Chapter 6
Darkness. That was all Harry could see. Then again, that's all pretty much anybody would see with a hood over their head. He couldn't remember the last time he saw a light that wasn't from the ceiling in his cell. He didn't need to see to feel the ropes binding his hands and feet to the chair. His whole body was bruised, bloody, cut, and suffering the injuries of every form of torture imaginable, both muggle and magical. Suddenly, the cell door flew open and was followed a few seconds later by his hood being roughly pulled off of his head. After taking a moment to focus his eyes, he took in the sight of a large burly man scowling down at him while aiming a side arm directly at his face.
"Our patience has reached its end boy! Tell us who you are, your unit, your mission, and everything else you know!
"Fuck you."
The man grew enraged and slammed the butt of the sidearm across Harry's jaw, causing him to spit out a few globs of blood.
"Last chance boy!"
"Go fuck yourself!"
"Very well then…"
The man drew his sidearm and took aim, Harry staring him in the eye as he squeezed the trigger, not flinching as the blank round was expended from the chamber. The man's face went from that of a twisted scowl to a wide jolly grin. He quickly undid Harry's bindings and gave him a bottle.
"Drink it, it'll hold you over until we get you to a proper doctor."
Harry drank the potion and felt the pain across his body briefly subside.
"Now Lance Corporal, let me be the first to officially call you a Grim."
Harry felt a huge sigh of relief as he heard those words, he had finally passed the final test. He was now officially a full fledged member of the Special Magic Service, or SMS for short. They had adopted the Grim, the omen of death, as their official title. Personally, Harry thought it was fitting for the new unit, for their sole purpose was to kill everything they saw, muggle and magical. Bomb wielding terrorists or Voldemort himself, it didn't matter. Over the past six months he had gone through what could only be described as an experience akin to hell. He and the other SMS recruits had undergone extensive training in both muggle and magical forms of combat, from every type of muggle firearm, to battle magic and dueling strategies difficult for even the most experienced Aurors to perform. He had also been trained in multiple forms of unarmed combat and martial arts, even growing to rival several of his instructors in his proficiency in unarmed combat. They had been tested in multiple scenarios that they would frequently face on their missions in the field. The final test had been three weeks of brutal torture and interrogation by all the instructors, who used various forms of torture, including waterboarding, whipping, breaking bones, ripped out finger and toe nails, Torture curses, extensive invasions of his mind, and even being trained to resist veritaserum. All of these tests and challenges had culminated into him being molded into the perfect killer with no fear or hesitation in his heart or mind. To the average human being, and even by the standards of the most battle-hardened special forces members, he was unquestionably badass. He had also achieved all this before he was even 18 years old. The instructor that was now congratulating him on a job well done was a burly man by the name of Instructor MacBride, who prior to being an instructor for the SMS, had served as a member of the SAS for the past 15 years. Harry handed MacBride the bottle and took a step forward, limping heavily.
"Thank you Sir, though I do have to ask why you took it so easy on me back there a minute ago."
MacBride let off a gruff laugh and slapped him on the back, causing him to wince in pain.
"You're one mad bastard Potter, I like that. Now follow me, we'll get those wounds looked at."
The next several hours were spent in a base hospital, with various magical and muggle doctors treating the injuries spanning across his body, ultimately leaving him with only a mild soreness in his muscles and healed, but still prominent scars from the whippings he had endured. Three days later, he and the remaining recruits were standing in the middle of a small parade ground in the pouring rain, each of them wearing a black beret with the symbol of the Grim, marking them as members of Britain's deadliest unit. Their senior instructor stood in front of the formation, eyeing them closely.
"Over the course of the last six months, you have all been taken to your absolute limits and then pushed past them, taught to ignore pain and weather, learned how to eat, sleep, and kill anywhere with anything. You are Britain's line of defense against the darkest horrors that the magical world can inflict upon us. You are the instruments of their slow and grisly demise. You are cold-hearted killers. Period!
"Yes sir!"
"You are the barrier between the innocent and the likes of Voldemort and his breed of degenerates. You are the very first generation of Grims gentlemen, you have been granted an opportunity so few ever get the chance to receive. You set the standard, you write the history, you determine if you and your comrades live in glory or infamy, do you understand!"
"Yes sir!"
"Excellent, and lastly gentlemen, God save the Queen!"
"God save the Queen!"
The senior instructor gave a satisfied smirk and rendered a sharp salute to the eighty men in front of him, all of whom quickly returned the salute simultaneously.
"Grims, dismissed!"
"Yes sir!"
After their dismissal, Harry and the other SMS soldiers fell out of formation and returned to their barracks for the night, waiting for their first assignment in the coming days. Meanwhile, in the Prime Minister's residence at Number Twelve Downing Street, Prime Minister Tony Blair sat at his desk, facing the two wizards sitting across from him. Albus Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic, were currently discussing with him about the possibility of muggle military assistance. Unlike his predecessor, Scrimgeour was not too proud to ask for help when he needed it, which in this case led him to making his case to the muggle Prime Minister for aid.
"With all due respect Prime Minister, this is not simply an internal matter for the magical community anymore." Dumbledore said. "If we do not receive some assistance in the near future, we will be powerless to deter Voldemort from gaining any more strength. As soon as he is strong enough, he will launch an all out attack on your world next."
"Well Professor, it seems that you and I are of the same mind. Over the past year, the attacks carried out by these Death Eaters have continued to increase in frequency and destruction. It may interest you to know that the previous Prime Minister and his government had put a special plan into motion, a plan that I have chosen to continue, that has organized a special unit within our Army, specifically tasked with dealing with these kinds of dangers."
At this, Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow and interjected. "A special unit?"
Blair nodded, "Yes, due to the growing instability of the situation within the magical community, we have taken steps to better prepare ourselves to fight these battles. This unit is comprised of wizards that have been handpicked for this unique mission. The first group has just recently completed their training and is awaiting their first assignment."
Dumbledore and Scrimgeour looked at each other for a moment before Dumbledore turned back towards Blair.
"And they're prepared to accept an assignment you said?"
Blair nodded and Dumbledore thought for a moment.
"Would it be possible to send these soldiers to Hogwarts? The school is a prime target for Voldemort, has been for a long time. The muggleborns especially would benefit from the extra security."
"That could be arranged, Professor. I will also send support units to bolster their numbers in order to better protect the school."
Dumbledore looked relieved before Blair continued.
"However, and I want this to be explicitly clear, if I send in this unit, they will be granted full liberty to do what they deem necessary to maintain order and security. These are not ordinary soldiers Professor, they are brutal in their methods and will show no mercy. I have read the reports of their training and I can assure you, these men cannot even begin to comprehend the feeling of fear."
Dumbledore looked at him in a slightly confused way.
"What I mean, Professor, is that if I send them in, they will be at liberty to do whatever they have to do, and these aren't the kind of men prone to mercy."
"I understand Prime Minister, but given how grave the war has become, I fear we no longer have a choice."
"Very well Professor, I shall issue the order to their officers."
Dumbledore and Scrimgeour both thanked him and stood up from their seats, proceeding to the fireplace in the office, which was connected to the floo network. Before he stepped into the fireplace, Dumbledore turned to face Blair one last time.
"What is the name of this unit?"
"Well, officially they're the Special Magic Service, or the SMS, but they call themselves the Grims."
Dumbledore and Scrimgeour both felt deep frowns come across their faces and paled slightly. Blair noticed their reactions and asked what the meaning of the name was.
"The Grim is the omen of death, Prime Minister. Many in our world are terrified of the very mention of it, for fear that it will bring death to their own futures."
Blair chuckled a bit to himself. "Fitting"
Dumbledore's frown only deepened, and for the first time in a very long time, he dreaded the upcoming school year.