A/N: we're sorry that it has taken us so long to update (half a year passes quickly), but we're starting college soon, so we've all been busy. We hope to finish this over the summer, but if not, most of the writing will undoubtedly be done by jandl, so if you don't like her writing, you probably won't like the rest of this story, just to warn you.
Thanks to all those who have reviewed. It's what has encouraged us to finally update this thing. We hope you like this new addition, but it is short.
Chapter 11: The Only Thing Worse than Beating a Dead Horse is Betting on One
Yet another memo landed itself on a specific desk in the Office of International Magical Cooperation. The man's hand reached out to grab it, opening it quickly, lest it be another howler. They had been barreling in by the tons ever since Voldemort's return at the end of the prior year. The other two people in the office covered their ears quickly to brace themselves against the shouting, but the man holding the letter merely opened it without flinching. He was slightly relieved, (although he was never one to admit when he was worried), to discover that it was indeed not a howler at all. It was just a normal letter reminding him of an important meeting with the Auror department later in the afternoon. The man chuckled slightly. How would he forget a meeting that had been stressed all day long--first from his colleagues in his office, and then from Lupin and Tonks? He may be old, but he wasn't stupid by any means.
"You can take your hands off your ears," he said loudly, although to them it was still muffled.
They did so hesitantly, as though afraid he was kidding with them.
"Anything important in there, Bristow? Is there anything about the Death Eater attacks or about those new American Cauldron Bottoms we've been investigating?" asked a junior ministry official named Kenway.
CIA Agent Jack D. Bristow just pinched the space between his eyes in frustration. Kenway was distrustful of all Americans-minus Jack-and no amount of assurances from Jack would convince him that Americans were not conducting secret experiments to become the best wizarding conglomerate in the world. Jack sometimes wondered why Kenway was in the particular office he was in, given his xenophobia.
"No," he answered stonily, "it was just reminding me of my meeting with the three heads of the Auror division, that's all."
"Speaking of which, weren't you supposed to be there about twenty minutes ago?" asked the other agent.
"Damn it!" yelled Jack. "I forgot that damn clock was twenty minutes slow." There had recently been a magical surge of power within the ministry, and as a side effect, all magically operated machines had shut down temporarily. Most of the items had been fixed, but for some reason, the Office of International Magical Cooperation wasn't one of the first offices people went to when they fixed things. It was actually usually the last.
"Before I forget," began Jack, "could you-"
"On it," answered Kenway.
"And could you-"
"Already done, sir," answered the other agent.
Jack just shook his head. "You people have gotten to know me too well."
Jack frowned as he exited the room. This was not good. He was getting way too close to his fellow workers. He knew that Kenway, and the other agent (a female named Martin), had flushed with pride when he said that they knew him too well. After all, after only three months in the ministry, he was already extremely well respected. But, as a CIA agent, no one can know you. That makes you too vulnerable, especially in an unfamiliar place such as this.
He got on the ministry's version of an elevator, and gave the automatic "Hello" responses to those officials who joined him. Jack was never one much for idle chit-chat and the ride to the Auror division floor seemed to take an eternity. When he got to the correct floor, he bid goodbye as quickly as he could, and searched for Kingsley's office. The conversation he heard made him pause at the door.
"I am not going to step into the fire, Tonks!" came Lupin's voice through the door.
"Yes, you bloody well are, if I have to push you out of the frying pan!" answered Tonk's voice in retaliation.
Jack would have laughed at their conversation, if Jack had a sense of humor. It wasn't very often that one came across a conversation that seemed to be jacked full of proverbial phrases. He knew he was running late for the meeting, but he decided to stay in the hallway for a few minutes more. This conversation was a whole lot more interesting than what he usually heard at the office.
"Any news on that new mole we've gotten inserted into the Death Eater party?" asked Tonks.
"I've not checked with them. We've had a lot of problems with double-crossers lately, Tonks. I'm not sure if we should trust another defector. Suppose it happens again...I'm not sure that I want to risk it."
"You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, Lupin. How can you expect to make any leeway in catching the Death Eaters and winning this war, if you're not willing to lead the horse to water?"
"You're ignoring the second part of that phrase, Nymphadora."
"And what would that be, Remus?"
"I believe the completed phrase says that you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Even if we can entice people to fight for our side, we can't make them stay faithful afterwards."
The voices were getting heated, and as much as Jack was enjoying the slightly playful banter, he knew he had important business to discuss with them. Still, it seemed rude to just enter without knocking. Jack mentally rebuked himself. Since when had he cared about being rude? Maybe he needed to get back to the CIA. He was becoming way to soft for his own liking.
"You asked to see me?" he asked in his traditional stoic, don't-give-me-any-shit-because-I-won't-put-up-with-it attitude.
"Wotcher, Bristow," said Tonks, winking at him slightly in her normal, carefree manner.
"Maybe we should just get to it. I have an important letter to write to the President of American Magical Practices, concerning the next meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. I should get to it promptly. What business do you wish to discuss with me this evening?"
"I just wanted to warn you that one of our spies in Voldemort's inner circle has warned us of a new Death Eater."
"I fail to see what this has to do with me. Wouldn't the Department of Magical Law Enforcement usually take care of this?"
"Yes, only she's from your neck of the woods, Mr. Bristow. It appears she's lived in America for at least the last four years. We thought maybe you should do a checkup and confirm our sources. After all, you can never be too sure about accusations when they come from an original Death Eater, whether they claim to have changed their robe colors or not," said Lupin.
"Careful, Lupin," warned Tonks, "you know that Dumbledore trusts Snape as much as he trusts you."
"I know," acquiesced Lupin, "but that doesn't mean that I have to trust him. After all, he didn't trust me."
Jack decided to step in before this turned into a full-blown argument between Lupin and Tonks. He couldn't stand here all day after all.
"Do you happen to have a name for this alleged new Death Eater?" he interrupted.
"Yes, hold on a second, I'll give you the file."
Lupin rifled through the contents of his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"It was just here a minute ago," he muttered confusedly. "Why can't I find it?"
"It's in your hand, mate. You've been holding it the whole time," responded an extremely amused Tonks.
"Oh right." Lupin laughed and handed the file to Jack who muttered a thanks and left.
"Well, that crisis is over," said Lupin as the door shut behind Jack.
"The only thing worse than beating a dead horse is betting on one," Tonks responded darkly.
"What does that mean?"
"I hope we never have to find out. Let's just hope this gray cloud has a silver lining for once."
Jack sat down wearily at his desk. This was going to be a long night. Not only did he have to write that letter to America, plus a letter to Dixon, but now he also had to do research on some American nobody that he had never met, who probably had nothing to do with this whole mess in the first place. Stupid, bloody Brits never knew how to profile. Didn't they know that you could never trust a turncoat, no matter how much they claimed to have changed? Arvin Sloane was living proof of that.
He was working diligently on his letter to Dixon a few hours later, his letter to the President of American Magical Practices neatly sealed and addressed on the desk beside his left hand. His right hand was manically writing, as though in a desperate hurry to finish its task. He didn't notice the barn owl fly through the open window, nor did he hear its hoot to try and grasp his attention. He didn't notice it at all until it gave him a painful peck on the top of his head. With his left hand, he rubbed his wound, and with his right, he untied the letter from the bird's claws.
He read the letter silently for a few minutes, and paused in shock and horror. Without hesitation, he opened the file that Lupin and Tonks had given a few hours prior. He had forgotten to even glance at it before. What he saw confirmed his suspicions.
He looked at the letter again. It was from Dixon. All it said was that correspondence was going to be harder than usual because NSA Agent Lauren Reed, Vaughn's wife, was taking an indefinite leave of absence, and was going abroad to clear her mind. Apparently, she had had an emotional breakdown in the office when she had been informed of the length of time that she would be separated from her husband.
Jack looked at the file again. Severus Snape, a spy for Dumbledore within Voldemort's inner circle, had recently gathered intelligence about a new Death Eater within the ranks. She had apparently been doing a covert mission for about two years, and was finally able to return to the company of her master, at least for some period of time. The details of her mission were unknown to Snape. However, due to Snape's trust from Lord Voldemort he was able to gain knowledge of her name. Her name was Lauren Reed.
He sighed. It was going to be an even longer night than he had thought. He had another letter to write.
A/N: we're sorry that was so short, but we've left ya'll waiting for so long, and this was just a filler chapter to describe where Jack was and what he was doing. The song which inspired this chapter was "The Only Thing Worse than Beating a Dead Horse is Betting on One," by Relient K. (Yeah, that's the whole title of the song). It's from their newest album "MmHmm."
Just listen to the politician wishing his position wasn't missing everything his heart would like to say/And a constant in the Constitution is that there can't be one solution/Cause then we'd know the truth, and we would hate it anyway
Opinions are immunity to being told you're wrong/Paper, rock, and scissors, they all have their pros and cons/And all of us we will endure just like we always have/But you just can't be too sure how long this will last
'Cause we control the chaos/In the back of our minds, our problems seem so small/But they grow on us like gravity, but gravity still makes us fall
see ya' next time!
Alias: Mystic
