Title: The Squad
Author: vala (valinorean)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Within the Ministry of Magic is a department that takes on the assignments that the DMLE cannot. They are composed of an elite group of individuals that specialise in combat, infiltration and reconnaissance. Their identities are classified and missions are top-secret. They answer to no one save the Minister of Magic himself.
Characters: Harry/Draco, original characters
Word Count: 20k++
Contains: mentions of violence that would probably bump this rating to R
Beta: wendypops
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are created and owned by JK Rowling and various publishers. This was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's Notes: This was inspired by the book Inside Delta Force by Eric Haney. Most terminologies used here are taken from the US Special Forces as I know next to nothing about British SAS. This was written for the fest HD Holidays 2011 at Livejournal.
The Squad
by vala
Present Time, Unknown Location
Harry huddled further into the corner of his cell, shoulders hunched and hands tucked under his armpits, trying to keep the heat from seeping out of his body. A shiver wracked his entire frame and he knew that it was no use. His clothes were soaking wet and the walls felt like blocks of Arctic ice against his back. Outside, the wind howled as the unusually vicious storm continued to rage.
His cell was in the basement underneath his captors' safe house. The headroom was low, but the floor space was large enough to fit Hagrid's pumpkin patch and still have room to spare. There was an opening on the north wall that served as his window and was level with the ground outside. It was so small that he could barely fit his hand through the gap, but it was enough for water to trickle into his cell and soak everything inside, including him.
It had been five days since he was captured, or at least since he had woken up in his cell feeling like he'd been trampled by a herd of thestrals or completely hung over after a night of drinking with Ron. The fact that he could not remember anything made him suspect that he was Obliviated somewhere along the way. All he knew was that something in their mission, a standard infiltration and extraction assignment, went wrong. Their team had had no choice but to abort the mission and scatter to Merlin knew where.
During the first few days of Harry's captivity, they tried to force information out of him to find the whereabouts of the other members of his team. He recognised all the various interrogation techniques they used: pain infliction, stress positions, sleep and food deprivation, and magical manipulation. Twenty hours of interrogation with a harsh light shining on his face, magical devices and curses that could rival the pain of a Cruciatus but still on this side of legal, and even double-doses of Veritaserum in tandem with Legilimency.
These were all standard techniques designed to break any man, keeping him on the brink of death or insanity, only to pull him back at the last second before repeating the process all over again.
He had endured five days of mental and physical torture, yet none of these were enough to make him disclose any information regarding his team. After all, he knew how to resist an interrogation—he was trained to resist them. But his body could only take so much and eventually, fatigue had settled. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he would become too weak to withstand another dose of Veritaserum or before his mind would become too vulnerable to Occlude properly. He needed to plan his escape before then.
Training had taught him that in a situation like this, there were three things that an Operator, a field member of a tactical team, should do upon capture: (1) figure out where you are, (2) find an escape route and (3) gather as much intel as you can before executing your plan of escape.
The first step was to identify your location.
The ideal way to figure out your location is to determine the initial Apparition point or Portkey landing. These places, which they call Points of Entry, are usually located in a secluded area, far away from the kidnapper's safe house. Well-concealed hideouts are typically protected by anti-Disapparition and anti-Tracking wards. The larger the perimeter of the wards, the more powerful the wizards maintaining it are. From there, memorise where you've been taken. How long did you walk in one direction? How many right or left turns did you make? If blindfolded, memorise every bump in the road, every scent in the air, and every sound carried by the wind.
Harry would no doubt have done all of those and followed standard operating procedures, except he didn't have any recollection of his transport. If his captors really did Obliviate him, there was no other choice but to start again from within his cell.
Barely able to get up from hunger and exhaustion, he forced himself to rise and shuffle towards the small window of his cell to peer out. The rain made everything grey and Harry had to look carefully to figure out the sun's position and discern any distinguishing landscape. Wide shallow valley to the east, large rounded hill mass northwest, and a prominent ridge to due north. There was nothing remarkable about the terrain that could give him any clue of where he was. He could be anywhere right how. For all he knew, this could have been another illusion his captors had set up to further confuse him.
Still, it was the only lead he had and it was enough for now.
He was about to slump back down on the floor when he saw something strange curling at the corner of his vision: despite the raging storm, a thin line of smoke was trailing from the shallow valley in the east and straight up to the grey clouds above. Strange, he thought, and possibly made by magic. He tried to look harder into the rain, but he was unable to see the origin of the smoke.
Filing the information away, Harry then proceeded to the next step: finding an escape route.
This one was tougher than he anticipated, as there was nothing he could do without his wand. He had counted on the guards to not know about his wandless abilities, but was fairly surprised when he found that his cell was barred from the outside with bars and heavy bolts instead of the usual locks. No Alohomora could open that.
It seemed they knew him well enough, after all.
Since the chances of escape were slim in his current condition, the most he could do was to gather as much intel as he could while being captive. There was no other choice but to wait for an opportunity to present itself.
He sat down once again on the cold wet floor and tried to conserve his energy and magic the way they were taught in training. And while he waited, he allowed his mind to drift, recalling how he had gotten into this predicament in the first place.
-:-
Two Years Ago, DMLE
Harry was staring at the small cedar door before him. Beside him, Ron had the same unreadable expression on his face as he too looked warily at the sign at the door. They glanced at each other with twin looks of perplexity, before looking back at the identical cards that they were both holding.
2/F Room 217
East Wing Corridor
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Ministry of Magic
The cards on their hands were pristine white, with only the address neatly printed in small block letters in the middle. There were no other markings on the card that could indicate whether or not they were in the correct location. They both looked back up at the door again, careful to note the large brass numbers on the door.
Yes, it did say 217. They were on the second floor. And they were at the East Wing corridor of DMLE. But somehow, nothing could convince them that they really were at the right place.
Two weeks ago, he and Ron had been approached by a strange man who only introduced himself as Baker, a recruiter for a special division in DMLE. The man had said that his division was looking for the best of the best in the department and that they had both been selected as Candidates for the new team they were forming.
"We are looking to create a second Squad for the Division," Baker said when he approached them that day. "The Squad is currently the best team in DMLE bar none—and that is not an exaggeration. You will undergo Selection along with a few other men from DMLE and other branches of the Ministry. If you are chosen for the Second Squad, you will receive the same training as our current Operators."
The offer had come as a surprise to Harry. He and Ron were still Auror Trainees, with few months left of training before they could become full Aurors. He had never envisioned himself to be anything else other than an Auror, but Baker's offer for advanced combat training had piqued his curiosity. After all, what division could be better than the Aurors Corps?
"What exactly does this…squad do?" Harry asked. "And why haven't we heard of it before? What division are you from, anyway?"
"We can't tell you unless you pass Selection," Baker answered mysteriously. "But if you do pass, you will undergo specialised training that is vastly different from what you are receiving in Auror training right now."
Baker then handed them the card with a place and time, and told them to come should they decide to go through with the Selection process. Passing Selection, he said, meant that they were the best the MLE had to offer. And that was most certainly a challenge if Harry had ever heard one.
Except, this wasn't exactly what he envisioned when he first decided to accept the challenge. He looked up again at the prominently placed plaque on the door, just below the number 217.
Department of Magical Equipment Control
"Is this really it?" Harry asked, frowning at the door.
He looked up and down the hall, eyeing every door along the silent corridor. It was highly unlikely that this was the MLE division they were looking for, but no other door had anything resembling a sign on them, save for the brass numbers affixed at the front of every door.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me," Ron groaned in disappointment. "I actually believed the bloke when he said they were looking for the best in the department. They must be really desperate if they've stooped this low. C'mon mate, let's just go."
"Why?" Harry asked. "What's in this department anyway?"
"Nothing," Ron answered as he began to back up, looking for all the world as if he was afraid someone would walk out and see them, or worse—invite them in. "Nobody ever requests to be assigned there. Dad says it's a redundant department. Dark objects go to the Aurors, Muggle artefacts go to Dad's department, and unknown magical items that are considered dangerous go to the Department of Mysteries. Anything else gets registered at Wizengamot Administration Services for classification."
Harry reluctantly followed Ron and they began to walk towards the opposite end of the hall, away from the infamous department. He looked back once at the small cedar door. It was a shame because although it seemed unlikely that such an elite group could exist within the DMLE apart from the Auror division, he secretly believed it and wanted to be a part of it. And didn't it seem rather odd that this so-called Division would go through such lengths to invite people to Selection, then have them turn back from disappointment upon learning exactly which division it was under? In fact it seemed almost as if they were discouraging people from entering…
"Hang on." Harry stopped abruptly and grabbed Ron's arm. "Look, can't we just ask if it's the right place? Maybe we just got the wrong door or something."
Ron eyed him sceptically. "And if it's the right one? I'm not about to throw three years of Auror training just to join DMEC, mate. I mean, they're not even a real MLE department. What do they even do there, rescue kneazles from trees? Search for the Queen's missing handbag?"
"I don't know," Harry murmured almost to himself. He looked at the door intently as if it was a fascinating puzzle piece. "Call it a gut feeling."
"Well…" Ron said slowly as he too looked back at the door uncertainly. "Alright, but we'll just look. If it turns out I'm right and it's not worth missing half of today's Stealth and Tracking class, you're buying me lunch."
Harry shot his best friend a grateful grin. "Thanks, Ron."
They headed back and gave the door three sharp raps. Predictably, no one answered the door, and after several more tries, they decided to just head in. Ron turned the knob and released it, one eyebrow rising when the door automatically pulled back into the room. They were expecting it to be locked.
The door opened to reveal a long narrow passage that curved slightly to the right. The hall was dark save for a dim light at the end. Harry and Ron looked at each other confusedly. It was physically impossible to fit such a long corridor in what should have been a small office, and it was obvious that complex expansion charms were involved. But why would anyone go through the trouble to charm the room into something like this?
"Well, this definitely isn't the Department of Magical Equipment Control," Harry said, looking at his friend for confirmation. "Is it?"
"I don't know," Ron replied, looking suspiciously down the dark passage. "It's definitely not DMEC, but that doesn't mean it's the one we're looking for..."
"Only one way to find out." Harry shrugged and fixed his gaze on the light at the other end.
"Oh, ugh," Ron said, exasperation colouring his voice. "I know that face."
"What?" Harry blinked. "What face?"
"The one that has 'stubborn' written all over it," Ron said. "The one you get when you have an idea in your head and don't want to let it go. Remember sixth year?"
"Hey, my hunch was right back then!" Harry protested.
"And you never let us forget it every chance you get," Ron replied with a laugh. He lit the tip of his wand with a Lumos and took a step inside the dark passageway. "Well, lets go then."
"Oi, wait for me!" Harry called after him, shuffling to catch up with his friend who was already well into the hall. Harry winced when he heard the door slam behind them, loud and foreboding, but he focused instead on what lay before them.
At the end of the long tunnel, they found Baker standing at ease in the middle of a small room.
"What the…" Harry heard his friend stifle his surprise.
"Congratulations," Baker greeted them. "You both passed the first test."
Harry looked over at Ron confusedly at first, but then just like that, their faces broke out in two huge identical grins as they let the man's words sink in.
"I knew there was something odd about the door," Harry nudged Ron while unsuccessfully trying to school his features.
"Lucky guess," Ron jabbed him back, trying to suppress his own grin.
"What's with the sign outside the door?" Harry asked curiously, remembering how they were so close to giving up just mere moments ago.
"That is our cover organization," Baker explained. "We don't call ourselves anything except the Division, but on the outside, we are DMEC. Perhaps you are familiar with some of our Operators?"
"Cover organization…" Ron trailed off, his face frowning in concentration. "NO WAY!" Ron suddenly yelped, his eyes wide. "You mean Bernie from DMEC is an Operator!?"
"Bernie…?" Harry trailed off. He racked his brain trying to recall if he knew any Bernie working for the Ministry. There was a Bernard from their pick-up Quidditch matches during weekends, but he worked at Muggle Liaisons. And then there was Bern from the Ministry owl post but Harry doubted the man has any ability to cast any sort duelling spell, much less be an Operator. Oh and yes, and then there was a Bernie who used to be in the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. He was one of the best rookies in the Patrol and had plans on joining the Auror Corps, but ever since his wand cracked during one of his missions, his ability to cast even the most basic spells had faltered. Rumour had it that he was still with DMLE but had to be transferred to a desk job…in another…department…no way!
It couldn't possibly be him…or could it?
"Bernie," Ron said again, shaking his head in disbelief, his mind apparently travelling the same line of thought as Harry's had. "I can't believe…Bernie from DMEC? An Operator?"
Baker nodded and grinned at them both. "Do you remember the Rookwood case?"
How could they forget? Rookwood was suspected as being the one who killed Fred during the Battle of Hogwarts. He was the reason why Ron joined the Auror Corps in the first place. It was by pure luck that the elusive ex-Death Eater was captured. He was found in one of the rooms of the Leaky, drunk and bellowing that the whore he was with the night before stole his galleons. When he couldn't pay for his rent, the Aurors had been called in, and it was during the questioning that his Polyjuice had worn off.
It had been too good to be true that time, and apparently it was. Coincidences like that didn't just happen everyday.
"That was his handiwork." Baker said with a tinge of pride in his voice. "He drugged Rookwood and modified his memory, and then left him for the Aurors to find. Making a cover story to take him out of the Patrol with that fake splinted wand was a nightmare, but it was worth it."
"Wow," Ron exhaled. Harry couldn't help but agree.
Baker then stepped forward and gave them each a clap on the back before reaching into his robe pockets and taking out two small objects. He held out his hand, palms up, offering them two lead bullets that came from a Muggle pistol.
"These are Portkeys that will take you to the first briefing for Selection where you will meet other Candidates like you," Baker said. "Taking these will mean that you have decided to undergo Selection."
With renewed resolve, Harry stepped up to take one of the Portkeys. He took it without the slightest bit of hesitation, sliding his fingers along the smooth surface of the metal.
"Remember, if you pass, you will be a part of an elite group of individuals whose sole duty is to serve the Ministry," Baker said, offering the other Portkey to Ron. "Should you fail Selection, then you will remember nothing."
"How many men are you taking for the new team you're forming?" Ron asked.
"A Squad is usually composed of eight men," Baker answered.
"Eight, huh," Ron said, finally taking the proffered bullet from the man's hand with renewed confidence. "We can do that. Right, Harry?"
The edge of Baker's mouth quirked in a slight grin. "The Portkeys will activate at 0500 hours tomorrow. I suggest you both prepare yourselves."
Neither Ron nor Harry realised then that they should have taken the man's parting words seriously.
-:-
"Eight." Ron gulped, his eyes wide as he scanned the large briefing room of the DMEC Training Facility.
"Yeah," Harry said almost breathlessly.
The room was filled with nearly two hundred men standing around. Every one of them was waiting for the briefing to begin. Two hundred men who, at first glance, seemed to have come from different divisions of DMLE. There were men from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, Aurors that both Ron and Harry were familiar with from their three years of Auror training, members of the Witch Watcher Special Forces, and even a handful of Hit Wizards were also there. Everyone was talking to each other as if they were all long time friends.
There were also those who seemed completely out of place in a room full of soldiers—those who looked as if they had never received a single second of combat training. There were men that wouldn't know how to cast a single duelling spell even if their lives depended on it. That, in particular, was true of one man whom Harry knew was an exceptional scholar in wand making and wand lore. Hermione had introduced the man to him once when he was seeking answers concerning a particular wand.
There were also men who looked as if they belonged in Azkaban, rather than a training facility, which supposedly boasts of the best men in the force. Some looked as if they lived and breathed Dark Magic, and for a brief moment, Harry wondered just what kind of squad they were trying to form here.
What caught his attention, though, was the rather large group of Unspeakables standing together off on one side of the room. They were all eerily silent, all facing the front of the room, with their hands clasped loosely behind their backs. Their long black robes were billowing gently at the bottom, which in itself was a strangely mysterious sight considering the lack of flowing air in the room.
"What are they doing here?" Harry heard Ron whisper beside him, nodding towards the Unspeakables.
"I have no idea," Harry replied.
There was a low buzz of excited conversation in the room. Testosterone levels were running high and people were eyeing each other left and right, as if trying to size up the competition. Harry stood off to one side of the room with Ron, both with a slight unease. While there were younger men like them in the room, it was quite clear that the majority of the men were old enough to be veterans of the First Wizarding War. Somehow, they didn't think they could stand a chance against some of the seasoned Aurors in the force, let alone the mass of Unspeakables with their highly specialised skills.
Then Harry heard someone call his name, ringing loud and clear through the room.
"Harry Potter!"
For a split second, silence descended upon the room before bursting with renewed chatter that was twice as excited as before. Even the Unspeakables were beginning to murmur low amongst themselves.
Harry flushed with embarrassment and turned to the man who had called out his name. It was the wand lore specialist from earlier.
"Mr Burke." Harry nodded at the approaching man, trying not to wince at the unexpected attention.
"Mr Potter, how wonderful to see you again." Burke beamed and shook Harry's hand before turning to Ron to shake his hand as well. "Ah, and Mr Weasley as well. How is the lovely wife?"
"Great, thanks." Ron gave the man a small smile.
"And how is the wand, Mr Potter?" Burke asked, his eyes shining. "It was such a fascinating enigma you presented. I tried to research for similar occurrences with other wands, but I'm afraid your case is quite unique. Are you sure you won't allow me to create a treatise on it?"
"Maybe some other time, Mr Burke," Harry said evasively, used to avoiding the man's request. "There are still some things that I want to check before I can let you do that."
"Ah, pity," Burke said. "But you'll tell me when you find out, won't you?"
"Of course," Harry replied, smiling politely and knowing full well that it would never happen.
The room began to quiet down and Harry was spared further awkwardness from Burke. He saw Baker enter the room and was making his way towards the front where a small dais was set. Harry looked back to the door, expecting to see more people come in, but none did. If this was an orientation, where were the other heads of the Division? Harry was expecting the man to cast a Sonorus before addressing them, just like on his first day of Auror training where every last one of the heads of all the sub-divisions of the Auror Department felt the need to flaunt themselves to the new recruits.
That apparently was not needed as Baker began to speak in a clear voice. There were few formalities and the man went straight to the point. Harry was beginning to like him more and more.
"Welcome to Candidate Selection and Elimination, or CSAE," Baker says. "As most of you know, we have hand-picked each and every one of you from various divisions, fields and areas of expertise. From the Auror Corps, MLE Patrol, even Hit Wizards and Unspeakables, to Potions Masters, Herbalists and Healers. We have Curse Breakers, Dark Arts Specialists, scholars from different fields of the academe, and even—" the man glanced towards the back of the room where Harry and Ron were standing, and said with amusement, "—war heroes."
Harry and Ron fidgeted in embarrassment, as a few choked sniggers broke out from the group. Harry felt a sharp elbow in the side as Ron nodded towards the front of the room.
"Even former criminals, apparently," he heard Ron mutter under his breath.
Sure enough, Ron was pointing towards an unmistakable pale head at the front of the room that could only belong to Draco Malfoy. He was sitting stoically amidst a boisterous group of men who were jostling and nudging each other, whispering excitedly over what Baker was saying about the Elimination they would be undergoing in order to trim the Candidates down to a single squad. Yet despite the contrast in behaviour, Malfoy looked clearly at ease being with these men, and shaking his head amusedly every now and then.
Harry's heart nearly stopped. He'd not seen Malfoy since his trial four years ago, where Lucius Malfoy had been given the Kiss and Narcissa Malfoy had been exiled from the country. He heard that Malfoy had been given a special arrangement as well, and since then no one had seen or heard from any of the surviving Malfoys. It was as if they had disappeared from the wizarding world.
He tried looking for Malfoy for a year after the trial. At first he told himself he was just concerned and wanted to know how Malfoy was doing. But when he never found any trace of Malfoy, he began to worry. Did the Ministry do something to him, Harry had wondered. He tried contacting Narcissa Malfoy, who had decided to stay in France, but even she did not know of Malfoy's whereabouts. She had only received the occasional letter to let her know he was still alive, and that was that.
Harry had eventually given up, and that was when he decided he'd take up Shacklebolt's offer to join the Aurors. It wasn't so he could have more resources that could help in looking for Malfoy, not at all (or at least that was what he kept telling himself). Becoming an Auror really was something he wanted to do ever since he'd left Hogwarts. In fact, he'd all but forgotten about Malfoy during the three years of Auror training.
But now, there he was, looking for all the world as if he'd never left wizarding society at all. Why, Harry wondered, didn't the Prophet not publish Malfoy's return?
"He seems…different," Harry decided. There was something about Malfoy that Harry couldn't quite figure out. "Wonder what he's doing here?"
"Wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be one of the Dark Arts Specialists," Ron said.
And there was an eerie moment when Malfoy turned slowly to look at them, as if he could feel them looking at him and somehow knew they were talking about him. Harry's breath caught as he locked eyes with the steely gaze. Harry felt as if time had stopped—and he knew what that felt like. It was the same feeling he had had during Third Year right at that moment before the Time Turner activated, taking him and Hermione several hours back in time. It felt as if both forever and no time at all had passed. Then Malfoy broke eye contact, releasing his hypnotic hold on Harry, and turned back to the front of the room as if nothing had happened.
Mortified at being caught, Harry followed suit to listen to Baker, who was still going on about the CSAE.
"Some of you have years of training and experience under your belt, while others have never been in a real duel at all," Baker continued. "These, however, will not matter. You will receive the best training in all fields. Everyone will advance based on their merits alone. There will be no helping friends, but no sabotaging enemies either. You'll all be working together in the end, and in order for you to succeed, you will need the trust of the people selected along with you."
"Ron," Harry whispered to his friend. "What would you do if Malfoy got past Selection and you had to be in the same squad as him?"
"Don't even joke about something like that, Harry," Ron hissed, his face scrunching in distaste. "It's not funny."
Harry, however, could not shake off the idea that was beginning grow in his mind: What if Malfoy was good enough to pass Selection?
"With that gentlemen, we now proceed to the first phase of Selection."
-:-
"The first phase of the Elimination is an endurance and survival test," Harry remembered being told earlier that day by a man who was introduced as Alton, one of the senior cadres in the Division and a member of the First Squad. "You will be given exactly forty-eight hours to go through here—" Alton swept a hand towards the looming forest behind him "—and find the camp on the other side. A normal man will take up to three and a half days to go through, but you will only be given two.
"You will have no map, food or water ration. We will take all wands and magical devices we can find. We won't disallow you from using magic, however. Your own magical abilities, wandless or otherwise, are at your disposal. If you're hungry, find your own food. If you get lost, then you'll have to double back and then make up for lost time. But you have to remember that this is still essentially a race. Only half of those who reach the camp within forty-eight hours can proceed with Selection."
It had all sounded so easy when they were first Portkeyed to the entry point of the forest. Harry was even pleased that he would have the advantage of using his wandless abilities, although his current repertoire was admittedly limited to shielding spells and minor healing charms.
Ron, in particular, had looked excited, and it was only when they were given the parting words that Harry understood why.
"Good luck, gentlemen," their cadre had said. "And oh, watch out for the dragons."
They were in the Dragon Reserve in Romania where Ron's brother worked as a dragon tamer. Ron had been here enough times that he probably knew his way enough to get through easily. They had ribbed each other, promising to bring back dragon dung to the loser, but deep down, Harry felt a bit relieved that his friend would have an advantage over the other Candidates too.
When they had been given the signal to begin, Harry's jaw had literally dropped when three of the Unspeakables Disapparated on the spot. He didn't know anyone capable of Disapparating wandlessly, never mind that they were able to do it at will. In fact, Harry remembered a course in Auror training that covered how to handle wild magic. Only young children who had not learned to control their magic, and wizards who were said to be so desperate that they were at the brink of insanity, could inadvertently use wild magic to Disapparate.
And it had been at that point that Harry finally understood the kind of wizards he was up against. They really did mean it when they said they were recruiting the best and most powerful wizards for their team.
So Harry had spent the entire day running through the forest, trying to get ahead in the game. He didn't know how the other Candidates were faring. With the directive that no one was allowed to help anyone out, everyone had gone their own ways once inside the forest. Even he and Ron took different paths.
The general direction of the camp was due east, that much he knew. He followed the sun during the morning while on the lookout for any source of water, and at past noon, he was already walking with the sun behind him. He still hadn't found any water source. His mind wandered back to five years ago when he was hiding in the Forest of Dean with Hermione. He thought he had had it bad then, but compared to this, those days were the height of luxury, with the magical tent and all.
Finally giving in to his exhaustion, Harry slumped down to rest against one of the trees, throat parched and feet aching. He didn't know how far along he'd gone, but he knew he was on the right track and had made good progress. What he didn't know was if he was ahead of half of the other Candidates or not. Had some of them already reached the camp, he wondered. He supposed it was impossible for most to reach the camp within the day, but he wouldn't be surprised if those Disapparating Unspeakables were there by now.
Harry closed his eyes and was debating with himself whether he should rest a while or push forward when a shadow passed over him. In a flash, he was on his feet, crouching in a defensive stance with a wandlessly cast Protego in front of him.
"Didn't take you for the jumpy sort, Potter," he heard a familiar voice drawl.
Draco Malfoy then stepped out from behind one of the trees, smirking at Harry's flustered face. Harry groaned at the thought of being caught in such a state, by his former rival no less! Fifty-one thousand acres of land and over two hundred Candidates, and it just had to be Malfoy who he ran into.
"Well, when the Cadre told us to watch out for dragons, he didn't tell us which kind," Harry bit back before straightening up and allowing the shield charm to melt away.
To Harry's surprise, Malfoy gave a small laugh saying, "You should probably be wary of both."
Harry had heard Malfoy laugh enough times for it to be so disturbingly familiar, as it was almost always directed at him and usually accompanied with a sneer. Of the many times he'd heard it, he would never have imagined Malfoy's laugh to sound so…nice. Harry blinked and startled himself when he ran his previous thought back in his head. He decided he was probably too tired to make sense of anything.
They both sat in silence, with Harry partially thankful for the company. At least he now knew for certain that he was on the right track. Well, that or they were both completely lost. Malfoy, who was sitting a few feet away from him, looked nearly as tired as Harry felt. His usually immaculate hair was damp with sweat and clinging to his face, and his cloak was torn and caked with mud. To say it was weird seeing Malfoy looking like that was an understatement.
Malfoy then took out something from the pack he was carrying: it was a canteen of water. Harry, acutely aware of his own parched throat, nearly whimpered in envy as Malfoy twisted the cap off and began to drink. He couldn't help but watch with burning want as Malfoy drank slowly and deeply. Harry stared as Malfoy's Adam's apple bobbed up and down with every gulp, with water dribbling from the side of his mouth and down his pale throat. And when he was done drinking, Malfoy emptied the remaining water over his head to refresh himself. Harry's mouth went dry as water ran down Malfoy's face, drenching his hair and soaking his shirt. Then Malfoy shook the water from his hair and turned to smirk at Harry as if the man knew he'd been watching all along.
Harry cursed under his breath and scowled to cover his embarrassment at being caught. He knew Malfoy had done that to spite him, knowing that Harry had not found a water source yet. Some days he wished he knew how to cast a wandless stinging hex.
"That was refreshing," Malfoy announced. "I think with an hour's rest I could start hiking again and reach the camp with several hours to spare."
"Wanker," Harry said as he turned away from Malfoy. It was pure torture to see the other man still dripping with water.
"You know, it's not really that hard to find," Malfoy said, his voice unexpectedly soft and almost like a whisper.
Harry's head snapped back to look incredulously at Malfoy. Was Malfoy actually giving him a hint? Harry frowned at the thought. But they weren't supposed to share any information. For one thing, if they offer any kind of help they might end up with their head on the chopping block. And the other thing was, well, it was Malfoy, after all. Harry just couldn't fathom why Malfoy, of all people, would help him. Maybe it was a trap.
"Of course, I can't tell you exactly where it is. This is Elimination, after all."
Harry waited expectantly for the 'but' he knew was coming, although it never came. Then to Harry's surprise, Malfoy pulled out a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket and began clicking it. Harry thought it looked a lot like Dumbledore's Put-Outer, except it seemed nothing more than an ordinary Muggle lighter.
"Is that…?" Harry asked, not exactly sure how to ask the question of how or even why Malfoy would possess a Muggle device.
"A Muggle lighter? Ten points for the acute observation." There was a hint of amusement in Malfoy's sarcasm.
Then he began to click the thing again.
Click, click, click, click, click.
"But why would you…?" Harry began to ask then shook his head. "Never mind." He wasn't really interested if Malfoy had developed a thing for Muggle devices. Harry tried to ignore Malfoy's presence again, but the irritating sound coming from the lighter was making it hard for Harry to ignore him.
"It's not really that far," Malfoy insisted, breaking the silence once again. "Maybe you should look for it."
Harry snorted. Malfoy was mocking him, he was sure of it. And Harry would have flipped him off had he not seen the microscopic jerk of Malfoy's head to the left, towards the deeper part of the forest. Harry blinked. Was Malfoy trying to tell him something?
Malfoy toyed with his Muggle lighter again. Click, click, click.
The sound was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves as he tried hard to ignore his parched throat. That, coupled with the mind game that Malfoy seemed to be playing, and Harry was ready to throttle the git.
Click, click, click, click, click.
Fuck him, Harry thought, looking towards Malfoy furiously. Fuck him and his little mind games. Fuck Malfoy and the goddamned clicking of his—wait! Harry's body tensed and he shot upright as everything clicked into place. The directional nods. The clicks of the lighter. Harry began to count them.
Click, click, click, click, click. Then it stopped, only to begin again.
Five clicks. Five miles.
Harry's eyes widened and he turned to see Malfoy give him a smirk that clearly said, "Took you long enough."
"I…yeah," Harry stammered, not really sure if he got Malfoy's message correctly. "Maybe I should go look for it."
"Maybe you should," Malfoy nodded. He then began packing his belongings and stood up, ready to head in the opposite direction. "I'll see you on the other side, Potter."
At that point, Harry was already too busy going crazy with thirst to think about whether Malfoy was only having him on or not. Besides, why would Malfoy try to hide the fact that he was passing information to Harry if it was only to give a false trail? Before heading towards the direction Malfoy indicated, Harry couldn't help but glance at the retreating back of his former enemy.
What an enigma, he thought.
-:-
"Where do you think he was all those years?" Harry asked Ron as they sat at the back of the training room together, examining the items on each of their desks.
"Who knows?" Ron replied, picking up another small cylindrical-shaped object from his desk. "What do you think this is for?" Ron asked, holding it up to Harry.
Harry eyed the weird pieces of metal in front of him. It was already two weeks into Selection and more than two thirds of the Candidates had been eliminated. The endurance test alone had taken out half of them, as most didn't expect that they would undergo Elimination on the first day. Two days after the endurance test, Harry heard from Charlie that he and a bunch of Rangers were still scouring for eight men who got lost in the forest, and a severed finger had been found near the northern part of the forest where a Norwegian Ridgeback was nesting.
It didn't surprise Harry that most of those who got through were from the Department of Mysteries and the DMLE. These men had endured similar training before from their respective departments, though Harry had to admit that the lack of a controlled environment made Selection twice as challenging as the ones in Auror training. Harry was surprised, though, that some of the more timid wizards, including Burke, had passed that part of Elimination as well.
And then of course, there was Malfoy.
There had been no talk of the Malfoys in the wizarding world since the Death Eater trials; four years later Malfoy turned up as part of a select group of individuals. Harry couldn't help but wonder what exactly Malfoy had been doing during the last few years.
Harry looked at the desk two rows in front of him where Malfoy was sitting. It nearly felt like Potions class all over, except instead of Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy was flanked by the same raucous bunch of blokes from the beginning of the Selection, only now, less than half of them remained.
"Mate, look sharp," Harry heard Ron say as he felt an elbow dig at his side. One of their senior cadres had come into the room and was holding a Muggle weapon.
"This is a test of your knowledge of Muggle combat weapons," the cadre announced. "On your desks are various Muggle rifles that have already been fieldstripped, which you may use for practice. Your task today is to assemble and fire a Muggle weapon…in under fifteen seconds."
A chorus of curses went through the room. Aside from the physical and magical drills they had, they would sometimes be tested with their knowledge of Muggle techniques such as picking locks and using Muggle gadgets. Ron was one of the few who got excited each time.
"When you are ready, you may proceed to the shooting room next door," the cadre continued, ignoring the random protests. Then he turned to the group around Malfoy, who were all looking smug and self-satisfied all of a sudden. "I assume the Hit Wizards will not need practice? Good, you may all proceed to the next room."
"Bloody hell, Malfoy's a Hit Wizard?" Ron hissed in Harry's ear as the group in front of them got up and began to shuffle towards the door. "No wonder he kept passing all the Eliminations. Did you know that, mate?"
"I had no idea," Harry whispered back, his eyes picking out Malfoy from the crowd. Was that why no one had head from him for four years? And was that why he was so good at this? "You know, I've been wondering about that day when we had the endurance test. I didn't even notice him creep up on me."
"Well, we know why now. He's probably used to that sort of thing, running around chasing after criminals," Ron concluded. He picked up a cam pin and tried unsuccessfully to fit it into a hole.
"Hey Ron," Harry said after a while. "What would you do if Malfoy passed Selection and you had to be in the same squad as him?"
"I'd rather not have him in my squad," Ron answered automatically then frowned. "Do you think he'll pass?"
"Maybe?" Harry shrugged. "Who would you want in your squad?"
"Aside from you?" Ron asked. Then he subtly jerked his thumb to a dark haired wizard on the left side of the room. He was assembling his weapon with precise movements as if he already knew the weapon inside out. "That's Seth di Mezzo, an Unspeakable. They call him Spring Breeze because it's rumoured that it's the only thing his mark would feel before they get hit with a final curse."
"A marksman." Harry regarded at the man with one raised eyebrow. Then he turned to look at a wizard with sandy blond hair three desks behind the first man. "How about him?"
The man was obviously flirting with the Unspeakable seated beside him, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute. Then suddenly, the Unspeakable smiled and relaxed. He discreetly looked around to see if anyone was watching them before switching his completed rifle with the disassembled pieces on the blond man's desk. The blond man beamed and gave the Unspeakable a meaningful smile. Ron's jaw nearly dropped at what they had just seen. Then the blond man saw him gawking and gave them both a conspiratorial wink.
"Roan Hunter aka Angler," Harry said with a grin. "He's an Auror trained internationally and is only a year younger than us. Excellent in stealth and disguise and can infiltrate any place with either magical or Muggle means. Rumoured to be gay but is actually painfully straight. They said he could reel anyone in, man or woman, and once even a banshee, hook line and sinker."
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He'd be great at collecting intel."
They lapsed into silence as they continued to work on their weapons before Harry spoke again. "What do you think Malfoy's specialty is?"
Ron gave him a weird look. "You're not about to start stalking Malfoy again are you?"
"What? No!" Harry exclaimed a little too loudly, and then quickly ducked his head when everyone turned to them. "I was just curious," he whispered.
"Of course you are." Ron clearly didn't believe him. "But how long do you think he's been a Hit Wizard?"
"Longer than you've been in Auror training," came a reply from above them. Startled, both men looked up from their desks to see that Malfoy had already returned from the shooting room holding his own Muggle weapon, completely assembled. "Potter you left a firing pin out, and Weasel, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to point the muzzle at your face."
Ron's face reddened, knowing that their conversation had been overheard by Malfoy himself. Harry pursed his lips when he found the firing pin and began disassembling his weapon once again.
"Also, I'd take Count if I were you," he said pointing to a man two desks behind them, whom they know as Damon Knight. "They say he can bring any man back from the brink of death. They nicknamed him Count Dracula when he was still a Healer at St. Mungo's because they thought he turned his patients into vampires just so they wouldn't die. He's also a former Auror, Curse Breaker and Quidditch player. He has all the connections you'll need." Then Malfoy gave them both a superior smirk before heading back to his desk.
"I still wouldn't want him on my squad," muttered Ron, glaring at Malfoy's retreating back.
At the training's end, only two and a half dozen Candidates were left. Predictably, one of them was Malfoy.
-:-
"This is it then," Ron said excitedly from his seat on Harry's left side. "Final interview before we get in."
There were now only twelve people left and it was the final interview before they announce who would be part of the eight man team that would form the Second Squad in the Division.
Throughout the four weeks of Elimination, they had taken a lot of physical fitness and magical aptitude drills and they were slowly eliminated one by one. Then at the end of each day, they would be made to sit through psychological exams.
"Just a few questionnaires." Alton, their senior cadre, would always have a weird smile before giving the exam. "This is untimed and there are no right or wrong answers. Just relax and answer as best as you can."
It was the same questions every time, but phrased differently each time to check if their answers were consistent. Some questions have an obvious point of uncovering paranoia and delusions, such as: Do you think there are inferni after you? Do you hear the voice of Merlin in your head? Do you carry a bezoar with you wherever you go? But there were a few obscure questions that baffled Harry as well, such as Does your urine have a slight greenish colour? It was only after all the psychological exams were done that Harry asked the cadre what that question was for.
"A slight greenish urine would be a reaction to Aconite in your body," Alton had said. "Also known as monkshood or wolfsbane, the main ingredient of a Wolfsbane potion. We just wanted to know if we have any unregistered werewolf in the program."
Harry didn't think anyone was ever eliminated from Selection because of the psychological exam. But he had assumed everyone was sane enough not to hear Merlin's voice in their heads.
"I wonder if we'll get in?" Harry asked with a slight apprehension.
"You're actually worried?" Ron turned to look at him, shocked. "Why would they even turn you down? You're Harry Potter."
"Exactly," Malfoy's voice came from Harry's right side. "Being Harry bloody Potter would make him pretty useless if he were to be part of a covert team, wouldn't it?"
They were sitting side by side, waiting in the hall outside the interview room. There were only the three of them left and they didn't know which among those who had already been interviewed had been accepted.
"Still, there are eight in a team and twelve of us left," Ron said, leaning over Harry to talk to Malfoy. "Do you really think they'll take Connelly or Allen over him?"
Malfoy smirked. "I'll be sure to tell them that when they make the cut and you don't."
The thing about spending weeks of gruelling training day in and day out was that one couldn't help but form a bond with the people who go through the same thing. It was the type of bond that can only be formed from nearly dying of fatigue and exhaustion, hours and hours of painstakingly perfecting a spell or potion, and mutual hate towards their drillmasters. And as the group became smaller and smaller, it was inevitable that friendships would spark, or at the very least former animosities would fade with these shared experiences.
The door suddenly opened and Connelly stepped out, halting their conversation. He was the last of the group of Hit Wizards that used to always surround Malfoy at the beginning of Selection.
Connelly's eyes immediately locked with Malfoy's and a quick shake of his head said everything that needed to be said. But before he could approach them to say anything more, a uniformed witch appeared to escort him out of the hall.
"Excuse me, sir, you're not allowed to go through there." The witch laid one hand by Connelly's elbow while gesturing to the other side of the corridor with a sweeping hand. When Connelly didn't budge, she grasped him firmly in what Harry could see was a bruising hold and said with a forced smile, "This way sir."
With one last look at Malfoy, Connelly sighed and allowed himself to be escorted out.
"What the hell was that?" Ron asked confusedly, his eyes trained at the two figures moving towards the other end corridor.
"He didn't get in. They didn't let him in." Malfoy's eyes were narrowed as he murmured as if to himself. "The fucking bastards."
Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy. He saw Malfoy's knuckles turn nearly white with his fists clenched tightly at his side. As a fellow Hit Wizard, Harry could understand why Malfoy would want him in the team. Connelly was quite good—good enough to be part of the twelve remaining Candidates, at least. But like Ron said, he wouldn't really bank on Connelly making the cut. So why was Malfoy so furious about the result?
"Maybe he just isn't cut out for it?" Harry said sympathetically.
Malfoy swivelled in his chair so fast that Harry nearly leapt back. Malfoy's usually light grey eyes were ablaze and dark with anger.
"Didn't you see him? He was holding his left arm." Malfoy's voice turned low and dangerous. "They eliminated him because his uncle was a suspected Death Eater. Yet it was never proven as his uncle disappeared long before the Final Battle at Hogwarts."
"But that would mean—" Harry frowned, his gaze slipping to Malfoy's left forearm where he knew a faded Dark Mark was concealed under the sleeve of his training robes.
"Yes," Malfoy said curtly. "And I'm willing to bet my entire Gringotts' vault they've never seen the real thing before."
Malfoy stood up and pushed back the sleeve of his training robes from his left forearm. Then he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt underneath and rolled the sleeve up, exposing the skull and snake tattoo on his left arm. Harry heard Ron's choked gasp and refrained from gaping at Malfoy's audacity.
Then Malfoy began to march towards the interview room just as the same witch from before called out the next Candidate for interview.
"Malfoy, you're up."
Ron and Harry stared speechlessly as Malfoy stepped defiantly into the interview room with his exposed left arm swinging casually at his side. Malfoy had definitely come a long way from the snotty little brat that Harry knew at Hogwarts. Of course he was still the same annoying git with a cruel sense of humour and a propensity for riling up his friends and getting under his skin. But it was tempered with compassion for those he care about, which he did his best to try and conceal, and a sort of cynical wisdom that could only have come from surviving a war.
In that moment, Harry felt strangely proud of the man Draco Malfoy had become.
"Hey Ron," Harry nudged his friend. His gaze was trained at the closed door, and he wondered what was happening inside the interview room. "What would you do if Malfoy passed Selection and you had to be in the same squad as him?"
Ron frowned before answering earnestly. "I guess it wouldn't be so bad. Having someone like him on the team, that is."
cont'd