Previously:

The masked man leaned casually against the wall, almost unseen in the darkness. "As long as you keep the tunnels clear for my departure, I'll deliver the Order to you. All you need do is wait."

Ramiel smiled for the first time in days. He crossed his arms, sparks playing about his hands. "That we shall, my friend. That we shall."

---

Blissfully, or rather tensely, unaware of this exchange, the Order kept constantly vigilant throughout the night. Lupin and Tonks handed off to the Weasleys at three in the morning, followed by James Bond and Harry at five.

All in all, Bond thought it rather boring work. He and the boy wizard would switch positions every ten minutes or so - one on the roof of the Factory Room, watching the streets, and one on the fire escape, watching the alleys. It was the most action either of them saw that evening, and more than once Bond caught himself wishing for another encounter with the mysterious Nobodies, if only for something to do.

"I could handle a few," he thought to himself around six, perched on the edge of the roof, "one or two of the big ones, maybe five of the smaller. Now that I know where to aim-"

"Anything yet?"

The sudden interrruption of his thoughts startled Bond almost to the point of falling off the roof. He whirled, gun in hand, pointed it at-

Harry, standing there in front of him, a shocked expression on his face, with his wand at the ready.

Bond instantly relaxed, lowering his gun. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Harry responded, lowering his wand in kind.

They stood there a moment longer, awkward silence hanging in the air like fog. Bond finally broke the ice:

"Is it already time to switch?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing's coming. I paid the twins to take over my spot for the last hour. I hate waiting for nothing."

"Likewise." Bond drifted off for a moment, then remembered where he was and continued. "This Voldemort - who exactly is he? Kingsley gave me the basics, but nothing very specific."

Harry's gaze flicked to the ground, then back to Bond. "A friend of mine put it best - he went about as bad as you can go. He's a really powerful Dark wizard, and he hates Muggles. People like you."

Bond decided that this knowledge was not at all comforting. "And what's your relation to him? Didn't you say something about seeing him in your dreams?"

Harry grimaced, and replied in weary tones, clearly uncomfortable. "He killed a lot of people - including my parents. When I was a year old. He tried to kill me, but somehow he couldn't. I don't really understand why. I'm kind of famous for it - though sometimes I wish I weren't."

Bond could see that he had hit a nerve, but his question hadn't been fully answered yet. "What about your dreams?"

Harry was silent a moment. Then, choosing his words carefully: "I don't really understand that either. Some kind of...link, I guess. Voldemort lost a bit of his soul trying to kill me. He left this scar-" here Harry indicated the lightning bolt scar on his forehead - "and I think that's something to do with it."

Bond accepted this, even though it wasn't much of an answer. "If it's any consolation, I don't understand much of this myself."

Harry nodded. "I just want to finish this."

There was silence for a while. Bond and Harry watched the cars pass, listening to the sounds of the city in the early morning - and, around 6:20, Fred and George practice-dueling in the alley. A small explosion put an end to the noise. Neither Harry nor Bond cared to investigate.

The first rays of sunlight illuminated London around 6:30; around this time, Bond spoke again.

"I'm sorry about your parents."

Harry glanced at him. "Don't apologize. You didn't know."

"Mine died, too. When I was eleven."

"How? I mean, if you feel like-"

"No, it's all right." Bond paused for about fifteen seconds. "It was a mountaineering accident."

More silence. "Were they good people?" This was Harry.

"As far as I knew," replied Bond.

Harry considered this. "At least you knew them."

Bond grunted his acknowledgement. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said again, after a minute.

"I told you, don't apologize," Harry said. "We'll avenge them soon enough."

They ended the conversation on this note. They watched the road for another half hour or so, the sun rising ever higher in the east, in conjunction with the waking of the city. Around seven, Fred called to them.

"Oi! Lovebirds! Watch is over, come and get some breakfast!"

Harry stood, crossing the roof. Bond followed him a second later. Descending the fire escape to the window of Room 3, they found the twins waiting for them, grinning as usual.

"Thank goodness you're alive!" George said, with mock relief. "We were afraid the pigeons had got you."

Harry chuckled. "We didn't see anything worse. What about you?"

George responded in the most serious of tones. "It was horrible, Harry - they swarmed into the alley like flies! It was all we could do to hold them off."

Fred elbowed him. "Not the rats, mate - he means the Nobodies. Nobody was there, and we mean that in a good way."

Harry laughed. "Good. Breakfast?"

"Scrambled eggs."

James Bond smiled. "My favorite."

"Not if our sister cooked it," Fred answered.

"Come on - we'd better see if the fire's out," George put in, not missing a beat.

They left, making their way down to the ground floor. Harry followed them, when Bond called out to him. "Harry."

The young wizard turned. "Sir?"

"Good luck tonight."

Harry nodded. "You too. I'll be glad when this is over."

---

Breakfast that morning was not, in fact, the holocaust Fred and George had predicted. Under the watchful eye of her mother, Ginny had avoided burning the eggs (and, indeed, the pub) and managed a meal that many among the Order considered a pleasant start to what would be a grim day. When breakfast was over, Kingsley stood to announce the day's itinerary.

"Good morning to all of you." He was met with a chorus of "Good morning"s from the assembly. "I'm sure all of you are tired from last night, and from today's early start. I advise you to get some rest today; other than that, the morning and afternoon are yours. Just remember that we leave for the Palace precisely at ten-thirty. Split up into groups of six, and approach from different directions - we meet out front by eleven. In and out by morning, ladies and gentlemen."

---

Apart from the evening's intended course, the day went as planned. Most of the Order retired to the second floor to sleep, along with Bond; the Factory Room unfortunately lacked a shooting range, and he was tired anyway. Kingsley had stayed to discuss matters with Lupin and Mr. Weasley before heading to bed, and most of November fourth was spent in quiet, apart from the Muggle patrons of the Factory Room.

It was afternoon when anyone came downstairs again - around two, James Bond went for lunch, respectfully declining to join in the dirty limerick contest about to begin. He was just starting on his fish when an old man sat down across from him.

He had dark glasses on, completely obscuring his eyes, and wore formal slacks and a green button-down shirt. His glasses were the only distinguishing feature about him, and it was from behind them that the man stared at Bond while the secret agent ate.

Twice Bond looked up from his meal to see if the man was still there, and indeed he was. This made him both uncomfortable and suspicious - who was this mystery person? What did he want? Why was he here?

The old man spoke before Bond could wonder any more. "James Bond."

James froze, fork halfway to plate. "You know me?"

"Your name." The man paused. In the background, an accordion had started up - the dirty limerick contest had begun.

"THERE ONCE WAS A MAN FROM MADRAS,
WHOSE BALLS WERE BOTH MADE OUT OF BRASS
!" sang one of the patrons, to the delight of the rest.

"Let's talk somewhere private," the old man suggested.

James had no idea what was going on, or who the man was, but decided to play along. Maybe he was connected to the villains, and maybe he would be amenable to interrogation.

"One condition: We do it in the upstairs hall." James Bond knew an ambush when he saw one, and wasn't about to let things get out of control.

"WHEN THEY JANGLED TOGETHER-"

Surprisingly, the old man accepted. "Off we go, then." He stood, and motioned for Bond to follow, which he did.

"THEY MADE STORMY WEATHER,
AND LIGHTNING SHOT OUT OF-
"

The rest was lost to Bond and his companion as they climbed the stairs, Bond shutting the door behind them. The old man turned, and fixed Bond with a grave expression (as far as Bond could tell, with the glasses on).

"I've been watching you for some time now, Bond - you and the rest of the Order. I'm here to tell you that this isn't something you can do alone."

Bond wasn't in the mood for mystery. "Who are you? Are you MI6? CIA? Tell me who sent you."

The old man ignored him. "The people you're up against are only the beginning. There are more like Ramiel, and worse-"

Bond would not listen. He moved fast, grabbing the old man and attempting pin him to the wall. But the mysterious man was surprisingly fast and strong for his age - he broke Bond's hold on him, grabbing him by the neck and holding him at arm's length.

"Listen to me. All I want to do is help. So I'll keep this short: If you manage to survive the night, you'll need a step in the right direction." He produced a small business card, tucking it in the breast pocket of the struggling Bond. "This is that step. After all is said and done, take the card and rip it in half. I'll know."

Try as he might, Bond couldn't escape his assailant's grip. A voice from down the hall distracted him momentarily: "James! Where are you?"

The old man heard it too. He set Bond down roughly, turning to leave. "Good luck," he whispered over his shoulder.

Lupin emerged from Room 3 at that moment, and smiled upon seeing James in the hallway. "There you are! We're looking for a fourth to play cards with, and-" He stopped, seeing the shaken state of the Muggle before him. "What happened?"

James looked behind, searching for any sign that the old man had been there. But there was nothing. He had gone. He turned back to Lupin. "Nothing. You just surprised me."

Lupin held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Not my intent. Cards?"

Bond swallowed, then answered. "Deal me in."

Lupin smiled. "Excellent. Come on, then - we're all ready."

"I'll only be a second."

Lupin nodded, turned and left, disappearing back into Room 3. James was left in the hallway, wondering what on earth had just happened. After a moment, he remembered the card in his pocket. He pulled it out, half-expecting it to explode upon doing so. But nothing of the kind happened. It was a plain white card, inscribed with a mysterious triangular symbol and an equally mysterious name:

FORCAS.