Previously:

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.

---

In all his years of service for MI6, James Bond had never known anyone named Forcas. He had never dealt with any organization calling itself Forcas, nor had the name ever popped up in casual conversation.

Could it possibly be an acronym?

James tested this theory as he followed Lupin back into Room 3; after considering and discarding "French Organization Ruthlessly Castrating All Subordinates," "Future Of Red Cloud And Sacramento," and "For Our Rights, Comfort, And Stability," he was forced to concede that the meaning of "Forcas" was currently a mystery to him.

But what could he do about it now? The mysterious old man hadn't told him anything else - except that there were more like Ramiel, and to rip the card in half once he was defeated. Who was Ramiel? What did he mean, "more like him?" Bond decided that if Ramiel was a man's name, and if they knew who Voldemort was, that narrowed it down to the man in white V had described, the medieval-looking man, or the blue-haired man. Without a conclusive answer to the first question, it was impossible to discern the potential consequences of the second.

So where did that leave Bond? The attack on the Palace was the only immediate course of action - the one that was already planned and held minimal risk of exposure. "And if a lead presents itself once we kill Ramiel, whoever he is, I follow it," he decided. "Let events unfold and make sure they don't unfold you."

He sat down to play cards with Lupin, Dedalus Diggle, and Arthur Weasley; due to the unorthodox events of the past several days, he was less than surprised to discover that it was not the kind of card game he was used to. "Exploding Snap," it was called; it appeared to be a turn-based variant of Muggle card-matching games, but the cards would spontaneously combust if you took too long flipping over a second one, if they were flipped too many times, if-

In truth, Bond never quite mastered the circumstances under which the cards would explode. He chose instead to focus on finding matched pairs and memorization, persisting in the face of several minor burns. While this approach left him with more battle scars than his opponents, he nevertheless ended up with the second highest number of matches (which Diggle passed off as beginners' luck).

The day went by in much the same way for all involved. Most of everyone's time pre-attack was spent in trivial pursuits such as the card game, last-minute preparations (Hermione spent hours buried in books of military strategy purchased from a Muggle bookshop), or conversation; Bond himself had an enlightening discussion with Kingsley regarding the merits of Aurors (Dark wizard catchers) versus Muggle 00's such as himself. Though topics such as risk factors, day-to-day responsibilities, and general job description were debated back and forth, at the end of the day neither could quite agree which had the more dangerous job.

The day wore on slowly; for some it was a blessing, for others a curse. Many of the party seemed not to want it to end, dreading the events that the night would bring and wondering if these were their final hours with their friends and loved ones. Bond, Lupin, and a handful of others viewed the attack with grim determination, wanting to get it over with so they could all get on with their lives. Perhaps Bond couldn't quite relate to the conflict; Voldemort had, after all, done far more damage to the wizarding world, and he had never ever heard the name before now. But if the destruction of Diagon Alley and Room -18 was any indication, Voldemort and his allies posed a grave threat to national security - perhaps even international security.

"It was in our best interests, wasn't it, M?" he thought as the party made final preparations that evening.

Dinner that evening was a tense affair; though the assembled witches and wizards (and Muggle) of the Order tried to alleviate the growing sense of foreboding with idle conversation and attempts at lightheartedness, nobody in the Factory Room's rented-out dining area could deny what lay ahead of them: a confrontation with Voldemort and all his forces, and as many as four of his allies. It was an immutable truth that they were outnumbered, but with any luck they would not be outmatched.

How they would manage that was the main topic of conversation at Bond's table, a large, six-seater booth off in the northwest corner of the Factory Room. It was not filled to capacity; besides James Bond, the booth hosted Kingsley, Lupin, and Tonks. Despite its not being filled to capacity, the booth buzzed with enough talk for its maximum seating. Kingsley maintained that a head-on approach was the only viable option, while both Tonks and Lupin argued for a more low-profile entrance.

"Remus, I must insist again that you hear me out. An attack in the hours preceding dawn would indeed provide greater cover of darkness, but we have no idea how long we have. If the sun rises in the middle of a fight-"

"Exactly why I propose we attack at two in the morning, Kingsley!" retorted Lupin, clearly losing his patience. "If we're strong enough to deal with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, we're strong enough to take down any allies he can rally against us! Win or lose, we do it quickly and quietly!"

"What sense does it make, strolling in through the front door?" interjected Tonks. "It's like flying through a thunderstorm on your way to the lions' den! By the time we get anywhere the enemy will have gotten half of us, and-"

"Well, what other option do we have?" Bond asked irritably. He was rather tired of the argument; Kingsley had decided on their plan of action earlier in the day, and now was too late to change it. "I don't claim to know anything about magic. But if the palace is magically protected, as Kingsley said, from flight and such, going in on foot woudl probably be the easiest way. Besides, who expects their enemy to march up and use the front entrance?"

Lupin shook his head. "Unfortunately, James, that may be exactly what Voldemort is trying to make us do. Now, if we used the Underground..."

"Remus, the Death Eaters will be patrolling the tunnels; V has assured me of that, and-"

Tonks slammed her hand down on the table, shaking their plates and glasses. "Why do you trust him? I think I speak with experience when I say that someone who hides their appearance..."

James rolled his eyes, seeing that they weren't getting anywhere and letting his gaze drift around the room. Fred and George were deep in conversation at the end of the central table, clearly engaged in a serious discussion of strategy; whether it was for infiltration or combat, James could not tell. Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys shared their table, trying to keep what could be their last dinner together as lively as possible. Even so, Hermione had tears in her eyes, and the Weasley parents (who faced away from Bond) were holding hands under the table.

The scene was similar all around the room; friends and family talked as if they had been separated for years, attempting to make their last night together a happy one. Beneath the smiles and the laughter lurked the knowledge that at ten-thirty that night, nobody would be safe anymore. The mission they would set out to complete would in all likelihood carry a high cost in human lives, and every life in this room was at risk.

Conversely, James Bond was himself spending the evening among people he had only known for a week. But as far as the objectives were concerned, the conditions in which he was spending it were business as usual.

Almost.

At ten-fifteen, Kingsley stood and called the room to attention. "Finish your dinner, ladies and gentlemen. In fifteen minutes we depart. Remember to take different routes in groups of six, and arrive at the gates by eleven. From there, stick together; never let yourself get caught alone down a dark hallway. We work our way through the building section by section; the cleanup should be done by morning.

"As our good friend Alastor Moody would say, were he here this evening: CONSTANT VIGILANCE."