Chapter 10 Tapping Shoulders

Harry came out of the Palace gate looking … Sirius wasn't quite sure how he looked. Sober but not downcast. Determined, certainly that.

"Harry, are you all right?" Sirius said, worriedly. "Are you in trouble?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again and visibly thought about what to say. "I'm all right, Sirius. I'm not in any trouble - yet, anyway."

"What took you so long?" Sirius asked. "You weren't with the Queen all that time, were you?"

Harry again visibly thought first, then said "No, Sirius. I had another meeting with - never mind. We should go home. We need to talk, privately."

They Apparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry said "Kreacher."

"Yes, Master Harry." The old house elf replied.

"Sirius and I will be doing private business. We are not at home to visitors until I say otherwise. You will take all measures to ensure our privacy and not listen to us yourself." Harry said, in a tone of command Sirius had never heard from him.

"Yes, Master Harry." The old house elf said.

Sirius looked at Harry in astonishment. "Harry, what ...?"

"Not here, Sirius." Harry said.

They went into the sitting room and Harry sat in one of the comfortable overstuffed leather armchairs, casting privacy wards.

Sirius took a chair across from Harry. "All right, Harry. What in Merlin's name happened?"

"Sirius, I know you have a lot of questions. I have to warn you that if I answer them you'll be getting involved with something at least as sensitive, and perhaps as dangerous, as the Order of the Phoenix. I'll need your word, Marauder's Honour, that you will not divulge what I say without my permission." Harry said.

Sirius nodded. "You have my word, Marauder's Honour."

"Are you sure, Sirius?" Harry asked.

"My son is involved. I can't not be. I made that mistake once. I'm not going to make it again." Sirius replied. His expression was one that Harry knew well. There would be no moving him on this. Harry didn't really want to try, but in all fairness he had to give him the choice.

"I wasn't summoned by the Queen to be called on the carpet, Sirius. I was interviewed for a job. The Magical world has no equivalent to MI-5 and MI-6. I am appointed to be the Chief of a new agency called MK-1 that will be the Magical world's equivalent of both." Harry said.

"Merlin's saggy left bollock." Sirius replied. "I can't believe it."

Harry smiled wryly. "I had trouble believing it myself. The Chief of SIS and the DG of the Security Service had no trouble believing it. They were really happy that something was finally being done. Practically their first question was 'How can we help?' "

"Did you have to do this, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"No, Sirius. I chose to do this. Remember the day we went to the Palace? Nobody at the Ministry gave a tinker's curse for us or law or justice. Dumbledore couldn't protect us. Voldemort was all ready to move. Where would we be if not for the Queen? Fugitives or dead, most likely. She didn't have to do anything. The Queen decided that it was her duty. How can I do less?" Harry replied.

Sirius sat silent, trying to sort out his very mixed feelings. Pride, that certainly. He had always been proud of Harry, and never more so than now. Worry sat right next to that. Harry's Gryffindor courage ran far too close to recklessness for his peace of mind. That last business with the dragons... Well, the Snitch was in play. It was too late to wonder what might have been.

"How can I help, Harry?" He said. His mind started to work again. As the Head of the House of Black, he was by necessity involved in politics. He had proxied the Black family seat in the Wizengamot to Andromeda, who was doing a good job. She led a sizeable bloc of the progressives, known as the Crown Loyalists. If need be he could take the seat in his own name, as little as he relished the prospect. The answer surprised him - again.

"I need you to put together the old crew, or what's left of it. Moony and Padfoot. I need Marauder's Maps that cover all of Britain. Dragons for a starter, including eggs if you can manage it. Named Persons of Interest will be next."

Sirius thought for a moment. "We'll certainly try our best, Harry, but that would be difficult and expensive. We'd need help, and they wouldn't come cheap. I don't know if we could afford it."

"Neither the Potters nor the Blacks are going to be out a worn Knut over this. Those days are done. The Wizengamot will fund MK-1 and MK-1 will let contracts to Marauders Inc., or whatever you call it, which will be a proper private company that will pay people what they're worth."

Which took Sirius back to politics. "What makes you think that they'll pass an appropriation like that?"

There was a flicker of a smile across Harry's face. "They won't like it. They've had a free ride since Grindelwald's War. They'd like the Queen's displeasure a good deal less. Time for them to start pulling their weight."

"I could give Andromeda a heads up. She could do some spade work behind the scenes." Sirius suggested.

Harry thought about that. It was tempting. Then he remembered what Sir Andrew had said. "MK-1 can't be seen to be playing politics, Sirius. I have to start as I mean to go on. If she's as surprised as anyone else, then no one is going to have reason to think that I'm favouring my own family or my own interests. I advise the Ministry, and I protect them. I do not control them. They are responsible to Her Majesty for their actions just as I am accountable for mine."

The Magical world has a new guardian. He is not the successor to Dumbledore. He will be greater than Dumbledore. Sirius thought, watching that decision made and seeing the man his son had grown to be.

Evan checked his mail box, and raised his eyebrows. Aside from a couple of bills, there was a large brown envelope marked OHMS. Official business. Well, he was going to have his dinner before dealing with whatever that portended.

Trooper Arnold was set to be released from St. Mungo's this week, though fit for duty was a bit further off. Still, he would take good news when it came his way.

After dinner he headed into the bar for a pint. For once he didn't have duty and could indulge himself that small pleasure. Major Lee was at the bar. He took another seat one chair away so as not to seem obtrusive, and put the envelope on the bar. When the CO turned toward him he murmured "Sir." by reflex.

The CO smiled. "No rank in the Mess, Beowulf. I see you got your letter."

"Yes. I haven't opened it yet." He replied.

"Well, it's actually good news for a change, so there's no need to procrastinate." The Man replied.

Stan Lee gestured to the barman, who pulled Evan a pint of the local dark. He took a drink of it and ripped open the envelope. His face grew puzzled rather than pleased. There were some phrases, like Droits of the Crown, that he recognized and a lot more that he didn't.

"Yes, the Queen's English does get rather mistreated at the hands of lawyers and accountants, doesn't it? For the modest fee of one pint you can have a translation if you like." Stan the Man said amiably.

Evan immediately waved to the barman and two more pints arrived in front of them.

"Dead dragons are rare and valuable. Dragon bones, dragon hide, dragon blood and other parts are all useful in magic and hard to come by, hence valuable. The three we killed will be sold at auction and the money will go to the Crown seeing that the Crown's agents actually killed the bloody things. Our gracious liege lady has decreed that the proceeds thereof, less legal and accounting fees, will be shared out as prize money according to the time-honoured formulas for such. "

"Prize money? That hasn't been awarded since the Napoleonic Wars." Evan said. He'd only read about prize money in historical novels.

"World War I was the last time, actually, but what's a century or so among friends." Stan replied amiably, and took a pull of his beer.

"Not to sound mercenary, but just how much would that add up to?" Evan asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Ah, well, there are uncertainties there, seeing that the auction has yet to take place. The system by which it is allocated will certainly make you the envy of the the rest of the Mess. You see, the value is divided into a number of shares of equal value. The number of shares awarded to each individual who was part of the effort varies, unsurprisingly, by rank."

Evan was not surprised by that at all. The Army had changed greatly in some ways since the Napoleonic Wars, rather less so in others.

"For the first dragon, the entire award goes to the QRF, and the lion's share to you as the Commanding Officer. As your 2 I/C Sergeant Crusher will do rather well, too. I dare say that it will be sufficient for you to settle down, marry some deserving witch, and raise a family in comfort. Your share of the second dragon's value will be quite a bit less, as a subordinate commander, but not a pittance all the same."

"Why a witch?" Evan asked. "Not that I'm opposed, to be sure."

"You'll have to spend it on this side. Security, don't you know." Stan replied easily.

"What of Sir Harry? He was on the pitch, too." Evan asked. Saved our bloody bacon, he did. He added mentally.

Stan smiled. "He was very gracious. In his view, we came to the rescue and saved his bacon, so the credit should go to us. To be sure, he's well off in his own right."

Evan McKendrick had read history at Sandhurst, and while he was quite sure Her Majesty was genuinely concerned for the welfare of those she sent into battle he was equally certain that the larger interests of the Realm were also in play in any decision of the Sovereign.

Voldemort had not been a lone lunatic any more than Hitler had been. Those who had followed him had done so willingly, at least in the beginning, and they were not all dead or out of play. The battle he had just fought was evidence enough of that.

The grip of the pure blood bigots on the Ministry of Magic had pushed a lot of wizards of non-magical birth out of Magical Britain. A situation that encouraged non-wizard born subjects of proven loyalty to return to Magical Britain was to the interests of the Crown. As a sensible man he had given thought to his career prospects, and they were rather limited. As a Lieutenant who had proved himself a competent Troop Commander under fire, he could reasonably expect promotion to Captain in due course.

Someone with service in a normal, which was to say non-Magical and actually known to exist, Special Forces unit could take his experience back to the Regular Army with its better promotion prospects. MSS was once in, never out. There was exactly one Major's position in MSS, and Stan Lee didn't look like retiring any time soon.

That bore quite heavily on a decision he had to make pretty soon now. He was at twelve years service, the point where he either converted his terms of service to stay in the Army or left with a small pension. Living on that pension wasn't an option, but a man with private means might not need to.

Hermione looked up at the tap on the side of her cubicle. "That report isn't due yet, ... oh, hello, Harry. It's been a while."

"Too long. Thought I might buy you dinner and we could catch up a little." He replied.

She looked uncertain. "Harry, I've got a lot to do."

He smiled briefly. "I am quite sure you do. Goblin Fiscal Policy is important, but it will still be there tomorrow. Good dinner at Carver's is harder to come by."

"Well, all right. Wait a minute, how do you know what I'm doing for the Head of Magical Cooperation?" She said.

"People tell me things. Tell you more over dinner, if you like." He replied.

She looked puzzled, but got her purse. They took the Ministry Floo down to the posh end of Diagon Alley. Carver's was a small place, out of the way. It had wards to keep out anyone who didn't have a reservation. Harry was greeted, not by the head waiter but by the owner himself, and shown to a table with the deference due a VIP.

The Sommelier did his turn, and they wound up with a French white that had been laid down the year Hermione's parents had been married.

Harry had a Beef Wellington, with vegetables on the side. Hermione ordered a Chicken Cordon Bleu. The appetizers were the house specialty, Mushrooms Neptune.

She sipped at her glass, and decided that she wasn't enough of a wine fancier to appreciate the subtleties, though it was very nice. "You do realize, Harry, that the gossip columnists are going to be all over this tomorrow morning."

He smiled, raised his glass and took a sip. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. However, as long as they think that, they aren't thinking anything else. In case you are, this is not that kind of a seduction."

He paused as the waiter brought the appies, mushrooms stuffed with crab and cream cheese. Normally it would have just floated in, but Carvers was exclusive as to that, too. There was no magic, and so no eavesdropping, in the dining room. In addition to elegant dinners, conversations both professional and personal could be had there in complete privacy.

"You're doing well at the Ministry. No surprise there. Go-to person for Goblin Relations generally, and fiscal policy in particular. A very tricky file, which is why the senior people are more than happy to leave it to you and take the credit for your success." Harry said.

"You've impressed me with how much you know, Harry, and now I would like to know why you've taken the trouble to find it out." She said, setting her wine glass down.

"The dark side of doing well at the Ministry is that you are still going to have to wait a long while before you get a step up. It's dead men's shoes. The Restoration cleared out some of the dead wood, but it's still a game for the patient." He said.

"The work is worth doing, Harry." She replied. This fencing is quite unlike Harry. Come to that, he's looking a lot more serious that he usually does.

"How are you doing at the Crown Wizard's office these days?" She asked, deciding that she was going to fence back a little.

He smiled and snared an appy, washing it down with some wine. "Not for anyone else to know, and I'll need your word on that, but I'm not with the CWO any more. I've got a new job."

"All right, my word that it's under the rose. What's the new job?" She said, getting one of the appies while the getting was good. She and Harry had shared dangerous secrets before.

"I am appointed by Her Majesty personally to be the Chief of a new Agency called MK-1, the Magical world's equivalent of MI-5 and MI-6 in the non-Magical world. I need someone who is brilliant, totally organized and absolutely trustworthy to be the Head of Administration for this new Agency. As my right hand, you'd be equivalent to a Ministry Head of Department. Paid commensurately, as well." He said. He leaned back in his chair and watched her.

This has to be ... no, it's not a joke. She thought, watching his face.

"Her Majesty personally?" Hermione said.

Harry smiled. "The appointment of Intelligence Chiefs is within the gift of the Sovereign. What sort of gift it will be, well, that remains to be seen."

"Why would Her Majesty do that? She had to have a reason." Hermione said. The Sovereign did not exert Her authority in the Magical Realm without good cause. Mostly her oversight was a reminder from Grandmother that her grandchildren should play nicely.

Harry took off his glasses, looked pensive, then replaced them. "We came rather too close to having London burned down. Her Majesty wants no repetition of that. Threats to the Realm that cannot be dealt with by MLE or the military are now the remit of MK-1."

"London burned down?" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice from rising.

He looked back at her with a cool quiet expression. "That MK-1 exists is not a secret that will keep. Operation Beowulf would be one of the secrets that you would take to your grave if you take up this position."

Harry gestured, and the waiter moved into serve the main course. With the plates on the table and the waiter gone again, he looked across the table at her. "I need help, Hermione. There's no glory in it. I saved London, with a lot of help from MMS. Nobody can ever know how close that was."

He fell silent and gave his attention to his food. Harry always did that, because eating a decent meal had not been a given during his childhood. This time, though, she sensed that he was letting her think about the truly astonishing offer that was on this luxuriously appointed table.

"Certainly it's a brilliant opportunity, Harry. Why not someone more experienced?" She said after a few bites of her chicken.

"Build a new Agency from scratch, one that can't be known to exist, much less have any public exposure of what it does. Fight the bureaucratic wars that are inevitable in that situation so we can maintain our independence, which we absolutely must have. No one has any experience doing something like that. Dumbledore's Army was about as close as anyone has come, I suppose." He replied.

"You kept London from burning down. Really?" Hermione said.

"Dragons would do that." He replied.

"Dragons." She said, slowly.

"All right, Harry. I'm in. How do we do this?" She said after a thoughtful silence.

"Find a believable reason for leaving the Ministry. Whatever works, you'll know better about that. We're working out of 12 Grimmauld for now. Stay in touch." He said.

"Hello, Evan. Would you like a pint?" Evan turned at the familiar voice.

"Sir Harry. Good to see you. Don't mind if I do."

Harry waved at the barman and gave his order. The drinks arrived promptly, and Harry edged them over to a small table in the corner.

"Congratulations. Twice, in fact. Captain Evan McKendrick, CGC. Has a nice ring to it."

"I think of it as being on behalf of the rest of the people." Evan replied, a little uneasily. The Conspicuous Gallantry Cross was one notch down from the Victoria Cross. He wasn't sure he deserved it. He'd got the job done when it mattered, but he was paid for that.

Harry chuckled. "In my experience, arguing the toss with Her Majesty is a waste of breath. I've tried it."

So he has, by all accounts. "I'll take your word for it, Sir Harry. I stuck to, 'Yes, Your Majesty.' and 'Thank you, Your Majesty.' " Evan replied.

"How's Leila?" Harry asked, in a tone of light conversation while sipping his beer.

"She's fine. I'm just waiting for her to get off work at the Misuse of Non-Magical Artifacts Office." Evan replied, wondering just how Sir Harry knew about her. He had been seeing quite a lot of Leila of late. He wasn't at the point of popping the question, but he was thinking about it.

"Well, the word around is that Arthur Weasley is going to get a step up soon, so she might be in line to move up a little." Harry added.

Evan hadn't heard that. He wondered again how Sir Harry came to be so well informed about the things that touched his life.

"You're coming up on twelve years service. Made any decisions about that?" Harry asked casually.

"I'm thinking about it." Evan replied, carefully. At twelve years service, he either converted his terms of service to do another twelve years or left the Army with a small pension. Leila was one of the reasons he was thinking. Being a soldier's wife was a hard row to hoe, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask her to do it.

The pieces came together in Evan's mind. Good Lord. This is the tap on the shoulder.

In the non-Magical world, MI-5 and MI-6 very seldom advertised. Much more often, a likely prospect got a tap on the shoulder and an offer from someone he trusted.

That unsolicited advice is about to come back to haunt me. There were rumours of a new player on the pitch, now that I think about it. "I do believe I warned you about the perils of poaching people." Evan said.

Harry smiled. "I had a word with the Man. He wasn't ecstatic about losing his best Troop Commander, but he agreed that it was for for the greater good."

You do learn fast, Harry. Evan said. "What are we talking about here?"

"You retire from the Army and take a position with the Crown Wizards Office. Something suitably vague and bureaucratic. You retain your security clearances. You'd be the Deputy Chief, military liaison and other duties as assigned."

Evan hesitated. He was tempted, but this was a dive into the unknown from the known stability of the Army.

Harry's voice took on an edge of pleading. "Evan, remember that desk we talked about? It exists now, and there are 10 files on it, and counting. We've only started turning over rocks, and some pretty nasty things have already crawled out. We haven't nearly enough people."

Ten files and counting. Good God above. The first thing the veterans of MSS told me about Sir Harry was that he doesn't start at shadows. You were the one who gave him all that good advice. Time to put your money where your mouth is.

"All right, Harry, I'm in. I'll put in my papers tomorrow and be done with the Army in six weeks." Evan said.

Harry raised his glass in a toast. "Welcome to MK-1."