AN - I've been able to put a pretty solid chunk of time toward this project lately and I'm really glad to see you guys enjoying the latest chapters. I'm really excited for the things that are happening next. Enjoy everyone and thanks to those of you taking the time to review!
Colonel Marshall Sumner stood silently in the woods, just at the edge of the clearing where Forward Observation Base Phoenix would be set up, and watched the CH-46s as they dropped off payload after payload of material and ordinance and the personnel to set up and man the facility. The thrumming beat of rotor blades kicked up debris that kept the Colonel squinting, even at a distance.
President Harris had worried about the ordinance portion of Sumner's requisition. He asked why Sumner thought he would need a section of M777 howitzers, a wide variety of explosives, hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, both enchanted and not, and so on. Even General Thomas had raised an eyebrow at the order form.
Thankfully, the language of the agreement was ambiguous in these areas. He was explicitly prohibited from bringing AH-64s, Bradley IFVs, and a few other choice platforms that would have done his heart well. There was nothing at all to prevent him from deploying artillery or massive amounts of firepower, however.
Sumner felt that his reasoning was logical and stood firmly by the decision. TFA managed to inflict some serious hurt on the gangs across the United States and had simultaneously helped organize MACUSA into a more effective governing body that was able to cope with the expansion in their authority.
Where previously they'd maintained only the most tenuous grasp on authority, they were now unchallenged. That grasp came with a policing responsibility that their law enforcement wing was unaccustomed to. Training reinforcements for the police department had thankfully proven less challenging than driving those gangs out had been.
MACUSA now directly controlled an estimated 87% of magical territory within the United States, leagues above their previous 35% high. The operations that were targeting vampires, werewolves, and other dark creature gangs had proven successful, if not a little underwhelming recently.
Intelligence had estimated the number of dark creature gang members, of all types and flavors, to range between 250,000 and 300,000 individuals. Through bitter fighting in the beginning and more resounding successes later on, they'd confirmed kills on about 45,000 individuals and they'd arrested almost 100,000.
The populations of gang members, and territories controlled by them, had diminished greatly and it begged the question: Where in the hell were the remaining hundred thousand minimum, hiding? They certainly didn't seem to be in the United States.
For a long time, the best they could do was guess that the dark creatures were fleeing the country, though without international intelligence cooperation between magical governments it was anyone's guess. Until recently, that was.
France had expressed a great deal of interest in beginning their own Ansible program and had resumed ties with MACUSA. They'd even proposed and passed a lift on the ban of MACUSA from the ICW and lifted the travel ban. Their intelligence confirmed that these dark creatures were leaving the United States in droves for the safer European countries.
That was only one of the reasons Sumner wanted to retain so much ordinance. Part two was that they were still unsure of the whereabouts of two of the most wanted individuals in magical society. The first was the comparably easy one, Henry Eden. Reaper team had tracked the man to Africa and lost the trail. Sumner was worried about the possibility of him trying to regain ties to westernized magical communities. A terrorist to the core, Sumner couldn't think of a better place to commit an atrocity than the international wizarding games between youths that would be held at Hogwarts this year.
The second one was trickier. Though officially deceased, Dumbledore believed that public enemy number one, Voldemort, was not only alive but active. Dumbledore had proven himself an intelligent man and though he had no direct evidence, there was a great deal of circumstantial evidence that aligned nicely with that theory. If he was in fact alive, there was clear evidence supporting a pathological hatred of Harry Potter, who of course would be attending Hogwarts.
All of this culminated in Sumner's desire to have ordinance. Lots of ordinance. He'd even submitted for, and obtained, a pair of C-RAM guns to place at FOB Phoenix. Technically designed to destroy incoming rockets and artillery, the RADAR was sensitive enough to detect and target fliers on broomsticks. It'd chew those soft targets to shreds.
Was a frontal assault of FOB Phoenix likely? No. Neither was a frontal assault on Hogwarts. But Sumner was bound and determined to deter any thought of aggression during these games. Damned if anything was going to be allowed to happen on his watch.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Sumner announced to the quiet room. They were in the operations planning room of the Command and Control Center of FOB Phoenix. The base was rapidly constructed from prefab structures, allowing a full base of operations to be placed in a short time. This was the third such attempt by the US military at rapid base construction using the prefabricated buildings and Sumner was impressed.
The parts were easily stored and transported and, though heavy, the walls and structures largely fit together well. The barracks building had a defect that left a corner of the roof with a quarter inch gap. Easy to fix.
Now it was time for the operations briefing. Sumner had overall command of the Triwizard Security Force this year, having turned over command of TFA to Lt. Colonel Ferris for the time being. Sumner would oversee the large strokes of operations from FOB Phoenix. It was time to brief the team leaders and commanders on their individual assignments.
"I hope you've had your coffee, this'll be a long one." There were scattered chuckles from the men, all seated for the briefing. "This year the British, French and Bulgarians are having an international tournament. Hogwarts will be hosting the event and an approximate two hundred extra students will be present, about a hundred from each of the foreign groups. Beauxbatons Academy is the French school, Durmstrang from Bulgaria. The students don't know about this, so mouths shut. Don't go spoiling the surprise."
"As you're all aware, we managed to gather some international attention a couple weeks ago courtesy of Reaper team," Sumner gave a nod of acknowledgment to Capt. Gordon, who was standing in the back of the group. There were a few jeers from fellow operators before the room quieted down for Sumner to continue. They'd done good work but anytime an operator caught media attention like that they were sure to get ribbed for it. "That attention was especially important to the French, who were feeling that the current security arrangement provided by the Ministry was inadequate, for a number of reasons."
"First, and primarily, the Death Eaters. A group of blood purists, the Death Eaters were led by..." Sumner paused, wishing he had another name to call this idiot by, "Lord Voldemort. While this Voldemort character is presumed dead by the British Ministry, there is circumstantial evidence that states that he may still be active. Regardless of his corporeal status, it is believed that the Death Eaters, while weakened, are not inactive. A significant number of those arrested at the riot during the Cup were suspected of being Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the Ministry is officially chalking it up to a last hurrah by the old guard. They're to be thrown in Azkaban and there will be no further investigation into the matter, or into the possibility that Death Eaters are active. For our purposes, we will assume that they are active and dangerous."
"Secondary to that would be the fact that we have been so successful in stomping the hell out of those gangs back home," Sumner said with a half-smile. He paused to let them cheer. They were rightly proud of that progress they'd made. "Intel has confirmed that the missing hundred thousand or so dark creatures that we didn't fight at home have migrated across Europe, a large number heading here to Britain. There is concern that with the increased numbers, they may be bold and try to strike at the school."
"Third, and unbeknownst to the European governments, is Henry Eden. Reaper tracked Eden to Africa where the trail went cold. This asshole is a terrorist to the core. He's directly responsible for three separate attacks in the US and suspected of several others with quite a body count. The intel boys think that Eden may try to make his way back to a Western nation in order to continue inflicting damage, and the tournament is a prime target for him."
"With that in mind we've created FOB Phoenix as a semi-permanent presence in the UK. From here we will direct security operations at both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. You can look to your individual assignments for the rotation schedule, but we will keep one platoon at Hogwarts on duty, one at Hogsmeade, one at the FOB as the ready reserve, and one on R&R. That will change to two platoons on duty at the school during major events."
"I am going to direct overall operations from here at FOB Phoenix. Major Price is going to be my second in command for the duration of this assignment and will be implementing my directives. Major?" Colonel Sumner deferred to the Major. He'd been successful in running the operation last year and was a capable officer. They'd already discussed the assignments and he preferred to let his officers do their jobs. No one liked an officer that stepped on toes.
"Thank you, Colonel. Alright, so the Hogwarts students are going to be arriving in Hogsmeade at 1900 hours today. We are officially in control of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts security as of 1700 hours today. The idea was to give us two hours to have our shit together before the students arrive. Things will be in full order by no later than 1730 hours." He paused, looking at the platoon leaders in turn. "Captain Jeffords, I want your platoon to secure the school. Lieutenant Clarke, you'll secure Hogsmeade. The students will be taking their carriages and boats again this year so Lieutenant Vance will split his platoon between road and waterway patrols. Lieutenant Miles, you're on the Quick Reaction Force. The Blackhawks will be spun up and ready to roll, and you guys need to be too. Everyone got their assignments?"
There was a chorus of affirmatives and the Major nodded. "Excellent. There's one more thing to address. Headmaster Dumbledore still believes that Mr. Potter may be in some form of danger. For that reason, Reaper team has again been assigned to their protection."
"Yes, sir," Gordon said audibly. He'd already been informed of that fact by Colonel Sumner, when he'd first arrived at FOB Phoenix. Dumbledore, though he didn't have direct evidence to link it, had pointed to the disappearance of Ministry official Bertha Jorkins, a murder at the former home of Lord Voldemort, and a few other things as connected to the return of Voldemort. If that was the case, Harry would undoubtedly be in danger and Reaper would be the last line of defense.
Through the sound of deep, rolling thunder, and pounding rain, Brad didn't hear the approaching train. It wasn't until his earbud crackled to life with the report of the incoming train, issued by one of the Hogsmeade patrols, that he focused. It was easy to get lost in the steady thrum of rainfall. The four operators sat for a moment longer inside the running Humvee, appreciating the protection from the torrential downpour. Brad felt a small pang of sympathy for the guys stuck patrolling the lake.
A flash of lightning illuminated the tracks and they could see the Hogwarts Express, just a minute or so from its stop. Brad chewed on his lip. It was good to be back. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, but he'd felt almost at home with Harry, Ron and Hermione and it was a comfort to know that he'd be around them again this year.
It wasn't altogether bad news, either. They'd been briefed on the history of the Triwizard Tournament and the broad-strokes plan for bringing the tournament back to life. There were no specifics laid out on challenges, but it had been determined that no one under the age of seventeen would be allowed to compete. That left all three of his charges safe and out of the running, and it made his job considerably easier.
"Let's hop to it, boys," Brad said over the roll of thunder that erupted right as he spoke. He sighed and opened the door, stepping out into the rain. Even though it was only a handful of steps to the platform, they were soaked by the time they made it there. Brad loved his multi-cam uniform, but damn it all if it didn't seem to just let the water right through.
The train squealed to a stop in front of them and in a few moments the students were stepping out. Brad could hear Hagrid's booming voice, directing all of the first years his way. There were looks of wonder and terror from the first years, first on seeing the soldiers and then on realizing that they were going with the half-giant and into the boats.
"Hey!" Hermione's voice sounded near him. Brad looked over just in time to see Mike enveloped in a hug that threatened to knock him over. Walking up behind her, a sulky Ron and Harry sporting a half smile.
"Good to see you guys," Brad greeted them, shaking Harry's hand with a smile. Ron simply nodded. "Something wrong?"
"Malfoy made fun of Ron's dress robes," Hermione said through a smile, after disengaging from Mike.
"Dress robes," Mike said, now grinning from ear to ear with the novelty of the idea. "Man, what will they think up next."
"I already know they're awful," Ron exclaimed. "I can't believe mum sent them with me."
"I'm sure you'll be fine," Brad said helpfully, patting Ron on the shoulder. They headed to the carriages, catching one that was nearby.
The ride to the castle was pleasant enough. They caught up, learning that Mr. Weasley was in fact very busy with things at the Ministry since the riot, among other issues. When Ron brought up the subject of the secret event being held at the school and the operators declined to comment, he threw his hands up in disgust.
"Unbelievable!" he cried out. "Malfoy knows for cryin' out loud! Bill knows, dad knows, Percy knows, you guys know! Would it kill you to give out a hint or something!?"
"Whoa, whoa," Mike said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I can say this much." The carriage went dead silent and Brad gave Mike a warning look. He had no personal interest in keeping this secret, but he'd been ordered by Colonel Sumner not to tell anyone. "It's gonna happen during the school year," Mike said, nodding his head profoundly.
"You're impossible!" Ron exclaimed and Mike started laughing.
"I can't tell you any more than that, brother," he said between fits of laughter.
When they arrived at the school, they filed inside and headed to the Great Hall for the feast. All of them were famished and, much to his relief, the small table near Gryffindor where the operators used to eat remained in place. The seven of them took spots at the table and made small talk while everyone else filed in. Ron played with his silverware, commenting on his near starvation.
When the first years arrived, their trek taking a little longer than the carriages, the sorting ceremony began. Brad and the team clapped for each announcement, though he was perhaps a little more vigorous for Gryffindor appointments and a little less so for Slytherin. The Slytherin types just generally rubbed him the wrong way.
Finally, after the ceremony, Dumbledore stood and waved his hands in a gesture that ceased the idle chatter among classmates. Ron groaned gently at the thought of more talking prior to food.
"I have only two words for you, presently," Dumbledore smiled, looking from side to side in a way that seemed like he was making eye contact with each of the students personally. "Tuck in!" Ron could have sworn that Dumbledore was looking straight at him when he spoke, but he was too busy snatching a large slice of ham that had materialized on the platter in front of him.
"Oh, man, so much better." Ron almost moaned in delight as he chewed his food. Nearly Headless Nick had been drifting near as Ron spoke up and opted to stay and chat a bit.
"Lucky there was anything at all this time," Nick said, staring longingly at the mashed potatoes.
"What'd'ya mean?" Ron said between mouthfuls.
"Oh, just a spot of trouble in the kitchen," Nick sighed. "Peeves, of course."
Brad had heard radio chatter about a response needed to the kitchen while they were waiting in the Humvee for the train to show up. Evidently, Peeves, upset at again not being invited to the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, decided to trash the kitchen and send the poor house elves ducking for cover. He'd heard that Sgt. Freeman had been on the responding team and had been the first to use an NCE-1 hand grenade, which performed admirably.
The Non-Corporeal Entity-1 grenade was developed in direct response to reports from the previous year about Peeves the Poltergeist and concerns about ghosts, which were not harmed by their weapons or most forms of magic. The grenades were actually ALSG1010C Hornet's Nest hand grenades that were enchanted with an ectoplasm removal spell. Upon detonation, seventy enchanted rubber balls erupted from the grenade in every direction and, as ghosts and poltergeists found the removal of ectoplasm to be somewhere between unpleasant and painful, they almost always left quickly.
The response team then helped repair the damage they'd done to the kitchen, which is to say they informed the nearby Professor Flitwick of the damage and he repaired it for them.
"Yes, he terrified the poor house-elves and the grenade didn't do their hearts any favors," Nick continued wistfully.
"There are house-elves here?" Hermione asked, looking appalled. "Here at Hogwarts, I mean." She clarified it, as though there was some possibility that Nick would think she was referring to somewhere else.
"Certainly," he said proudly. "More here than anywhere in Britain if memory serves."
"But," Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, "I've never seen one."
"Well, of course you haven't," Nick said incredulously. "That's the mark of a good elf, after all. You never know they're there."
"But they get paid, right?" Hermione asked hopefully. Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione had been fuming over the treatment of a house elf she'd seen during the Quidditch Cup by Barty Crouch.
"Paid? I should think not!" Nick gave her a look as though he was concerned with her mental health. "House-elves don't want to be paid, my dear." The ghost shook his head with a chuckle as he turned to float away, almost losing his head from its shoulders in the gesture. Hermione pushed her plate away with a pout.
"Hermione, not eating isn't gonna get them sick leave!" Ron protested the waste of her perfectly good food.
"Slave labor is what made this," she said poisonously, glaring at Ron. "I want no part of it." Brad noticed that, though Mike looked longingly at the rest of his plate of food, he didn't touch it again.
After what turned out to be an uncomfortably long time, mostly due to the sulky mood of Hermione and the sorrowful gaze of Mike, who was unwilling to cross his girlfriend on the issue, Dumbledore stood and the mostly empty plates and platters all emptied.
"Now that we are all fed and contented," the Headmaster smiled out at the students, "I have a few notes that I must bring to your attention." Hermione grunted when Dumbledore mentioned the food and Ron sat bolt upright at the mention of news.
Dumbledore went on explaining the normal rules of the school, listing off the ever-increasing number of contraband items that Filch the caretaker had come up with. The students were still not allowed in the Forbidden Forest and only students third year and above were permitted to go to Hogsmeade. He also explained that, once again, the school would host a compliment of soldiers that were authorized to keep the school and its students safe, and that the students were to obey the orders of them as though they came from a teacher.
"It is also my very painful duty to inform you all that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year." He said so in a grave voice, as though he was delivering the news of a death. There were many gasps of protest throughout the Great Hall, but they quickly died out when the Headmaster continued talking.
"I do have the pleasure of announcing that we will be hosting a very special event this year, the-" Dumbledore was cut off by a loud boom as the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, turning everyone's attention away.
A rhythmic thump, thump, thump sounded with every other step as a man limped with purpose into the Great Hall, looking as though he was pulled straight from a horror movie. Brad had heard rumors of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from some of the sentries that had encountered him so far.
He was tall, with long, dark gray hair and scars across the majority of his face that, if it were all of the picture, would have left the man looking like a hardcore badass. As the case was, however, he wore a long, dark trench coat that had been poorly cared for and the crowning jewel in his disturbing image was the eye.
His one eye was a dark, beady eye that bore the look of a man who had seen more than his due of fighting, a look Brad recognized in some of the soldiers he'd interacted with. His other eye was a strange, makeshift monocle with a piercing blue eye that whirled around in every direction, as though scanning every angle for threats.
He strode up the center of the Great Hall and was greeted by a gracious Dumbledore. "Please, allow me to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Moody." Dumbledore said pleasantly, clapping as he finished the sentence. There was scattered applause from the crowd of students, most of the others too nervous to clap. If it bothered the professor that he wasn't an instant favorite, he didn't show it. He simply sat down and pulled out a knife, stabbing a sausage and taking a bite.
"Mad-eye Moody!" Ron exclaimed. "That's our new professor!?" Brad had never heard the name before, but he could see why that nickname stuck. The bright blue eye almost glowed and it didn't seem to matter if he was intently focused on something or deep in thought, the eye was always scanning and whirling around, never blinking.
"As I was saying," Professor Dumbledore began again as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, "this year we shall be the host of the Triwizard Tournament." Immediately cheers and clapping broke out at the tables around them and even Ron was jumping up and hooting. The reaction was clearly expected by the Headmaster, who made no attempt to talk over them for some time. As things died down a little bit, he continued.
"We will be hosting a number of students this year, both from Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang. They will arrive in early October and the champions will be selected on Halloween. Fame and glory await the champion of this tournament, and a prize of a thousand galleons. But beware, I cannot understate the dangers presented by this tournament. Many strong individuals have died in the pursuit of the Triwizard Cup." Dumbledore paused a moment, eyeing the students.
"That is why, this year, the Ministry, along with the heads of each of our schools, decided that there should be an age restriction for those wishing to enter. No one younger than the age of seventeen will be permitted to compete," Dumbledore said, and for the first time he was interrupted by boos and complaints. They were short-lived, however, as the Headmaster gave a look that at once conveyed patience and disappointment.
"This is to be an advanced undertaking, to be certain, and once chosen, you are bound to compete. For now, though, it is time to bid you a wonderful year of learning, of exciting competition and for now, a good night!" He stepped down and the head boys and girls took the cue, gathering their students to take them to their respective common rooms.
"I can't believe this trash!" Ron protested as he stood with the rest of them. "Age restriction, can you believe it!?"
"I wonder who it'll be," Harry said with a sound of excitement. This year, the excitement would be centered elsewhere.
"The Triwizard Tournament requires some really advanced knowledge to compete, stuff that we haven't even covered." Hermione was responding to Ron and Brad smiled. It was good to be back.
Lucius Malfoy sat gently in a booth at Doucasse's Delicatessen, one of the finest establishments in Diagon Alley. He had made a habit of coming once each Sunday for dinner, and sometimes took Narcissa out when she was feeling the need for such a thing.
It was a vice of his, to be certain. He'd always had a soft spot for high quality food. Often, he wondered how the pathetic masses could stomach the unpalatable excuses for sustenance offered by places such as the Leaky Cauldron. Eggs and toast? Hardly.
Lucius didn't look up at the waitress as she approached, preferring to keep his eye on the menu he'd just opened. It was for show, of course. He knew what he would get. He'd been craving the Wagyu rib eye steak, served with spicy radishes and a garnishment that, while he was uncertain the origin of, was something he'd grown quite fond of.
His attempts thus far to obtain the secret of this garnishment had proven less than fruitful, including an eighty galleon tip left to the chef. It was only a matter of time, of course, before he learned the secret of this recipe and could compel his wife to learn it. Until then, it was his favorite order on the menu.
He ordered his favored meal along with a glass of wine and smirked as the waitress left to place his order. Her hips swung so nicely underneath the tight skirt she wore. He'd never take her, to be sure, a waitress was beneath him. It wasn't difficult to appreciate the view, however.
"See something you like, friend?" a voice asked, knocking him out of his thoughts. Lucius looked up to see a tall man wearing what must be an expensive suit, for a muggle. He seemed oddly out of place, and yet supremely comfortable with himself as he twirled a stubby wand between his fingers.
"Do I know you?" Lucius asked, mostly out of politeness. He was certain that he did not know the man. The newcomer smiled a crooked, wicked smile and took a seat on the opposite side of the booth.
"She's a beaut, lemme tell ya." He sat back in the booth as Lucius frowned in disapproval. Pulling the glasses from his face to wipe the lenses, he continued. "Estelle is her name. From Romania, believe it or not." He smiled that same crooked grin as he put the glasses on and leaned forward, as though to share a secret. "Get this, she's a pureblood too!" He rocked back into the booth, clearly satisfied with himself and clapped his hands together jovially.
"Is that so?" Lucius reached down to the booth beside him and grabbed his cane, holding the head of it. The concealed wand had saved him many times from crazed individuals.
"It is unbelievably so, my friend," he said, looking behind Lucius and smiling. When Lucius back, he saw the waitress coming back with his wine. "Thank you so much, darlin'," he said as she set the glass down. He pulled out several galleons and handed them to her as a tip, giving her shocked face a wink and sending her away. The man was apparently generous and it caught Malfoy's attention.
"Who exactly are you?" Lucius asked, impressed by the funds that this interloper surely had. The man cocked his head to the side and grinned.
"Oh, I get called all sorts of things. Mr. Eden if you want to get formal, but the friend's all call me Howard."