Take My Hand

Bryan got to the eagle first, and seized the package from around its ankle. The magnificent bird remained where he was, stock still, looking almost sympathetic.

Bryan tore into the parcel and ripped out a scroll of parchment.

His jaw slackened as he read through what appeared to be a terse statement. Sergei, Tate, and Robert nearly threw each other out of the way to clamor behind him and read over his shoulder. Their expressions assumed identical looks of fury. Calmly, Tate strode over to one of the windows and put her fist through it. Sergei picked up an ancient beer bottle and sent it flying into the wall.

Bryan let his hand fall slowly, and Ron took the opportunity to snatch the letter from him.

Harry and Hermione appeared at his shoulders.

Emergency Relay to Special Team Halide:

Base has been attacked. Team Commander Palladium sustained multiple injuries. Injuries not life-threatening, but Commander Palladium is in suspended stasis. Expected recovery period of eighteen hours (TOA 19:24). Will update in six hours concerning Commander's condition. Request orders, SITREP, ASAP.

~UNM Mediwizard

"Oh, Jesus Christ," breathed Robert, his voice thick with fury, "This is fucking great." He was met with a brief bout of silence. Tate closed a hand over the top of her bloodied fist. Sergei followed her lead, and put his own fist through the other window, pausing to kick the frame into mere splinters.

"Let's make the best of this then," Bryan said quickly. "We're wasting time as is." Tate and Sergei seemed to realize their idiocy and gathered around him quickly.

"It's your defense op, T. Has been since the beginning." She nodded fiercely.

"I'll need you to repair my hand."

Sergei grunted slightly.

"And his as well."

Hermione followed the mass migration that swept into the house.

*** *** ***

"I cannot believe I'm wasting time on this," snapped Bryan, as he poured a flask of Insta-Mend over Sergei's bloody knuckles.

"Save it, Bryan," grumbled Tate, who held her own hand by the wrist as she looked over battle plans with Hermione. Hermione eyed Tate's fist warily - bits of dirty glass stuck out amongst the flayed flesh. She jumped when a fat drop of blood splattered onto the map.

"Dammit, Tate! Beat it until Bryan has mended that!" Tate moved slightly away, glaring at Hermione petulantly. Bryan stomped his way over to Tate, a fresh flask in his hand. Hermione watched intently - she was completely fascinated with the potion.

"Explain this potion to me," Hermione asked Bryan. "I've seen Tate use it before, but I've never read of it, in any book."

"Well, you wouldn't have, would you," Bryan said matter-of-factly, seizing Tate's hand none too gently. "It's a prototype. Cody invented it when he was thirteen. The formula has never been released to the public."

"Why not?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit, "Why would you deny the public such a beneficial product?"

"It's not exactly an efficient replacement for licensed mediwizard wand healing," answered Bryan, as he poured the contents of the flask over Tate's hand. Tate clenched her jaw over the violent, exothermic reaction that bubbled and frothed over her knuckles. Bryan waved a hand through the reddish brown fumes. "It's mainly for immediate healing - a quick pour over a gunshot or shrapnel wound for instance. It'll heal it up quite well, but once the op is over a surgeon will need to remove the foreign object and heal the deeper tissue damage. However, let's say you've got an injured teammate with multiple stab wounds, at status urgent."

"Status urgent?" interrupted Hermione, cocking her head curiously.

Bryan smiled grimly.

"Special Team Halide sorts casualties according to the classification of military muggle casualties. 'Status Urgent' implies that death will occur without immediate assistance, for instance; asphyxia, respiratory obstruction, cardiac injuries, central nervous system wounds, et cetera. 'Status Immediate' implies a life-threatening wound, that also requires assistance, though well outside the time frame of a 'Status Urgent'. 'Status Delayed' implies a wound that will tolerate a delay of up to 8 or 10 hours before death occurs. 'Status Minimal', or 'Ambulatory', describes a wound that is superficial, requiring no outside help. 'Status Expectant' is the worst, however. Status expectant basically means 'death imminent' - if you report that to base, even if it's a mistake, you'll never get any help. No one responds to 'death imminent'. That category rarely gets anything beyond a memorial service and a flag."

Tate wiggled her fingers as Hermione nodded to Bryan. She fluidly shot Bryan the finger. Bryan squelched a laugh and tried to remain imposing.

"And what's in it?" asked Hermione.

Bryan opened his mouth to reply, but Tate cut him off.

"Better not tell her, Bryan - she might refuse to use it later on." She and Sergei exchanged remarkably juvenile grins, and burst into laughter.

"Ignore them," said Bryan, waving off his giggling compatriots, "They love to be immature. You are familiar with the effects of unicorn blood, correct?"

"Of course," answered Hermione immediately, "It has a healing power second only to Phoenix tears. However, it will curse the drinker." Her eyes widened in horror.

"You don't -"

"No, no, of course not!" Bryan said swiftly. "We're not Death Eaters, for god's sake."

"He's totally going to tell her!" Sergei whispered loudly, to Tate. They cracked up again, and Bryan rolled his eyes. Hermione ignored them, and watched Bryan imploringly.

"Insta-mend utilizes an...an alternate form of unicorn healing. It's completely non-invasive, and most of them don't even mind."

"Oh, just say it, Bryan!" howled Tate, nearly doubled over in laughter.

"Oh FINE!" shouted Bryan irritably. "I try to keep some form of manners when a lady is present!" This comment drew even more laughter. Robert appeared in the kitchen door, a questioning look on his face. Sergei scampered over to him and whispered in his ear. Robert snorted in laughter.

Bryan threw up his hands in disgust, and moved closer to Hermione. He dropped his voice to a whisper.

"The key ingredient of the Insta-Mend potion, in addition to Adder's Tongue, Amaranth, Goat's Rue, Cinnamon, and Ethanol...is unicorn urine."

"It's PEEPEE, goddammit!" shouted Sergei hysterically.

"That's right!" gasped Robert, through his laughter. "Go on and say it!"

"Jesus Christ," muttered Bryan, "Fine. The key ingredient of Insta-Mend is unicorn 'peepee'." He shook his head in disgust, but Hermione caught the edges of a hidden smile in his face.

Robert clapped a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "One day, when we have more time, we'll tell you the backstory of why Bryan hates the word 'peepee'. And why we like to torture him about it."

"Peepee?"

All eyes went to the kitchen door. Ron and Harry stood there, looking confused (and slightly disturbed).

"We'll explain later," said Tate, as she positioned herself in front of the white wall.

"OK," she began, "First things first. Objective one has been successfully completed. As stated before, I will be in charge of the battle objectives. However, with Niels down, second in command falls to the oldest team member. That would be Bryan. So, Bryan, we need you to apparate directly to base and bring back the team. However, I'd like you to stay until we decide upon our primary battle plan. Once we're done, you are dismissed for duty." Bryan nodded curtly, hands behind his back.

"So," she continued, "I've been thinking about the broom issue...Where do we stand with project 634?"

A light suddenly went on in Hermione's head. Sergei had already opened his mouth to answer Tate, but Hermione cut him off like a gunshot.

"Isn't there some of sort of spell that will negate magic? Something long term that will act only on a single stretch of area - a hex that will knock them off of their brooms without limiting further magic use to us down the line?"

Sergei choked on his reply. Robert and Bryan regarded Hermione with expressions of shock and disbelief. Hermione felt her face grow unbearably hot, as her tongue turned to cotton. She shifted her eyes to Tate for an explanation.

Tate was barely managing to keep her smile in check. She gave Hermione a small wink.

"When you three have put your eyes back in, perhaps you'd like to answer Hermione," she said lightly. Bryan regained his voice first.

"Um..." he began, "Project 634 is...well..."

"It's basically exactly what you just asked for," interrupted Sergei, still staring at Hermione.

"Yeah," added Robert, with a slight edge to his voice. He fixed Hermione with an intense glare. "That's more than a bit creepy, Ms. Granger. How the hell do you know about project 634?" He sent a rather accusatory glance in Tate's direction.

"Oh! I - I just thought...well..."

Tate shot a look of fury in Robert's direction, before crossing to Hermione's side. Harry fixed Robert with a look of intense dislike.

"Hey now," cut in Bryan, "There's no need for accusations, Rob."

"That's absolutely right," added Tate, one hand protectively on Hermione's shoulder. Harry itched to shove her off. "That's remarkably unprofessional of you, dude - I suggest you take a breather. Clearly, the recent excitement has affected you." Robert narrowed his eyes.

"That's not what I meant, T, for fucks sake! Last time I checked, I was the Seer in this group - not Ms. Granger." He inhaled deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Sorry," he muttered, "I wasn't trying to imply you've been divulging information, T. That was just - just weird."

Tate shrugged, as though he should've expected such an interruption.

"I'll answer Hermione's question." Bryan strode to the white wall, and faced the group.

"Project 634 is sort of a pet assignment that we've been nursing for a few years. It's pretty much exactly the spell you mentioned - however, it's timing is unreliable. The targets would become disconnected from the brooms at a single point - the point at which the magic is negated, or smothered. However, they would be able to pick up their brooms and simply march ahead until the force passes - and it becomes ineffective rather quickly." Hermione nodded mutely - the stunned reaction she'd received made a bit more sense now. Her discomfort faded significantly.

"What sort of distance does the spell cover?" she inquired.

"As long as we wish," put in Sergei, "Forty, maybe fifty miles at most. Or as small as six hundred feet, depending on how much we power it."

"And it's not a spell," interjected Robert, "It's a muggle tactic that we've managed to manipulate. It's referred to as an electromagnetic bomb. Normally, it will knock out any electrical system within the blast radius. However, we've manipulated the frequency, and reconfigured the ... uh ... well ... that's classified. The shockwave won't fry the electrical systems, but it will knock out any operative magical system within the blast radius."

"By operative, he means any object that is currently using magic to operate," added Bryan.

"Like brooms?" asked Harry.

"Brooms, wands, magic carpets, portkeys..."

"Flying cars?" suggested Ron.

"Yes, flying cars as well," replied Bryan, "Though I can't imagine they'll be coming in those." Harry and Ron both squelched a smile.

"And if we got their brooms away from them somehow," asked Hermione, "Then..."

"Well, then they'd be fucked," Tate answered. "That's the idea we're going for. A Royal Fuck Treatment."

"That's right," echoed Bryan strongly, "They'd be forced to walk. Perfect battle plan, is that. They'd have to go through our funhouse, so to speak, and the casualties would be quite high. Mind you, there will be hundreds...possibly thousands of Death Eaters, very few of whom will double up on brooms."

Ron scratched his head, looking thoroughly unconvinced and confused. Not knowing what else to do, he tentatively raised his hand. Robert pointed at him, clearly amused.

"Well, how exactly do we take their brooms from them, then? It'll take quite a lot of Summoning spells to pick up all those brooms, won't it?"

"No need for Summoning spells, buddy," grinned Sergei, "That part is going to be ridiculously uncomplicated."

Hermione sighed heavily in relief. Things seemed to be working in their favor.

"That's right," added Robert, "We pulled off a neat little job for the magical government in Singapore a few years back. They gave us about sixteen high powered magnets with nine different settings. One of those settings is wood. Their broomsticks are as good as gone, assuming Project 634 works as planned."

"Well, great! Then you can get their wands too!" Ron grinned, feeling much more confident about the situation. His smile quickly disappeared as the four teammates shook their heads.

"It doesn't work on wood originating from wand trees," explained Robert. Ron looked crestfallen.

"Oh."

"That is exactly why we have great need of Mission Screwball," said Tate, as she resumed her position in front of the white wall.

"Mission what?" asked Harry, his eyebrows raised almost into his hair. The members of Special Team Halide ignored him completely as they converged together. They began speaking rapidly in Russian.

"Excuse me," snapped Harry, waving his arms to get their attention. No one paid him any mind, except for Ron, who shot him a commiserating look. Hermione simply stared straight ahead, apparently deep in thought.

"Hey," Harry said loudly, "Hello?!"

Without so much as a backward glance at Harry, Special Team Halide disappeared into the kitchen, still conversing in Russian.

Harry threw up his arms in frustration and fury. He flopped down into a chair, and let loose a sigh of deepest irritation.

"Well, that's not on," said Ron slowly, as he watched the kitchen door swing shut. He looked faintly green, as the prospect of the coming hours resettled itself upon him. "I think I'm going go throw up now." He shot upstairs with surprising speed, and slammed the bathroom door. Hermione shuddered as the sounds of Ron retching floated down the stairs. She took a seat on the couch, her back quite rigid.

"They could have at least told us where they were going," said Harry irritably, "It's like they trust us one minute, then treat us like children the next."

"Being polite is not their job, Harry," Hermione said, quite tired of Harry's constant mistrust, "They've many other things on their mind, Harry, a great many. They're here to keep us alive."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said, Harry. I can't read their minds, just like you can't, but I know you've felt it. They are here specifically for the purpose of keeping you, me, and Ron alive."

"But why?" Harry asked, suddenly overwhelmed by the realization, "Why are we so important?"

Hermione looked pensive for a moment. "Every story has its' hero, Harry. Every generation has its' legend. You are the hero, and the legend, for this generation, Harry. Ron and I are your support fixtures. Without you, the world will fall. Just look at the security precautions surrounding you! I've researched this team - I've read every single military journal on the shelves of the study. Special Team Halide is universally regarded as the pinnacle of military excellence, in both the magical and muggle world. I haven't read a single publication without a mention of them in some form or another. Their team name is never used - they're referred to as the charges of Neils K. Boltzmann. They are the most feared, the most respected, and the most accomplished of any other special forces team ever to come out of the UNM. And they're protecting you, Harry. Did you ever stop to wonder why?"

Harry found himself speechless. "I never asked for this," he stammered.

"I know you didn't Harry. But you've got it. And I have every ounce of my faith behind you. And clearly, so does the rest of the world, otherwise Special Team Halide would never be assigned to such a task."

Their reverie was shortly interrupted when the kitchen door slammed against the wall. Harry thrust Hermione behind him instinctively, and pointed his wand toward the door.

"Glad to see the training was of some help," snorted Tate, as she marched into the room purposefully. Robert, and Sergei followed in her wake. Hermione smiled meekly, and Tate winked at her.

"Here's what's going on. We are scrapping the old teams. Bryan is on short relocation, while he retrieves our full team. His return is estimated within the next several hours. Therefore, the previous teams will be redefined. I would like to make it clear for our new members," she inclined her head meaningfully toward Harry and Ron, "That the new designation of teams in no way reflects a personal preference. It reflects the facts." It did not go unnoticed that Tate narrowed her eyes slightly at Harry, as he returned her gaze with an icy cold glare. "It is accepted, among Special Team Halide, that Sergei and myself are the most efficient in the area of demolitions and explosives."

Harry raised an eyebrow pronouncedly, and was on the verge of inquiring why anyone cared, when Hermione snatched his upraising hand. Sergei shot a disapproving, yet slightly understanding, look in Harry's direction.

Tate, also noticing Harry's gesture, went on. "As such, Sergei and I will take the first shift of Mission Maelstorm. The second shift will be Robert and myself. The third shift will be Robert and Sergei, and so on, until the initial preparations of Mission Maelstorm and Mission Gladfingers is complete. No offense to you three, but you have no training in this area. Your job is to sit tight and enjoy the peace."

"And to prepare coffee when the shifts switch!" added Sergei.

"I could take them with me to the lake," suggested Robert. "You did throw a cucumber in, didn't you?" Tate squinted at him irritably.

"Of course I did, Robert. Notice they're all here, and not decomposing in piles of Kappa shite!" Hermione's eyes widened.

"Kappas?" She made no attempt to hide the disgust and alarm in her voice.

"Kappas," confirmed Tate, matter-of-factly. "In the lake." She gestured to the left. "Definitely take them with you," she told Robert, "Always good to at least introduce new people to the 'Kaps'." Simultaneously, she and Sergei summoned their brooms.

"See you in an hour," said Sergei. He waved, and then took off to the porch, Tate in his wake.

***

"Exactly why do you allow Kappas to live in your lake?" asked Hermione, as she trotted to keep up with Robert.

"Yeah," said Ron, "Don't they eat people?"

"They do feed on human blood, yes," said Robert evasively, as they made their way through the brush. The morning light was severely muffled by the thick foresting. A distinct feeling of unease pervaded the three visitors. Robert's cool composure began to annoy Harry.

"What else lives in the lake?" demanded Hermione, her voice a bit shaky.

"The usual water creatures," answered Robert. "You know, catfish, bullfrogs, grindylows..."

"Yes, but why Kappas?" snapped Harry, his patience wearing thin. "And why are we going to see them if they feed on human blood?"

"Oh, they won't harm us," replied Robert lightly, as he pushed aside a branch so Hermione could make her through the thick brush. "As long as you carve your name into a cucumber and toss it into the lake, they won't attack you. And T did that her first day here." He let go of the branch, and it smacked Harry in the face.

"That really doesn't answer my question, does it?" Hermione heaved a sigh of obvious annoyance. Robert remained silent.

"You're not going to feed us to them, are you?" asked Ron jokingly. Unfortunately, his voice shook, giving away his nervous apprehension. Robert laughed softly.

"The Kappas are part of the contingency plan," he explained, finally. "I'm sure you'll be able to discern a reason for that after a moment's reflection, won't you Hermione?" Hermione pursed her lips in silent annoyance, but quickly opened them again (as was her trademark).

"Kappas have been known to make bargains with humans in the past," she said precisely, as though reading from a textbook. "They imparted the secret of bone-setting to man." She stopped briefly, and glanced at Robert. "You and your team have an agreement with Kappas?"

Robert smiled at Hermione, but did not break step.

"Your files do not do you justice, Ms. Granger. You are far more intelligent than they give you credit for." Despite her best efforts, as always, Hermione could not contain the flushing glow that lit up her face.

"How did you arrange an agreement with such a dangerous creature?" asked Harry, his nerves lessening slightly.

"We offered them asylum," answered Robert. "Kappas are generally found only in Japan, and we were on-duty in Okinawa about six years ago. Generally, kappas form tight-knit communities, and our little group is no exception. Their marsh was being drained by a muggle business enterprise. So, we offered them an accord." Hermione ceased her nodding and spoke.

"You arranged for the kappas' to live in your lake in exchange for protection, should the need ever arise?"

Robert nodded, pushing aside the last cloak of branching. Hermione followed him, tentatively. Harry and Ron hung back for a moment, unwilling to pass into the marshlands and lake just yet.

"This keeps getting weirder," remarked Ron, shoving his hands in his pockets. Harry smirked.

"I think we're way past 'weird'," he responded.

"Well, on our way to suicidal, then?"

"After you, mate." Harry spread his hand politely in front of the brush.

"Oh, send the first mate out first, that's right..." muttered Ron, as he grudgingly took a step forward and passed through the brush. Harry followed him closely.

The lake was nothing like the lake at Hogwarts. The Hogwarts' lake was always pleasantly calm and inviting. This lake was much more sinister. The gentle rays of the morning sun seemed to purposely avoid the surface of the nearly black water. A heavy, silver mist hung over the surface of the lake. Numerous dead trees and plants cut their way through the water and mist.

Harry felt as though he had stepped foot inside a horror film. Though the air was still bitingly cold, he felt humidity creep up onto the nape of his neck.

Robert whistled gently, twice, and then the eerily calm surface of the lake began to disrupt. Hermione instinctively reached for the first arm she could grab hold of (Ron's), and watched the surface in very nervous anticipation. She did not have to wait long.

The surface of the lake began to roil, and, to the dread of the three Hogwarts' students, a creature rose from the water, a few feet away from the banks at which they were standing. Hermione bit back a gasp of fear as no less than forty creatures also rose. They kept their distance behind the obvious leader of the pack.

Hermione studied the leader in mute horror and fascination. The creature was naked, bearing resemblance to child-sized monkey that had lost its fur. It's skin was a wretched yellow-green hue, and its hands were webbed. Hermione knew that his foot would be webbed as well. This fact was confirmed when the creature stepped out of the water and approached Robert. Hermione, Harry, and Ron all took a step backwards. The odor of rotten fish became more suffocating as the creature neared them.

Hermione's first instinct was to bow, in order to drain the water demon of his strength (via the depression in the crown of his head - if the water inside were to spill, the creature would have to return to the water). However, Robert seemed to notice her, and caught her before she could bow.

"No," he hissed, "Let me do this - you three just watch. Only watch."

The Kappa had come within three feet of the group. To Hermione's great horror, it smiled, and reached an arm toward Robert.

Robert smiled as well, took a step forward, and placed his hand on the Kappa's shoulder. The Kappa placed its own wet, webbed, hideous hand on Robert's shoulder.

"Konichiwa," said Robert. And then they were off, speaking in Japanese and occasionally laughing. The conversation continued on for a minute or so, at which point the Kappa gestured toward the three students. Robert shrugged, and spoke again in Japanese. The Kappa looked back toward the other creatures, still in the water, and barked a command. A weak-looking Kappa sped toward him, tripping over a dead plant on the way, which caused to him to fall and nearly lose the water in his head.

To Harry's great surprise, the Kappa speaking with Robert smiled a horrible smile filled with rotten teeth, and gently helped the smaller Kappa to its feet. The smaller Kappa handed a cucumber to the leader, then scurried back into the lake. The leader Kappa turned the cucumber over and over, smiling ever so slightly. When he was finally convinced that he would not be able to eat Hermione, Ron, or Harry, he tossed the cucumber back into the lake. There was a scramble over which Kappa got to keep the cucumber.

What happened next sent Hermione into a state of shock. The kappa turned its rounded eyes onto her, and her two classmates.

"We help," it said slowly, in broken English. "We keep bargain with humans. We protect our land, our young, our lives. We protect you."

Hermione was at a loss for words.

The Kappa and Robert began speaking in Japanese again. The conversation lasted for a few minutes this time, with the occasional laugh from both parties. Then, the Kappa took its hand from Robert's shoulder, and waved goodbye to Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Then he disappeared back into the water, followed by the other Kappas.

Without a word, Robert turned, and disappeared into the forest. Slack-jawed and stunned, Hermione, Ron, and Harry followed him back to the house.

*** *** ***

Tate exhaled heavily as she completed the final charge in the series.

"How's the trip coming along," she shouted to Sergei, who stood, bent over the detonation point, thirty feet away.

"Done!" he crowed, pointing at a shimmering wire, stretched between two trees. All in all, it was about eight feet across. "That's the last one, right?" Tate consulted her map and nodded.

"That's all for the C-4 trips. This place will be little more than a goddamned fiery crater by the time this is over."

"Cool," mused Sergei, admiring his handiwork. "Now, explain to me why we can't use remote detonation again?"

"We can, it's just too risky. Theoretically, the E-bomb will only knock out our electrical systems for several seconds. But there's no way to be completely sure of that, since our new E-bomb is still in the testing stage."

Sergei nodded. "Ought to spell the computers with protection then, no?"

Tate laughed and waved a hand. "The electro nerds will take care of that when they get here."

"Thank god," breathed Sergei, "I've no fucking desire to go through that manual of theirs again. It reads like bloody acid."

Tate chuckled. "C'mon dude, we've got twenty minutes left in our shift. Better finish it up. Feel like taking another after this?"

"No doubt," assented Sergei, as he seized his broom. He tossed the second broom to Tate, who groaned heartily. "No choice, sweety," he chuckled, "Don't want to trip any traps!"

Tate shot him the finger, and mounted her broom. She lifted off the ground quite shakily, reminiscent of Neville Longbottom's first experience with a broom. She joined Sergei in casting invisibility charms over the innumerable trips, charges, and everything else vital to their plan.

To finish the job, they carefully applied holographic glamours of trees, shrubbery, and other camoflauge transfigurations. Once all the incendiary traps were masked, Sergei tamed his broom into a hover and pulled out a walky-talky.

"Arsenic to base, do you copy? Over." His walky-talky crackled, and emitted the standard static indicator of response.

"Roger. This is Radium. Sitrep. Over."

Sergei grinned evilly. "Roger. Mission Two, Codename Maelstorm complete. Platinum, Arsenic request permission to remain in field for the purpose of arming Mission Three, Codename Gladfingers. Chinga tu madre. Over."

Tate laughed uproariously, nearly falling off of her broom. The walky talk crackled.

"Roger. Permission granted. And fuck you, bitch. Over."

Sergei curbed his own laughter. "Wilco. Just trying to keep you on your toes. Out." He switched the walky-talky off, and crammed it into his pocket.

"Nice," scoffed Tate, "We're preparing for battle, stupid!"

Sergei grinned, "Shut up, you love it. You're the one who named Mission Gladfingers after that crappy porn we rented two years ago! Where are we putting up the sniper blinds anyways?"

"Over here," she answered, and flew east. Sergei shot after her, which wasn't hard, as she flew with the speed of an aging sparrow.

"I set up the blinds the first few days I was out here," she explained over her shoulder, as Sergei landed behind her.

"Not bad," he mused, surveying the set-up. It was a basic hunting blind, five meters by seven, situated in a massive tree, about seventy five feet from the ground.

"The other one is in that tree." Tate pointed across the open valley, toward the mass of hulking trees, some upwards of one hundred feet tall.

"So, I hear you had quite the time at Hogwarts," Sergei said, grinning slyly at Tate.

"Oh yah? How often did you guys get updates?"

"Once a week, unless something big happened...like, per se, the library incident." Tate cracked a smile, while Sergei collapsed in laughter.

They quickly finished the first blind, mounted their brooms, and headed toward the other. Sergei landed lightly, and instinctively reached out on arm to catch Tate as she misjudged her landing.

"How long has Bryan been gone?" asked Sergei, as Tate caught her breath. She exhaled and looked at her digital watch.

"Two hours, thirty seven minutes, eleven seconds." They both set to work on equipping the blind.

"I imagine it'll take a good half hour because his security check clears," she continued, "Then at least another two before the team is mobilized."

Sergei straightened up and stared at her incredulously.

"You have been gone a long time, T. It'll take at least four hours for a team that size to transport. Probably much longer, since Base has been attacked." Tate's shoulders slumped as she realized the accuracy of his statement.

"My mind seems to have gone down to half-speed."

"Oh please," snapped Sergei, "No one blames you for missing the more boring aspects of organizing a serious op. You have one job to do - just see to it that you complete it."

"Whatever dude," retorted Tate, "I'm still part of this team, aren't I?"

"Of course you are. This is a stupid thing to be arguing over!" He slammed the door to the arsenal shut with a bit more force than necessary. "That's not even the point. All I meant was that you've been on a pretty severe hiatus for the past eight and a half months. You weren't supposed to think like you were part of Special Team Halide. You were supposed to think like an independent, undercover agent, which you did beautifully." Tate raised an eyebrow at him, and Sergei quickly realized his mistake.

"Alright, fine! So you blew your cover at the muggle high school, so fucking what? They were memory charmed afterward, and told you were dead - no problems there! Your stint at Hogwarts was perfect - no one there suspects anything of you, beyond the fact that you're a tart who hangs out with the most hated person on campus." He was thoughtful for a moment. "Come to think of it, that was rather brilliant of you. Did you befriend Lucius Malfoy's son on purpose?"

"No, actually," she replied, "We just kind of became buddies. I knew he wasn't a threat because of his file, but I never thought being his friend would strengthen any relationship I was to build with Hermione. In fact, I was taking a big risk by hanging out with him. We were both ghosts in that place."

"Speaking of ghosts..." Sergei paused, choosing his words carefully. He sat down on the floor. "Did you happen to get a report concerning the twenty three days you spent in jail?"

Tate stiffened. Very slowly, jaw clenched, she turned around to face Sergei. She lowered herself to the floor, crosslegged.

"No. What do you know of it?"

Sergei sighed, and passed a hand over his forehead.

"I was afraid that was the case. We all were - Bryan, Rob, and I, I mean. Niels wouldn't tell us whether or not you'd been briefed on your own security issues. However, since you weren't allowed to receive reports at Hogwarts -"

"Because it would incriminate me," she interrupted, "I know. Get to what you're trying to say. Why was I there for so fucking long, and exactly where the fuck was I? And why did Dumbledore come to get me instead of y'all?"

"Let's take this slow, T. I think hearing this will be good for you, because you need to be good and pissed off when it comes time for battle. We all do."

"I see," responded Tate, "So, in some manner or another, I have our enemy to thank for my encarceration." Sergei did not nod, nor shake his head.

"What do you remember?"

Tate shut her eyes. Instinctively, she reached for the pack of cigarettes in her vest pocket, shook one out, and lit it. She exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

"I remember a lot. I spent sixteen hours and twelve minutes in a local county drunk tank. My injuries had been tended to, but poorly. After they realized that no one was coming to pay my bail, I was removed from the drunk tank and placed in a holding cell. Once there, I was assaulted by another inmate, and I inadvertently burned her. I remember the guards breaking it up, and injecting me with some sort of powerful sedative. After that, I lost complete track of time. When I came to, I was in a very outdated, solitary confinement cell. From there on...it all blurs into one big beating."

"I've no doubt of that," said Sergei, his voice full of rage and regret. "You were basically a magical prisoner of war. You were held, without indictment or trial, in an unregistered prison. That's why we had so much trouble finding you. Your records only went as far as the muggle county jail - after that, there were none, and the wardens had been memory charmed. We had nothing to go on, and the trail was ice-cold."

"That's impossible," interjected Tate, "I would have to have been held in a -"

"A prison camp for the most dangerous political detainees. Somewhat of a Chateau D'If for the modern times. Guarded by unknowing muggles, and enough wards to shock the flesh off anyone who comes within a mile of it. All of your interrogations were conducted by wizards."

"Christ, I figured as much," sighed Tate, dragging deep on her cigarette. "It was the only thing that made sense. They never had wands...and if they did, they didn't use them. But the questions they asked me...and the fact that I was being subjected to such treatment in the first place...well...it just wasn't typical of muggles."

"They asked you about the U.N.M.? About Niels, all of us? Our world?"

"No, never." Tate waved a hand through the thick smoke. "They never asked outright questions like that. They asked questions alluding to those ideas. Like, 'We know that you are not like us. What makes you different?', or 'Who are you working for?'. And, with those cleverly leading questions, they would attempt to persuade me into telling them something."

Sergei would've been shocked if she hadn't made this revelation, but that didn't stop his blood from turning ice-cold.

"So, I now have y'all beat, in that respect. I'm the only one of us ever to become an MPOW."

"Well, I hope it comforts you to know that we had that place razed to the ground, once Dumbledore and his allies had collected you. There were sixty-three other detainees in the camp, but none were magical. They were all healed, memory charmed, and returned to their lives. You, however, spent thirty two hours in the Hogwarts' Hospital Ward, and went straight into school. Did you remember any of this then?"

Tate took a deep drag of her cigarette, and then stubbed it out in the palm of her left hand. Sergei watched, eyes full of horror and storming fury.

"Let's just say that I was accustomed to pain before my stint in jail. Now, I nearly crave pain. It reminds me that I'm not dead, no matter how much I'd really fuckin' like to be. I'll be honest, I can't remember every detail of it. I just remember hurting, all the time." She lit a new cigarette. "Curiously, how did y'all find me?"

"Insider information pointed us to the right country," replied Sergei, "But in the end, it was an anonymous tip that led us to the exact location of the prison. That's why Albus Dumbledore collected you, instead of us. He was the recipient of the letter. He knew we'd all raise holy Hell if we found you in such disgusting conditions. The entire process was much more discreet once we'd learnt that you were already safe."

"Any identity on the anonymous?"

"Um..."

"Well, that answers it, Sergei. It was Jacques, wasn't it?"

"Actually no. We have reason to believe the tip came from a one Peter Pettigrew."

"WHAT?! Why?! Why would he assist us?"

"Because he owes Harry Potter a life debt. Dumbledore thinks he might be trying to pay it in installments, if you will..."

Tate clapped her hands over her face.

"Christ, so Voldemort obviously knew way back then that I was a major threat to his security."

"Oh, shut up T! He knew that way before you turned ten, you know that!"

"Yes, I know. But it's only really become a reality to me in the past few months. Before...I was able to disconnect from it. Now its' really going to happen..." She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and pulled a deep drag of her cigarette." They sat in silence for a moment.

"God help the poor soul that comes to this place looking for trouble. You say they know who we are, T. I don't think they've got the slightest clue of what they're about to go up against." Sergei's eyes shone with conviction, as he checked over the small arsenal.

"Well, they wouldn't, would they?" offered Tate, her voice starkly professional. Sergei turned an annoyed eye to her. "Voldemort has a demon, legions of disciples, and he's about to walk into a ranch guarded by four people, none of whom have reached their thirties. Plus, we specialize in muggle tactics. He's probably as happy as a pig in shit."

"No, T!" interjected Sergei, his eyes wild. "I'm not even talking about that! Don't you understand? We've got Harry Potter!" Tate stopped in mid-motion, and arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"We're protecting Har--"

"Harry Potter!" interrupted Sergei. "If Voldemort knows whats good for him, he'll be scared out of his goddamned mind!"

"He's too cocky to be scared."

"FUCK cocky!" crowed Sergei. "Sure, he's got a demon, but we've got you and Hermione to take care of that. He's got considerable followers..." Tate opened her mouth to speak, but Sergei held up a hand.

"Fine! He's got considerable soldiers, but they're no bloody match for us! Not a chance! And then, there's Harry. Haven't you looked at him, T? You can see it in his eyes. This is going to be it. He's going to kill Voldemort."

Tate stared at the wall, lost for words. Sergei's speech was...well, extraordinarily cocky...but also uplifting, and motivational. Exactly what she needed.

She knew that Special Team Halide had complete faith in her to destroy the demon, but she'd needed to hear it. Sergei's unwavering faith was enough to lift the suffocating weight of fear off of her soul.

Granted...it was not gone, but it lessened significantly, and that was enough.

Sergei was right. Voldemort was walking into a death trap.

And the poor bastard probably had no idea.

Tate looked at Sergei, pure gratitude etched plainly on her face. He grinned at her, his blue eyes gleaming underneath the thick, dark camo paint.

"So...speaking of our illustrious army..." Sergei said, nonchalantly. "Is Hermione seeing anyone?"

Tate nearly choked on her laughter. "Oh, like you couldn't tell! She's practically attached to Harry at the hip!"

Sergei frowned, though he looked unsurprised. "Just thought I'd ask..."

"We'll find you a nice girl one of these days, Sergei. I've a right mind to think all of us are due for a good vacation, after all this."

"Too right, my lady. Too right."