was ousted from his family, Draco would spend hours watching those women while his parents shopped the finest stores. They were entrancing.

Ginny had the look in her eyes now. After all, Draco reasoned, she had had a rather eventful evening. Granted, it was not the first time she had snuck out of her parent's house. However, it was the first time she had committed the muggle (and wizard) crime of 'breaking and entering'. She had assisted in the illegal emancipation of no less than six house elves. She was guilty of stealing - her rucksack was stuffed to the brim with promissory notes and sacks of Galleons.

And she knew all of these things fully well. She also knew, judging by the hushed whispers and snatches of conversation from the U.N.M. operatives, that she and Draco had played a pivotal role in alerting the authorities to highly important Death Eater Movements.

She was a hero, and...at the same time... a criminal. And bloody Hell, she loved it. A new confidence graced her persona. She angled her head to look Draco in the eye. Her brown eyes were shining and alert.

"I thought your best girl was a highly respected U.N.M. operative."

Draco squinted, trying to dispel the fluorescent sparks that dotted his vision.

"She is," he returned.

"Then why are we sitting in this bloody cell?"

Cell? Draco hazarded a quick look about, though it went slowly as his eyes pained him. Sure enough, they were incarcerated in a medium size, brick cell. It was completely devoid of furniture and windows. The lighting was excessively dim, the air bitingly cold. Draco shrugged to the best of his abilities - his entire body was still sore from the Stunning spell.

"Maybe it's precautionary."

"Maybe it's because you stole thousands of Galleons from your father?" Ginny's voice was light and airy.

Draco smirked. "Millions, darling. Millions of Galleons."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall.

"You are, of course," Draco continued, "Entitled to a significant portion of those funds." Ginny snorted sarcastically. "Seriously, love! It was, after all, your rucksack that allowed us to nick the best of Lucius's savings drawer."

"My rucksack," snapped Ginny, "Was confiscated immediately after they stunned you."

"They'll return it," Draco said confidently.

"Sure they will." Ginny's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"They will."

"Why?" Ginny glared at Draco with all the force she could muster. "Because Tate will make them?"

"Yes," hissed Draco, his voice a dangerous whisper, "She will."

"You really love her, don't you?" Ginny closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

"Yes." The bomb dropped, just as she'd known it would. "She's family."

Shiny, silver lining...

"Family?" She prayed that her voice came off as cool and collected.

"Family. There's something to be said about friendship. It's amazing when you realize that someone spends time with you because they truly enjoy your company - not because they're afraid of you." Draco sighed, and turned his face into her left knee. Ginny raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, when Draco curled his hand around her kneecap. Ginny, in true Capricorn form, shivered.

This did not go unnoticed by Draco. She could feel his grin against her leg. Ginny allowed herself a small smile of her own, and leaned her head back against the wall. Almost immediately, she fell into an exhausted slumber.

She awoke, very shortly after, to an ear-splitting cacophony that sent her muscles into overdrive.

This did not bode well for Draco, as his head rested in her lap. He was thrown nearly a meter, as she leapt to her feet.

Draco shook his head vigorously to clear his vision, and tried to focus on the amorphous darkened shape that (he assumed) was Ginny. He winced as the horrible, grating roar assailed their tiny cell once again. Both he and Ginny clapped their hands over their ears.

"What the hell is that?" shrieked Ginny, frantically over the din.

"You think I know?" Draco shouted back. And then, suddenly, while still waiting in the blurry haze of after-stun effects, Draco realized that something beneath that heinous racket was remarkably familiar.

Draco trained his eyes on Ginny, concentrating hard on defining the lines of her body against the off-white wall. His vision immediately swam into focus.

Armed with his sight, Draco's eyes hardened into steel points and scanned the room furiously.

His mouth dropped open - wide enough that Ginny caught it in her peripheral vision.

"Minky!"

The noise became louder. Ginny pressed her hands against her ears with such force that her face began to turn purple, and she sank to the floor. Draco stomped a foot, and waved his hands in the air, as the decibel level seemed to surpass definite damage and pass straight into imminent deafness.

At which point, a white bundle of fluff rocketed into Draco's chest.

He flew backward with the momentum, clutching the furry missile tightly. Ginny turned her face to the floor and prayed for death. She was in the process of offering St. Peter sexual favors in return for a swift demise, when the noise ceased immediately.

"Bloody, fucking Americans," hissed Draco, throwing a small, black microphone against the wall. His left arm was still clamped tightly around the wriggling furball on his chest. Ginny stared at him wide-eyed, her hands still over her ears.

"Ah yes," smiled Draco. "Ginny, meet Minky." And he released the living ball of fluff, which began to zoom wildly around the room.

Ginny recognized the white puppy immediately, once the distracting sound was gone.

"Oh, baby!" she called wildly. Draco made a point of buffing his nails against his shirt, and bestowing one of his notorious smiles upon her unwitting, virginal eyes.

He scowled when he realized that she was talking to the dog. Poor girl must've been delirious. He scowled even further once he realized that Minky was giving her all the attention.

"Oh, yes you pretty girl," Ginny was cooing (though Draco could barely hear her over the dog's panting and whining), "You're such a smart baby, how did you find us?"

"Treat!" Draco had yet to pronounce the final 't' in treat, and Minky was already running circles around him.

Ginny glared at him.

"Cheater..." she muttered.

"Thank you, Minky," came a deep, raspy voice. Draco and Ginny whipped around to face the cell door. Minky skidded to a halt, and sat obediently, her white fluffy tail still wagging profusely.

A cloaked figure stood in the darkened doorway. The voice was clearly masculine, but nothing could be told about the features of the man. He was exceedingly tall, and his face was completely hidden by the folds of his hood. His eyes were strangely reflective however...much like cat eyes.

"That will be all," said the tall, imposing man at the door. Minky responded with a sharp bark, and trotted professionally out of the room. Draco watched the dog in complete awe - he'd never seen Minky in a state of calm obedience before. He returned his eyes to their visitor.

"Well," said the man lightly, "I can now rest assured that both of you are considered allies of Special Agent Platinum." He swung his gaze toward the open cell door, through which Minky had exited. Draco blinked, and the suddenly the man's glowing eyes were on him.

"Who?" asked Ginny, staring up at their visitor. Or was he their jailor?

The man's eyes did not leave Draco, even as he spoke.

"Special Agent Platinum is the link by which we three find ourselves now connected."

Draco snorted rather loudly.

"Obviously, you'll be Niels then. She told me you spoke like a prophet."

The man held his stare with Draco, his eyes glittering in the shadows of his cloak. Ginny held her breath as the silent exchange went on. Then, without warning, the man began to laugh. Ginny swiveled her gaze to Draco, perhaps for an answer, but he remained impassive, eyes on the chortling visitor.

"Give these young heroes some light!" commanded the man, gesturing toward the brick wall Ginny sat opposite from. There was a slight clicking above, and the room was suddenly flooded with a blindingly white, unnatural light source. Ginny yelped painfully and clapped her hands over her eyes. Draco's face twisted in pain, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open and upon the cloaked man. He strained his blinded eyes to follow the trajectory of the man's footsteps.

"For fuck's sake! I said give them light, I didn't say blind them!" There were several flat, packing sounds. Draco had heard fists against walls enough times before to discern that the man was pounding his hands against the brick. "This is not an interrogation, you bloody amateurs!"

As the white light disappeared, Draco was left without a doubt in his mind. The man in the cloak definitely was Niels K. Boltzmann, Tate's teacher and superior. The loneliness Draco had felt upon Tate's departure began to resurge, but he angrily shoved it aside. This was neither the time nor the place for forgotten memories to cloud his mind.

His eyesight was adapting gradually, as it should have done, when he suddenly felt a jolt at the base of his neck. His sight cleared instantaneously and he found his gaze still upon the man. The interior of the cell was now softly lit by candlelight, though neither Draco nor Ginny could see any candles. Draco didn't bother questioning his sudden transition from blindness to perfect eyesight. As Tate told it, this man was extraordinarily powerful.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are correct. My name is Niels K. Boltzmann. Ms. Weasley, you will not have heard of me, though you will certainly know one of my wards - Summere Blackeberry Chalker."

"Better known as Tate," snapped Draco.

"Or as T," responded Niels, "Or whatever moniker she decided to supply you with. Regardless, from this point on, she shall be referred to as Special Agent Platinum, or just Platinum." Ginny was nodding in slack comprehension, her eyes full of wary nerves. The man took a breath and continued.

"I knew that Mr. Malfoy was considered a close ally of Special Agent Platinum during her tenure at Hogwarts, by way of correspondence with Albus Dumbledore, and with Platinum herself. Ms. Weasley was certainly considered an ally, though not on the same level of closeness. No offense intended, Ms. Weasley," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"If you knew we were her friends, why the hell did you equip Minky with a high-powered microphone?" snarled Draco.

"Minky is Platinum's familiar. Not in wizarding sort of sense, that is. Minky is a highly trained, exceptionally intelligent canine. She and Platinum have worked together for several years. Minky remains a puppy due to the fact that her rare type of breed outlives most other dogs by several hundred years. In fact, Minky's breed outlives most humans."

"So...that was a test?" asked Ginny tentatively.

"Of course it was," snapped Draco, "Even though these U.N.M. officials certainly have files on us, they feel the need to plague us with these ridiculous, not to mention damaging, tests!"

Niels raised his hands apologetically, but Draco cut him off.

"I know all about you, you know," hissed Draco, "She told me you were one of the major superiors of the U.N.M. That gives you right and respect over just about everyone else. You have imprisoned and nearly deafened both of us. If we are not out of this cell in the next few seconds, I swear to God that I will take you to the highest court that exists and sue the bloody piss out of you."

"Draco!" Ginny stared at him incredulously. He was going to get them locked up forever. And he wasn't done yet.

"I also require the return of my rucksack and all the funds inside of it."

Ginny clapped a hand over her face. She couldn't watch the exchange anymore. The silence seemed to stretch into eternity, and just when Ginny had resigned herself to a life of imprisonment because Draco was an asshole, Niels spoke.

"Have either of you ever been on a jet before?"

*** *** ***

When the rugged hummer finally pulled to a stop, some forty minutes later, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were still in their close contact circle. Hermione tightened her grip as the engine shut off.

"I'm ready," whispered Harry, his voice hoarse, but determined.

"I'm ready too," assented Ron.

"Me...me too," Hermione tried to keep her voice strong, but fear resonated deep in her stomach. They broke apart slowly, unwilling to let each other go.

Sergei's voice broke their reverie.

"Stay in the truck. We'll be working on the bridge for the next few minutes." Harry opened his eyes, and saw nothing but darkness. He trained his eyes on Sergei's shimmering, hazy form, and concentrated on the receding man as he came into better view. It was still dark outside, but the night was receding. It was early morning.

Sergei took a running start before leaping onto his broom and soaring up into the sky. Ahead of him, two people on four-wheelers (Harry couldn't tell who) made their way slowly ahead. One was still fussing about in the trailer, loading a heavy wooden crate onto the back of a four-wheeler. He swore in Spanish - definitely Robert. The four-wheeler roared, and Robert sped off, in hot pursuit of his teammates.

It would be another few seconds of vision exercises before Harry could see the bridge. Very shortly afterward, Special Team Halide arrived at the bridge, bathing it in the floodlights of the four-wheelers.

It was a very dark grey arch, composed of severely jagged stone, and spanning about seventy feet over an angry looking stream. Even against the engines of the four-wheelers, Harry could hear the harsh slapping of water against stone.

Ron cleared his throat. "If I had to choose between any bridge in the world, I think I'd pick this one to house a troll underneath it."

Harry and Hermione both doubled over in laughter.

They watched carefully as the four members of Special Team Halide converged a few feet before the bridge. They unloaded the four-wheelers swiftly, cracked open the massive wooden crates, and each loaded up a duffel bag of whatever cargo was housed in the crates.

Then they swarmed over the bridge, like ants.

It was a horribly tedious half an hour after that. Just when Hermione thought her nerves were going to burst into flame and take off into the foreboding mountains, all four were zooming back toward the Hummer. One after the other, the three four-wheelers were driven back onto the trailer, and Sergei gently laid his broom down next to them.

"Shall we?" asked Robert, looking to his three mates.

"Let's do it," Sergei said, smiling brightly.

Hermione watched the four in confusion. They were all smiling...no, they were grinning like idiots.

"Whose got 'em," asked Sergei, looking around. Robert punched him in the shoulder.

"Whose always got them?"

On cue, Tate pulled a small, rectangular box that shimmered in cheap gold cardboard from a pocket against her upper thigh. Hermione had been around Tate long enough to recognize a pack of cigarettes when she saw one.

Tate pulled the wrapper off, opened the box, and peered inside. She withdrew a long blue cigarette and handed it to Sergei. She placed a green one in Robert's proffered hand. Bryan carefully took a yellow one from her. She withdrew two more from the box. One red, one pink. Hermione realized almost instantly that the colors were not distributed randomly. Though she couldn't grasp onto any concrete emotions, she felt a deep sense of tradition from all four of them. They were going through their own method of preparation, much like Hermione, Harry, and Ron had improvised a short time ago.

Bryan withdraw a bright silver lighter from his chest pocket. He flipped open the top and sparked the flame.

He lit Tate's pink cigarette first. Then Sergei's...then Robert's...and finally concluding with his own. They all drew deeply, and Robert coughed on his exhalation, earning a few snorts of laughter from his friends.

Tate carefully laid the red cigarette on the ground. Sergei, Bryan, and Robert withdrew their wands and pointed them at the cigarette, while Tate angled her hand toward it.

"For Cody," Bryan said strongly.

"For Cody," echoed the other three.

"Incendio." They all spoke as one, and the cigarette erupted off the ground and into the sky in a bright ball of streaking red fire. Hermione watched the red flame until it disappeared.

With the dispatch of the cigarette, all poignancy and solemn preparation seemed to disappear with the red fireball.

"'Twas on the good ship Venus," belted Sergei, breaking the silence. There was an uproar of laughter from the other three, and they all joined in the singing.

"'My God you should have seen us! The figurehead was a whore in bed and the mast was a rampant penis! Frigging in the rigging, tossing on the crossing, wanking on the planking, there was fuck all else to do!"

And so it began.

A good fifteen minutes of the weirdest, dirtiest songs Hermione had ever heard. She managed to keep her amusement in check, but Ron hit the ground in hysterics when Bryan sang "Fuck Her Gently" at the top of his lungs.

And then, almost as quickly as it had begun, the cigarettes had been pitched and seriousness had returned among the crew.

Robert and Bryan hopped into the Hummer, and Sergei settled himself atop a four-wheeler on the trailer. Bryan turned to face the trio.

"OK, guys, this is it. Do not look directly at the blast. Look slightly above it, or to the side, or not at all if you choose." Wordlessly, they nodded their comprehension. While Harry and Ron directed all their attention onto the bridge, Hermione slipped away and joined Sergei on the trailer. She had several questions for Tate.

Tate walked a few feet from the hummer. She stood still for a few seconds, and then Hermione heard a loud popping noise. She strained her eyes against the setting sun, and was able to make out a succession of sparks skipping along a charge headed for the bridge. Tate turned and ran toward the Hummer, leaping onto the trailer to join Sergei.

The blast was spectacular. The sheer force of it shook the ground, hard enough to jar Harry off his feet. A dramatic, ear splitting BOOM echoed over the land in waves. A bright bloom of orange dominated the horizon, black smoke wisping at the edges of the colossal ball of fire. The fire had just barely begun to crawl back toward the earth when Hermione became aware of the Hummer engine starting. All seven people safely in the vehicle (or on the trailer), Robert spun the wheel and they tore away at high speed. The sun was just beginning to rise.

"Are we go for immediate deployment once we reach the house?" Sergei had to shout to be heard over the roar of the Hummer. Tate shook her head.

"Niels'll be here within the hour. Better to get the full team set up before we venture out again."

"What exactly comprises a full team?" yelled Hermione, gripping her handlebars tightly as the trailer jolted over a rock bed.

"A full team is a pretty big deal," Sergei told her, "We rarely ever get the pleasure of hosting even a small, portable team."

Tate nodded next to him. "Basically, Niels is turning this place into a makeshift headquarters. A full team is at least seventy five people, and that's not counting platoons, although I doubt we're getting any of those - at least, not for another few days."

"That's right," added Sergei, "The US Army is unbelievably stingy when it comes to loaning out wizard platoons to us, even though we run ops for them all the time."

"So the team comes from the Army, does it?"

Tate shook her head, wincing as a branch whipped past her arm. "The team is ours - they're stationed at the UNM Military Base, in the Department of Special Forces." Hermione cocked her head curiously, and briefly wondered what other sorts of magical special teams existed.

"Anyways," Sergei put in, "When they do arrive, it's going to turn into a goddamned zoo around here." Tate nodded vigorously, looking exhausted at the mere thought.

"And what will they do? Help us to fight?"

Tate squinted thoughtfully. "Yes and no. With the team, we'll be getting supply specialists -"

"They'll take care of choosing artillery and restocking, so we don't waste time doing that," Sergei added.

"We'll also get a medic, a surgeon, and two mediwizards," continued Tate, "A team of engineer specialist officers, chemical officers, and an NBC staff."

"Right," Sergei cut in, "There'll be a team of at least twenty communication and magical radio frequency staff nerds - not that we'll really need to be waging electronic warfare against wizards...but they're bloody coming anyways." He dropped his head in mock disgust, drawing a laugh from Tate. She quickly resumed her explanation.

"There'll be an Armor specialist, four psychiatrists, two of whom are wizards...um...loads of security...a cook, record keepers...most importantly though, all of Intelligence will be here."

Hermione's eyes brightened - witch or no, she knew what military Intelligence was. The thought brought immediate comfort.

"Will they bring news of the Death Eaters?"

"Definitely," Sergei assured her. "They'll probably be able to tell us what Lucius Malfoy had for dinner last night."

"They couldn't tell us that our cover was blown though, could they?" Tate pointed out.

Sergei's face darkened. "You know who it was, don't you?" Hermione looked between the two of them, feeling marked tension against some outside force.

Tate, eyes downcast, nodded. "That's very nearly a rhetorical question, Sergei. Everyone knows Jacques did it. There's just no proof."

"Fuck proof," Sergei ground out, suddenly very serious. "I guarantee you he'll be with them when they come."

"Surely, he couldn't be that dumb," Tate said sharply, biting her lip in remembrance.

"He'll be there," Sergei echoed, "And when I get my hands on him, I'm going to rip out his goddamned spine, I swear to god."

Tate didn't answer. Hermione felt suddenly uncomfortable, as though she had stumbled in on a private moment of sorts. She felt compelled to change the subject.

"What do you think the Death Eaters will do?"

Tate and Sergei looked at each other, and then at Hermione. Sergei made to open his mouth, but decided on a dramatic shrug. "That's Intelligence's job. I've got no bloody clue. There's too many variables at this point."

"Exactly," added Tate, "If they know who we are, surely they have at least an idea of the countermeasures we'll be taking against them. Being Death Eaters, they're usually predictable. They're so cocky in themselves, I'd say they'd just barge right in, blaring trumpets and shooting dark marks up into the sky."

Sergei shook his head. "If they kept as close a watch as your friend says they did, T., then I'd think they're smart enough to be very afraid of us."

Tate nodded. "Right. I wouldn't put it past them to send reconnaissance spies here to try and gauge the layout of the compound plus our initial preps."

"But they wouldn't be able to get very far, would they?" Hermione asked, somewhat anxiously. Sergei shook his head.

"There's a no-fly zone over this whole area, and its ward protected - only our planes will work."

"However," cut in Tate, "They could feasibly send an unnoticed spy past the bridge. He wouldn't get far at all, but they could do it."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"The wards," said Sergei, "They'll never get past them. Never. Our wards are permanent, and they're impossible to tamper with. Niels designs and maintains them personally. Whenever he does allow people in here...and when he does, its strictly emergency...they are kept within the vicinity of the wards."

Tate nodded, "The wards and the apparition pad are so carefully constructed, that only Sergei, Robert, Bryan, Niels, and myself are able to pass through them alone. You, Harry, and Ron, even with your new special agent rank, are only able to pass through them because we're with you."

"We don't take chances out here," Sergei explained, "Everything is by blood. If your individual DNA is not cleared for access, you won't get anywhere. The only way people ever get into this place is if they apparate in the presence of Niels, and he has to be willing, with good intentions. The wards sense as much - they're almost human in a way."

"The Death Eaters will be able to pass the bridge, but the wards will stop them five hundred feet from the house, and they will never be able to break them down."

Hermione felt confused. "So the plan is to wait until they get to the wards and then go out to meet them?" she asked, more sarcastically then she meant to.

Tate and Sergei shot her identical looks of irritation.

"The plan is to take out the army before they get past the valley," Sergei said.

Hermione's eyes went wide. The thought of killing people had never coherently entered her mind. She looked to Tate for confirmation, but Tate averted her eyes. Her jaw was set determinedly though, and Hermione could sense her agreement with Sergei.

"Kill, or be killed," Sergei said simply. "That's how war goes."

The brush cleared and the house came into view. Tate's face went ashen.

"What the fuck is that?" she shouted, her voice deep with concern. Hermione's heart dropped straight into her stomach. She followed Tate's gaze. There, on the porch of the house, was a massive bald eagle.

And around it's foot, a white package.