Disclaimer: I don't own any HP, only Andrea and the rest of the Alliance.
Andrea Mason stared at the stack of folders in front of her before heaving a large sigh. She looked around the office and noticed that most of her colleagues looked the same way she felt.
Now that all the field work is over, we're stuck with all this paperwork to do, Andrea thought miserably, pulling the first folder towards her. Really, wizards are more trouble than they're worth.
"Why is everyone looking so down?"
Andrea jumped a little as a tall woman with long, thick brown hair and dark eyes sat in front of her desk, giving a disapproving glance around the dull office.
"If you haven't noticed," said Andrea irately, moving her folders so she could see Claire Damson's face better, "we're buried under paperwork." She raised an eyebrow questioningly at Claire. "Don't you have some to do as well?"
"Oh, of course, but we can all do that later," said Claire. She placed a packet on Andrea's desk, sending papers fluttering in every direction.
Andrea opened her mouth to give Claire a long diatribe, but she was cut off as Claire said, "Cheer up, we have a new order. We're supposed to report to Britain within the hour."
Andrea blinked twice as a loud hurrah went up among the office. Apparently, Claire's announcement had carried throughout the office; the sullen mood was immediately lightened by this information.
"What's your problem Mason?" asked Claire, noting Andrea's frown. "This means you won't have to do paperwork today."
"Yes, it just means that we'll have more to do when we get back," said Andrea dryly. "Honestly, can't wizards go for at least a week without killing each other?"
"They do war more than the Muggles," said a small, red-haired woman, joining them. "But it means things never get dull at the office. Could you imagine having to deal with them every day?"
"They're a great deal easier than wizards Kelsey," Andrea retorted. "Wizards are the most rebellious lot that we have to deal with."
"That's what makes it a challenge," Kelsey shot back. "It's fun when you come across one that actually fights back. Besides Andrea, you knew what you were getting into when you joined Fifth Division."
"I didn't know that wizards were so lethal," said Andrea, picking up the packet that Claire had thrown on her desk and flipping through it disinterestedly. "Why are we going into a Muggle neighborhood?" she asked, catching the address.
"It's not Muggle," Claire responded, twirling a pen in her hands. "Britain's changed a lot since the war Mason; half the Muggles are gone."
"So it's really true then," said a tall, brown-haired man, joining them. "I heard about that from the Sixth Division, but I didn't really believe it."
"It has to do with that war a few years ago," said Kelsey. "Remember, when we were backed up for months? Sixth Division was flooded around that time too."
"I swear I will never understand humans," said Andrea. "They have a war every few months and have to drag everyone into it." She dropped the packet back onto her desk. "This is supposed to be a small order, are you really dragging the whole division along?"
"I have to do something to keep the morale up Mason. If half the division was stuck doing work all the time, and the other half was sent onto the field, then I'd have trouble and Martin would have my hide."
"I don't see a problem with that."
"Of course not Andy," said the man, his eyes dancing. "You actually enjoy desk work. I don't see how you can, it's so dull."
"I don't enjoy desk work, but it's certainly less of a hassle than going out to catch unwilling souls. And don't call me Andy Brendan."
"Whatever you say Andy," said Brendan, before dodging a folder thrown at his head.
"Are you sure this is right?"
The division was milling around a dark, deserted street, all looking rather confused. It didn't look as if it was the sight of any recent battles. Andrea had asked the question of Claire, who was pulling out a sheaf of papers from her robes.
"Of course I'm sure," she said irately, reading the papers. "This is the street, Abervale Lane. There was a report of wandering spirits around here."
"I don't feel anything Lieutenant," said Kelsey as Andrea continued to look around, wondering if the report was wrong.
"Look," said Claire, her face turning red. "Something's here and we're going to find it. Spread out in groups and look, alright? Don't leave any corner unchecked."
There was a scramble as the division rushed to follow orders. When their lieutenant was mad, there was no arguing with her.
"I think Damson's pulling our leg," said Brendan, looking around the edge of a house. "If there were any spirits here, we would've felt them by now."
"I don't think the lieutenant is that irresponsible," said John Cobb, a burly, bald man who usually didn't say much. "She wouldn't drag us out here for nothing."
Andrea wanted to agree, but she remembered what Claire had said before in the office; Claire had to keep the morale up. Maybe she was leading them on a fool's errand.
"Don't doubt Damson just yet," John added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, circular device that was flashing light into the dark expanse. "They're around here somewhere, so don't let your guard down."
Andrea shrugged, even though she was a little confused at the reaction of the Soul Detector. It didn't usually flash so brightly, no matter how many souls were around.
It must be broken, thought Andrea. If there were that many souls around, one of us would have felt it by now.
Andrea idly wandered around the dark area, wishing that she was back at her comfortable home instead of in Britain. She wondered why she hadn't taken on a desk job at the Alliance, like her mother had suggested. It was certainly less troublesome than chasing after rebellious wizard souls.
She froze when she heard a small, scraping noise. She turned in the direction it had come from, but she couldn't make anything out.
"Cobb, did you hear that?" she asked aloud. Receiving no response, she turned around, her eyes prying into the darkness. "Cobb? Brendan?"
Andrea cursed mentally. She had been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn't noticed that she had wandered away from the rest of her division.
She dug in her pocket, searching for the quartz that she usually carried in her pocket. Her hand grasped around it just as there was another noise, this time much closer.
Andrea pulled the stone out quickly and it lit up the dingy space. She moved the gem around, searching for any sign of movement.
I must be losing it, thought Andrea, lowering the stone slightly. There's nothing here, that report must've been wrong.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when someone pushed Andrea down, her face hitting the hard concrete, almost knocking her out. The quartz tumbled out of her hands, the light fading out.
Someone slammed her head into the ground and pinned her arms behind her.
What the hell is this? Ghosts aren't supposed to be able to touch hunters and humans can't see us!
"Who are you?" asked a harsh, male voice as blood ran down the side of Andrea's head. "And where are the others that came with you?"
There was a loud bang and the man pinning her down was blasted forwards into the opposing wall. Andrea struggled up as she heard feet coming towards her. She turned to see Cobb and Brendan hurrying towards her.
"Don't move!" shouted Cobb as Brendan helped Andrea up. The man or whatever he was, turned around, his face distorted with anger.
"What the hell?" Brendan muttered, surveying the spirit. "Cobb, be careful, this guy doesn't play around."
"I can handle him," Cobb said, his hand outstretched. Cobb specialized in combat against ghosts that still retained magical powers. Yet this guy was definitely something else; Andrea hadn't even been able to detect him.
The man however, seemed to have different ideas. He obviously realized he was outnumbered before disappearing with a sharp crack, leaving the guardians puzzled to what had just happened.
"What do you mean a human attacked you?"
John and Brendan had returned to headquarters and taken Andrea to the infirmary. Claire had just burst in, looking harried and concerned, wanting to know everything that happened.
"I know it sounds crazy," said Andrea, holding her head. The nurse had bandaged it well, but it still ached. "But this guy could touch me; there's no way he was any type of spirit."
"Spirits sometime form tangible bodies," Brendan pointed out, but John was already shaking his head.
"Lieutenant, whatever this guy was, he wasn't a spirit. If he was, he isn't one we've ever seen before. The Soul Detector went berserk when we found Andrea." John dug in his pocket and pulled out a bit of powdered dust.
Claire picked up the fine dust, sifting it through her fingers, her eyebrows knitted. Andrea felt slightly sick; no matter how powerful a spirit was, it didn't do that to a Soul Detector.
"What did this guy look like?" Claire asked, putting the remnants of the Soul Detector back in John's hand.
John, Andrea, and Brendan all looked at each other before simultaneously shrugging. "It was too dark to really tell," Brendan finally said. "All I know was that he had dark hair and cracked glasses."
Claire sighed. "Fine. Mason, don't stress about returning to work soon, okay? I'm more concerned about you returning to work well-rested. Based on what happened to you three today, our regiment is about to go through something interesting.
"But I want you two back in the office immediately," Claire snapped, looking at John and Brendan. "And don't go blabbing about what happened." She looked pointedly at Brendan. "I don't want this to spread before we know what's going on."
The three nodded in understanding and Claire, John, and Brendan left, each giving their wishes that Andrea felt better soon.
As soon as the three were gone Andrea laid her head back against the pillows, feeling a little drowsy and a little sick. A tangible spirit, powerful enough to turn Soul Detectors into dust. What was that guy?
Back in Britain, Harry Potter sat atop the roof of a small house, watching an early morning Muggle street awaken to the emerging sunlight. A middle-aged woman entered from the house across the street and started talking to the man that came out to get his paper. A cat scurried across the yard, much to the middle-aged woman's disgust, and she started yelling at her next-door neighbor, who happened to own the cat.
But Harry wasn't concentrated on this at all. His focus was on the altercation that had occurred earlier.
Who had those people been? They certainly weren't Deatheaters, at least none that Harry recognized. But they weren't normal wizards either; they possessed magic, obviously, but there was something different about it.
I wish Hermione was here. She would probably know about it.
At the thought of Hermione, Harry felt his frustration build up again. Despite all of his efforts since his death, Harry hadn't been able to contact any of his friends or allies.
Why?
A question that never received any answers. Five years ago, when he had fought Voldemort at Hogwarts, Harry was certain that he had died. It was all over; he had lost, Voldemort had won.
As far as Harry was concerned now, that was halfway true.
Until today, nothing had physically changed with Harry. He ate, he slept, and he could still perform magic (though on a very limited basis). The only difference was that no one could hear or see him and the world thought he was dead.
Harry had tried, multiple times, to speak to anyone he knew or recognized, but nothing ever happened. They just passed him by like he was a ghost.
And then, they had arrived.
Harry rubbed his back, tenderly touching the wound from where one of them had struck him. It was weird to experience pain after such a long time. It still ached, but Harry believed it would heal with some time, as long as he didn't get into any trouble later.
Harry had heard about the battle on Abervale Lane. Supposedly, it was in need of "cleansing" as some of the wizards had put it. A small group of Deatheaters had been dispatched to the area, but had met with some complications, as renegade wizards ambushed them.
By the time he reached Abervale Lane, the street was peacefully quiet and there was no sign of any battle whatsoever.
At first, Harry was certain he had arrived too late to witness the fight. The Deatheaters were tidy when it came to "cleansing." There was never any sign of a struggle, bodies, decimation, etc. They just killed, cleaned up, and were on their way. It was Voldemort's new policy to keep the public from becoming riled. It was a basic human belief—if you didn't see it, then it wasn't there.
Harry was just ready to leave when they had appeared. They appeared to be ghosts, but upon closer inspection, he noticed they were far too solid to be ghosts and were all robed in pale blue uniforms.
What is this, some type of infantry? They all kept referring to one woman, a tall brunette, as lieutenant and spoke of other divisions.
His curiosity piqued, Harry had followed a particularly small group of three who were near his hiding place, hoping to find out more about these unusual strangers.
Unfortunately, Harry had assumed that these people like all the others, could neither see nor hear him. So, when the blonde woman unexpectedly heard him stumble against the wall and started to shine the bright stone in his face, he had been more than a little startled.
I guess it's that thing about old habits.
Harry hadn't meant to attack the woman so violently, but that light had had a weird effect on him.
He shook his head, trying to ward off the uneasy feeling. Harry barely remembered the incident; the last thing he remembered was knocking that stone out of the blonde's hand and being blasted by that bald guy.
"What did I do?"
His hand involuntarily moved towards the wound on his back once again. The sun had fully risen now and the Muggles had retreated back into their houses. It was morning.
