Again, sorry for the delay getting these out. Story is still alive and kicking, just going through editing delays and the like. Markus, I'll have to look at the vehicles used in ARMA, could be something there I like. Thanks for the tip. Gilyflower, thanks for reading and I'm glad to hear you're enjoying!


Brad woke up a little later than he normally did. It was five in the morning and through the sliding glass door he could see dawn on the horizon. He felt well rested and, for the briefest moment, considered staying in bed for a little while longer. His habits got the best of him however, and he slid out of bed.

On the desk, near the closet, a set of folded shorts and a t-shirt caught his eye. They were lying alongside a pair of running shoes. He couldn't remember if they'd been there when he'd gone to sleep or not, but he was thankful for them regardless. He hadn't considered how staying the night might mess with his morning routine. Throwing them on, he quietly headed downstairs.

Once he'd made it to the foyer, he frowned at the front door. He hadn't thought to ask about any sort of security systems and didn't want to set anything off. Instead, he headed to the dining room door, which he'd gone in and out of without incident last night.

The morning air was too crisp to be readily comfortable, but that would change once his heart rate elevated. Rather than take the path back to the waterfall Brad took a right and headed to the front of the house. The stone path lead to a driveway where a well maintained SUV was parked. Deciding that this was as good a spot as any, Brad began his jog down the driveway.

His feet kicked up small clouds of a fine dust as he made his way down the dirt road, a small sense of frustration nagging at him. The run was all downhill, which didn't make for invigorating exercise. Finally, the dirt road went over a set of train tracks running north and south and into an asphalt road. He took the bike path alongside the road, heading northbound, and picked up the pace since the run had been no challenge at that point.

The empty road wound to the west and he started seeing other buildings. He passed under a bridge that had been spray painted in graffiti and kept going. To the right was a cobblestone wall, and to the left was the hill that Chateau Delacour sat on.

After a while, he made it to an intersection and decided that this was as good a place as any to stop. He still had to climb the hill after he returned and he didn't want to get turned around somewhere in town. Instead, he turned and followed the same path back.

The hill, though steep in some points, wasn't particularly challenging. Still, by the time he'd made it back to the chateau, he was sweating and panting. Good enough. The sun itself was now starting to peak over the horizon. Still in the driveway, Brad did a few sets of push ups, burpees, and sit ups, before returning through the dining room door.

He quietly padded back to his room, careful to head directly to the bathroom in his suite. He set his workout attire in a laundry hamper and stepped into the shower. It was large, with plenty of room to maneuver, and this time he couldn't help taking a little extra time, just to enjoy it.

By the time he stepped out, he felt like a new person. The comfortable bed, the beautiful views, the fresh air...this place was truly magical. He smiled at the unintended pun as he grabbed the shower and had to stifle a groan as he picked it up. The towel rack was heated and he was immediately convinced that a heated towel rack was the pinnacle of luxury.

He headed back to the bedroom and was surprised to see his uniform hanging from the bedpost, freshly cleaned. He quickly changed and, unsure of what to do with himself, he decided to head back downstairs. As he stepped out he caught Fleur stepping out of her room, running a towel through her hair.

"Good morning," she said, flashing him an intoxicating smile, her head cocked to the side as she worked at her hair. Her vanilla/cinnamon scent was exceptionally strong and he couldn't help the returned smile."Good morning to you," Brad replied, falling into step beside her as they headed downstairs.

"Did you sleep well?" Fleur asked, pulling the towel away from her head and running her fingers through the long hair, almost playfully.

"Better than I have in a long time, actually," Brad admitted, feeling a little spoiled. "How about you?"

"Same," she said. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Fleur hopped past the last one and turned toward the dining room. He couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like she had skipped. Brad followed her, smiling. She seemed more energetic and happy this morning and he was glad to see it.

"Good morning, mama, papa," Fleur said, already bouncing into the dining room just as Brad made it to the hallway. It didn't take him long to catch up, however. In the dining room, Fleur grabbed four cups and a pitcher and headed outside. Apolline was depositing a stack of plates and bowls onto a corner of the table and Henri was following Fleur, silverware in hand.

"Anything I can do to pitch in?" Brad asked, not comfortable with letting them pull all of the weight. Apolline slid the stack of dishes toward him.

"There's a table outside, in the backyard. Please set these." She gestured to the plates and bowls. "And," she added, leaning in conspiratorially, "zank you for talking to her last night. She seems much happier today."

"No problem," Brad shrugged, taking the stack of dishes and following Henri outside. Fleur was just pouring some kind of juice into the last of the four cups. She smiled at them in greeting and took a seat as Henri and Brad set the rest of the dishes out.

Once everything was placed, Brad ventured a look out over the river. The view was nothing short of spectacular. Sunlight was glinting off of the ripples and waves, and across the river, the city of Remoulins was beginning to stir.

He hadn't realized he was staring until he felt something brush his hand. He looked down to see Fleur holding it, pulling him gently toward the seat beside her. Between staring at the horizon and sitting next to Fleur, the choice was no contest and he immediately allowed himself to be guided down.

Apolline was the last to make it outside and she sat beside her husband. Before he could say anything however, the plates and bowls were filled with food. Eggs, bacon, and a biscuit on appeared neatly on each plate. The bowls were filled with chopped melons, grapes, and apple slices on top of yoghurt. It was perfect.


Howard Eden frowned, twirling his wand between his fingers as he stared at pictures mounted along the hallway, trying his best to ignore the obnoxious whimpers from the living room. The photos were all more or less the same, a husband and wife smiling at the camera. Different places, different times, he supposed, but more or less the same. Boring.

Not like a magical photograph. Those moved, had personalities. Some of the better charms actually made talking to the picture possible. These still photos were just so...mundane.

Then, that was life as a muggle. Boring and mundane. Pointless. For much, much too long, muggles had the primary take of the world. They got the cities, got to live in the open, got to enjoy their lives together and carefree.

He remembered that time in his life, prior to learning he was a wizard. He'd felt largely the same. Boring. Now, with the twirl of this wand between his fingers, he could start fires. He could heat food, get things, kill things, fly...the sky was truly the limit.

"Preese," a muffled moan came from the living room, forcing Howard out of his thoughts...again. He stomped back to the living room, each footfall loud and announcing his profound irritation with her. Bound tightly with ropes and a gag, side-by-side, were the muggle owners of the home.

He'd been getting a little rusty since his arrival in England. He'd made it a point in the United States to kill muggles on at least a somewhat regular basis. This would be the first time since he'd arrived, though.

"I believe I was very specific with my instructions," Howard said coldly to the woman, who was straining to look back up at him. His wand was moving more rapidly between his fingers, another tell pointing at his irritation. She shook her head no and started crying again. "I'm many things, but a liar, I am not."

He seized his wand at the proper point and directed it to the ground beside the husband, running the ancient incantation through his mind. It was a complex one and he was pleased when the inky black spot began to spread from that spot on the floor.

As it did, an inhuman screeching began to emanate, louder and louder. It was the sound of profound and terrible suffering and, though he'd heard it before and expected it, it made the hair on his arms and neck stand up.

As the spot opened, just a foot or two from the husband, the man began to try in vain to squirm away from the spot. Gnarled, blackened limbs started reaching out of the inky darkness, grasping desperately for anything they could get ahold of. One hand grabbed a corner of the rug and viciously ripped it into the darkness, another caught a chair leg and did the same.

The man, now loud in his muffled alarm, continued to try to scoot away from it. Howard planted a foot on the man's shoulder and kicked. The movement scooted the man's foot just into reaching distance of the nearest hand, which latched onto his ankle like a vice. The husband had one, brief moment to squeal through the gag, and then he was gone.

"I could have just simply killed you, I promised to. But you couldn't just shut up. This was on you," Howard told the woman, who'd buried her head into the carpet to try and block out the nightmare before her. He kicked her in as well and then closed the portal up. No dementors managed to make it out this time, which was good. He could handle them, but he preferred not to.


In his very climate controlled office, Daniel Burke took a sip of his tea. It was Sandra's idea. She wanted him to be a little healthier, and he couldn't fault her arguments. The first few days had been awful. For one thing, he didn't much enjoy tea, let alone caffeine headaches.

Now, he was resigned to the beverage. It didn't taste bad, actually. Some of the teas she bought, like this matcha, were actually quite good. It just wasn't coffee.

Setting the mug down, he picked up the next paper in his stack of "shit to do before going home." A report on the Egypt investigation. He skimmed through it, frowning. No confirmed presence of that bastard.

According to the lab all DNA samples were either destroyed or damaged by heat prior to their analysis. The report cited a 68% probability that the DNA was that of Howard Eden, but of course no definitive determination could be established based on gathered evidence.

It was these prissy new kids that the agency kept hiring. Everyone was so concerned with saying something wrong that they dared not make a damned yes or no decision. He could deliver them Edens' left hand and the lab would undoubtedly tell him that there was a fifty percent chance that the hand belonged to the President of Bulgaria. Never dealing in absolutes was a shitty trait in science professionals.

Sighing, he shifted to the next paper, translated and assessed versions of the papyrus. It was just as the Egyptian intelligence guy had said. It dealt with Dementors and something called a horcrux. Burke didn't pretend to understand what he was looking at. Magic wasn't his department, the JSOC assholes could have a blast with that report for all he cared.

Next was a letter of thanks from the French Ministry for allowing an officer from TFA to be debriefed. That had actually been a huge win for the Agency. The rep from France, Mr. Delacour, had already come bearing gifts and had in innate understanding on how to turn wheels. Sure enough, stapled to the letter of thanks was a receipt from the Acquisitions department, a box with six vials of Veritaserum.

For whatever reason, MACUSA had staunchly refused to share Veritiserum with JSOC, and by extension, the CIA. It was a damned shame. The whole purpose of the agency was to gather and sort intelligence. Literally magically forcing people to tell the truth would be a huge win.

MACUSA didn't want to share and the French were willing to, so Burke pulled some strings and got General Thomas to authorize the debriefing. Not a big difficulty since France was already an allied nation that worked closely with American special operations and they were exploring how to perform missions that would assist JSOC in the future. He left out the Veritaserum to both MACUSA and JSOC. The magical government would get its panties in a twist if they learned the CIA was dealing with outside sources and JSOC was a bunch of boy scouts that would probably tattle if they found out.

Daniel took another sip of his not-coffee and picked up the next paper. At this rate, he'd be done just after dinner. Not bad.


Mike sat down beside Hermione, who scooted a little closer to him on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room. The little gesture helped set his heart at ease. Their fight had not been pretty and for a while there he had been scared that she was ready to break things off.

It would have torn him apart. He still held the ring in his pocket, but couldn't bring himself to give it to her yet. Things were better after the fight now, but they weren't perfect. He just wasn't ready to diminish sharing that part of himself with her.

The fact was, he loved her. He thought about her non-stop and imagining life without her was both scary and impossible. He just couldn't picture it. He wanted to tell her that, and more. The fight was just still so fresh. He was too afraid that she would, even in some dark corner of her mind, think he was saying it to help her feel better after the fight, and he couldn't let her think that. Better to just wait a bit, be patient. He wanted her to be sure, absolutely and unequivocally certain, that he was madly in love with her. Anything less would be an injustice. He smiled as she rested her head against him, enjoying the familiar comfort.

"How was your day?" she asked after a minute. It was quiet, but with other Gryffindors studying in the Common Room, that wasn't a surprise.

"Not a bad one," Mike replied truthfully. "Spent some time at the firing range. Did you talk to Brad at all today?"

"Mm-mm." She rocked her head no and her bushy hair tickled his chin, but he ignored it, glad to just have her close.

"He spent the night at the Chateau Delacour," he said, unable to help the smile. Hermione sat up to look at him, surprised.

"I thought he was getting debriefed about the task force!" she exclaimed, a hint of a smile on her features as well. They'd talked before about whether or not they thought Brad would grow a pair and ask her out.

"Apparently the liaison for the French Ministry is her dad," Mike chuckled. "Poor Brad came back looking like a million bucks, must have been real tough over there."

"So much for the scary dad thing, huh?" Hermione laid her head back down on him.

"Guess so," he agreed. They stayed like that for a while, just spending time together. He reached into his pocket a couple times, touching the ring, warring with himself over whether it was time or not. Before he could convince himself, Hermione stood up.

"I'm going to go get some sleep," she said, leaning to plant a kiss on his forehead. "You should too. Good night."

"Yeah, night!" he called after he as she headed to the stairs. He jumped up after a second, feeling a little better about things, and headed to the boys' dormitory. He was surprised when he looked at his watch. It was already past 2300 hours.

In the boys' dorm, a bright light was shining from underneath Harry's covers. Mike shook his head. Sometimes that guy got into a fit of studying. Mike kicked the bedpost as he walked by.

"Shut that shit off and get some sleep, bro," he whispered. "Its past…" he did the quick mental calculation to put things into civilian time, "...eleven."

"Er, right," Harry said and the light went out. Mike crossed over to his bed, laid down, and was snoring less than a minute after his head hit the pillow.


Harry sat there for a moment, his wand in one hand and the Mauraders Map in the other. He had a habit of just looking at what people were up to sometimes. It was amusing to see what people did when they didn't think someone was watching.

The prime example was between Marcus, Terri, and Lisa. Marcus and Terri had been openly dating for a while. Harry didn't make a habit of knowing everyone's dating history, but these two were very open about their relationship. However, in the middle of the night, Lisa and Marcus were often in the Ravenclaw Common Room together.

Tonight, when he checked, something he hadn't expected to see showed up. The name Bartimus Crouch showed up in Snape's office, which didn't make any kind of sense. By all accounts, Crouch was shut in and in the middle of some kind of health crisis. Percy had taken over the majority of Crouch's work at the Ministry, at least the lower level stuff that required being physically present.

The fact that he was searching Snape's office struck Harry. Snape was already stressed about break-ins at his office and Karkaroff was definitely worried about something involving him. Snape had always been, if not evil, just plain bad. It was impossible to imagine why Dumbledore could trust the man so much. Yet, here was a Ministry official searching his office.

Mike's snores started to rumble steadily. He briefly thought of waking Mike up to ask about it, but felt certain that Mike wouldn't be worried about it. He could almost hear the operator telling him that that was the Ministry's business.

But, he was wrong. Mike was a great guy, but he wasn't targeted every day by Snape. If Harry could help Crouch get Snape kicked out of the school...well, it was a no brainer. He pulled the covers off and slid out of bed, padding over to his chest.

As carefully as he could manage, he opened it and retrieved the one other item he would need, his dad's cloak. Slipping the cloak on over himself, he became effectively invisible. He was slow in moving around Mike, but once he'd made it to the stairs he picked up the pace, not wanting to miss this window of opportunity.

Though he had the map with him, he plotted his path to Snape's office. He had to force himself to slow down as he exited the portrait, not wanting his ankles to be visible as the cloak caught wind. He started down the stairs, slower at first. A glance at the map revealed that Crouch was closer to the door of the private study.

Not wanting to miss the chance, he picked up the pace as he hit the stairs. His footfalls echoed through the stairwells and he was certain his ankles were visible, but he could bank on no one being out after hours. He started to skip stairs on the way down until-

"Ahh!" Harry cried out as one of his legs slipped through a trick staircase. It was a problem he hadn't encountered since TFA had arrived to provide security at the school, and evidently he'd taken it for granted. His entire leg was dangling beneath the staircase and he was gripping either side of the stairwell to keep himself aloft. He winced as the shriek echoed back to him and he risked his balance, using his left hand to center the cloak over his body to make sure he was covered as he pulled himself upright, just in case.

"Who's there?" The familiar drawl of Professor Snape sounded from nearby and Harry's heart froze. Of course, of course, Snape would show up, here and now...of all times! Harry heard the footsteps, faint at first, but they grew louder as Snape came into view, the flicker of his lantern playing shadows across the stairs. "Show yourself!" Snape called out.

"Pipe down, you!" The faint cry came from somewhere upstairs a ways, a painting taking offense to the racket. Snape sighed, but complied, at least for now.

Professor Snape took another step closer to Harry's portion of the staircase, which he was gripping tightly. The last thing he needed was to fall. Snape would surely hear it. He'd be placed in detention for being out of bed after hours, he'd be injured, and Snape would probably find both the Marauder's Map and the invisibility cloak. He couldn't stomach the thought of Snape getting two of his most prized possessions.

His heart stopped at the thought of the map. He wasn't holding it anymore. As he looked to the ground, he felt his stomach twist. Snape's foot was almost on top of the map. He was almost certainly going to find it.

"Out for a midnight stroll, are we, Severus?" a familiar voice growled from the shadows. The familiar clunk-step, clunk-step sounded through the stairwells as Professor Moody stepped into view. Snape looked irritated but opted not to respond to the jab.

"A student is hiding out here, out of bed after hours," Snape replied, peering back up and down the multitude of stairs, looking for someone. As Harry watched on in abject horror, Moody stepped closer, the whirling blue mechanical eye fixating on him for a long moment before zipping about elsewhere. He had to wonder if Moody saw him.

"Looks like an empty hall to me," Moody grumbled. "But then, I suppose you'd be an expert at hiding things, now, wouldn't you?" This caught Snape's attention and the Professor turned to face the former Auror.

"You would know," he said dryly, "after the thorough job you did searching my office. I still don't believe Dumbledore asked-" Moody stepped closer, menacingly and cut Snape off.

"Dumbledore asked me to keep the school safe, and I'll do just that. No stone left unturned and the like." Snape, for his part, didn't back away when Moody stepped closer. Instead he looked down at Moody, down until his eyes landed on the parchment by his foot. "I know this…" Snape muttered, stooping down to pick it up.

Moody took a step back to give Snape room, his real eye watching the parchment curiously while the blue mechanical one whirled back to face Harry.

Its mine! That is my parchment! Harry mouthed the words, not daring to speak out.

"Potter is here!" Snape exclaimed, having examined it thoroughly. "I recognize this old parchment!" Snape turned away from Moody and headed straight for the stairs where Harry hung helplessly.

"Nonsense," Moody replied, closing the distance between the two and yanking the parchment from Snape's hand. Snape turned to Moody with an acidic look and Harry wondered for a moment if Snape was going to snap. "It's mine, I must've dropped it."

"I didn't-" Snape began, but Moody spoke loudly over him.

"Though, I'm sure the headmaster will be interested to know how quickly you thought of the boy." Snape took a step back, still eying Moody darkly. "Seem to have it in for him, you do."

"He's simply a rule-breaking brat that gets away with it all too often," Snape said in defense of himself.

"Maybe you ought to run along now," Moody smiled, "before you stick your foot any further in your mouth."

"I have every bit the authority to patrol these halls that you do." Snape scowled at the defense professor. Moody stepped out of the path that lead to the third floor corridors, holding his hand out in invitation.

"Then by all means, Severus, patrol." Moody replied, his smile not reaching his eyes. Snape hesitated for a moment, then left. As the potions professor passed, Moody's tongue darted from his mouth in that strange, partially insane way that it did.

After a moment, Moody stepped in front of Harry, offering a hand. "Up you go, now." Harry took it and allowed the professor to help him up.

"Thanks, professor," Harry said, folding the cloak in his arms. He felt a light wallop upside the head and looked up to see the professor had smacked him with the rolled up map.

"What're you doing out of bed at this hour, boy?" He actually looked irritated and Harry felt an immediate pang of regret. Over the last few months, he'd been taking personal defense lessons with Moody and, while the professor was a bit unhinged, he was adept at dueling and Harry had learned a lot. He respected Moody and felt bad to disappoint him.

"I…" Harry though for a moment. How lame would it sound, that he was trying to help Snape get fired. Still, he couldn't think of a good lie, and lies hadn't worked out well for him in the past either. "I was looking at the map, there," he gestured to the parchment, "and saw that Mr. Crouch was investigating Snape's office. I wanted…"

Moody chewed on his lip, examining the parchment again and listening intently, waiting for Harry to continue.

"...I wanted to help him get Snape out of here," he finished. It had in fact sounded as lame to his ears as he feared it would.

"Mr. Crouch, you say?" Moody asked. If he cared about the reasoning behind Harry's excursion, he didn't show it.

"Yeah, I saw his name in Snape's office," Harry repeated.

"That was a foolish thing you did, coming out here like that." Moody said, folding the map back up. "People are after you, boy, and make no mistake about it, they'll hurt you if you give them the chance."

"I'm sorry, sir." Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he felt like an idiot. Trying to get Snape fired had seemed so logical at the time.

"Don't be sorry to me, be careful!" Moody cried out a little louder than Harry had expected. "Leave catching bad guys to me. Speaking of, that's a handy cloak you have there."

"It was my dad's." Harry said, hefting it up slightly. Moody eyed it appraisingly.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me borrow it? That, along with this map, I might just find out who is behind all this yet." Moody adjusted his gaze to meet Harry's.

"Of course," Harry replied, handing the cloak over. He felt a discomfort deep in his gut at the idea of letting anyone borrow his dad's cloak, but the Professor was a former Auror. He could be trusted.