Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 15

Malcolm wandered back to his dormitory. He vaguely remembered the headmaster excusing him from the rest of his classes for the day. He was still in a daze when he gave the password and stepped into the common room.

He was going to die.

It wasn't a far off certainty, his eventual mortality. This was a little more immediate. He could catastrophically destabilize the next time he sneezed, though in all likelihood he would have a few years before that happened.

But there were no guarantees.

He stumbled into the dormitory, dropped his bag on top of his footlocker and stretched out on the bed. Immediately Brimstone jumped up on the bed and curled up on his stomach. Malcolm felt himself trembling a bit, but the small body resting on his middle radiated warmth through his robes like a hot coal. After a moment, he began stroking the soft fur. His hand shook at first, but the hellhound's soothing warmth crept up his fingers as well.

Soon the puppy was asleep again, and the boy dropped off as well.

Scene Break

Malcolm woke late that afternoon. He felt a flash of guilt before he remembered the headmaster had excused him from the rest of his classes that day, 'to think over his options.' The boy sighed as his familiar shifted sleepily on his stomach.

It's ironic, he mused, I live through something that should have killed me instantly, only to discover later that I have a terminal illness. Fate has a wicked sense of humor… but not one I'm really in a mood to appreciate. I just wish Nigel hadn't paid such a high price…

Memories stirred as he drifted off again.

Scene Break

A small boy exited the airplane, trailing behind his father. Neither of them spoke much as the desert air closed around them like a vice. Both were perspiring heavily before they reached the air conditioned coolness of the terminal. After passing through customs, a man in a plain black suit led them to a limousine at the curb. He held the rear door open for his charges, nodding politely to the quiet boy who followed his father into the vehicle.

He was the first person to directly acknowledge Malcolm's presence that day.

Scene Break

His first day in the new embassy, Malcolm was struck by several differences. The first was a list of warnings he was told to heed. As he scanned down the list, he came to several conclusions. The first was that he wasn't going to have much to do. He was basically restricted from leaving the embassy grounds except under very specific conditions. As he worked through the list, the warning about strange packages also rang a few bells. Are they worried about bombs? He wondered.

The final conclusion was not difficult to arrive at. His father had brought him to a fairly dangerous place. The question was why. His father was an intensely private man, but the boy knew he was no thrill-seeker. Mr. Smith, Sr., was methodical and cautious. Both qualities were essential for his true line of work, one Malcolm had been made aware of and cautioned never to discuss. Why would he agree to being posted here then?

His mind wandered back to a conversation that took place before they flew to Burkina Faso. Malcolm had asked, a bit wistfully, if it would have been possible to return to England, at least for a while. He wanted to see the land of his parents' birth and perhaps meet some of his relatives. A strange expression crossed his father's face before it returned to its normal reserve and he said that unfortunately it wouldn't be possible.

At the time, he'd been too distracted by his disappointment to care, but now he wondered. Thinking back, it almost looked like an expression of terror. Whatever hazards exist here must not be half as bad as whatever's waiting for him in England, Malcolm realized. I wonder if it has anything to do with Mum? The boy had no memories of his mother, but the thought still made his stomach clench like a fist.

He abandoned that singularly uncomfortable train of thought and instead decided to inspect their new home. The embassy compound appeared to have once been a large estate, with outbuildings surrounded by a substantial masonry wall. Malcolm and his father had rooms on the third floor of the main building. Their accommodations were comfortable, but not large.

The tutor hired to teach the staff-members' children was on vacation during the summer holidays. It had previously been deemed too dangerous for the children to attend a local school, so an older woman had been hired to lecture them.

Bored out of his mind, the boy soon began prowling the embassy buildings and grounds. Normally the quiet type, he'd also recently discovered a talent for moving quietly and staying unnoticed. He didn't understand why most people his age had to always be making noise and drawing attention to themselves. He was far more comfortable just listening and observing. He didn't give anything away for free and often learned things that surprised him.

One thing he learned was that a disproportionate number of embassy employees were young men in their twenties to thirties, all of them very fit. The first time he got up early and watched them all jogging around the inside of the compound wall, he knew for sure they were soldiers of some type. None of them, however, wore any kind of uniform. A couple of them were always outside, walking around. As he watched them scan the wall that girded the compound, he realized that they were some kind of protective detail.

Something about the smooth precision with which they moved appealed to the boy and he began shadowing them as they performed their rounds. They didn't appear to notice him at first, and he was amused by his unexpected proficiency.

He almost leapt out of his skin when a large callused hand fell upon his shoulder.

Scene Break

Malcolm stirred slightly as he heard his dorm-mates moving about. He kept his eyes shut though, not sure what, if anything, he wanted to say to them. If they heard about the messages sent to Professors Binns and McGonagall, then they probably just assumed he was sick.

He lay still, waiting for the sounds to cease. He wasn't quite ready to face his friends yet. After they left for dinner, he sat up, careful not to disturb Brimstone. Looking over at the nightstand, he saw that the house-elves had refilled the mug while he was sleeping.

Once the puppy was fed and asleep again, Malcolm slipped out through the empty common room. He felt too agitated to continue sleeping. He'd had quite a shock that morning, but he didn't feel like hiding from reality anymore.

His footsteps were silent as he made his way up to the tower where he took his astronomy class on Wednesday nights. A light breeze was blowing across the empty parapet, the late October air brisk. Malcolm watched the setting sun light up the Quidditch pitch and thought about endings. He'd been dreaming a lot about the past. Maybe because I'm not going to have much of a future, he thought bitterly.

The boy made a disgusted sound and frowned. Nigel would kick my arse if he heard me whinging like that. Feeling sorry for myself solves nothing. He smiled for a moment as he recalled the man who'd taught him so much.

Scene Break

He'd nearly jumped out of his skin when the man surprised him that day. He did spin around awkwardly; cringing back until he recognized the dark-haired man who'd picked them up at the airport. The noise also alerted the two men he'd been observing, who turned, each reaching towards the small of their backs.

The man grabbed Malcolm's arm to steady him. "Easy there, lad. Appears I gave you as bad a start as Watkins and Tibbs over there."

The men Malcolm had crept up on looked at each other a little sheepishly. The one behind him chuckled. "The boy's got a light step, he does. A born sneak I'd say." The smile on his face took any offense out of his words. Malcolm belted out a stammered apology as he tried to make as graceful an exit as possible.

He'd expected some repercussions from the incident, but his father said nothing to him that evening or the next. After that, he cautiously started watching the men again… this time keeping an eye out for additional watchers.

In time, he'd mapped out their movements in his head. As he suspected, their seemingly aimless walks across the ground managed to cover the circumference of the grounds every half hour or so. With the extra attention paid to the main gate and other access points, it was clear to him that they were part of some sort of protective detail working at the embassy. The presence of additional plain-clothes security reinforced Malcolm's impression that this was considered a dangerous posting.

This was reinforced when he saw them react to an intrusion. He'd heard shouts echoing over the compound walls for more than a minute before the disheveled man launched himself at the gate, climbing desperately for the top. A lumpy sack dangled from one hand as he scrambled up the wrought iron. No sooner had he tumbled awkwardly over the top than the two men were on him.

The intruder froze when he felt the barrel of a pistol pushed into the back of his neck. The weapon appeared in Watkins' hand as if by magic. Tibbs took the sack from his slack fingers and peered inside. "Some knick-knacks and jewelry," he said in a low voice.

"Let's get him somewhere quiet," the other one said. "Nigel's going to want to talk to him a bit."

Watkins frog-marched the man back to the main building. The intruder's eyes were wide and he offered no resistance. No sooner was he out of sight than a man in uniform appeared at the gate, demanding something in a loud voice. A few local people, breathing hard, staggered up behind him.

After a few moments of quiet conversation, Tibbs handed the bag back through the grate. The man behind the official grabbed it. When he looked inside, he let out a great sigh of relief and began smiling and nodding at Tibbs.

The official, however, was not happy about something. He spoke again in a demanding tone and Tibbs just shook his head and shrugged. "Don't know where he is now, but he's not here," he said in an apologetic tone.

The official, who appeared to be some sort of policeman, spoke several more times. Each time Tibbs either shook his head or shrugged like he was confused. Malcolm stepped back behind the corner of one of the embassy cars when the dark-haired man walked out towards Tibbs.

The man turned away from gate with some relief and met the man half-way. Malcolm edged around the car until he could hear what was said.

"What's the situation out here?" the dark-haired man asked in a low voice.

"The local police want to run the guy in," Tibbs answered. "Nigel, they're talking about calling in the district inspector to make a formal complaint to the ambassador."

"That's a lot of fuss over a simple burglary," Nigel answered suspiciously.

"They said he robbed the mayor's cousin," Tibbs drawled.

"Still, I'd like to sweat this guy a little more. Make sure there's nothing else going on. It may be just what it looks like – fleeing criminal cuts through the wrong yard."

"Except there are no coincidences, yes, I remember Left- I mean, Nigel," Tibbs replied with a tight grin.

"Great, look over there. He got here bloody quick," Nigel growled.

Malcolm slipped from behind the car and followed the two men to the gate.

A black car had pulled up outside the gate, and a fat man in an expensive-looking suit was walking up to the gate.

"I would like to speak with the ambassador or the senior attaché," he asked in a loud voice. Malcolm could tell he wasn't happy to be called out for this.

"I can get him if you like," Nigel said in an even voice, "but the man isn't here anymore."

The inspector's eyes narrowed as he glanced from Nigel to Tibbs. Looking suddenly past them, they lit up as he saw Malcolm. "You there, boy."

Malcolm swallowed as what felt like everyone in the street turned their attention toward him. "M-me, sir?"

"Yes," he snapped, but his smile indicated some enjoyment of Malcolm's nervousness, "did you see what happened to the man who climbed over this gate?" he asked.

Malcolm tried to ignore Tibbs and Nigel's eyes as they spun toward him. "He's not here sir. When he saw us looking at him, he dropped his bag and ran that way." He pointed to the left along the wall. "When he reached the gardener's hut he climbed onto the roof and jumped from there to the top of the wall. He was very fast, was he an athlete?" he asked guilelessly.

The fat man waved off Malcolm's question and turned to berate the policeman in a language Malcolm was rather glad he didn't understand. He looked back toward Nigel and saw the man staring at him in an appraising manner.

After that, Nigel brought Malcolm to his father's office (he was officially an economics advisor to the ambassador) to discuss the incident. When his father asked him why he'd lied to the police inspector, Malcolm admitted that he'd heard Nigel saying they want to hold on to the intruder to ask him some questions. His father exchanged a glance with the dark-haired man, who now had a small grin on his face. He started to apologize for his son's behavior, but Nigel waved it off.

"Actually, he did us a good turn today. Lied like a champ, he did. Did it so well, the old windbag immediately bought it. Saved us a fair bit of headache with the locals."

Malcolm's father frowned slightly, but nodded his acknowledgement. When they left, Nigel walked him down to the embassy kitchen. Watkins and a couple of other men were sitting around the large table. "I meant what I said earlier. Good work." He paused, looking down at the boy. "Well, I imagine you're a bit bored with the place already… and you have shown your, er, discretion. If you're really curious about what we're doing here, I can answer some of your questions."

After that day, Malcolm was no longer bored hanging about the embassy. As he'd guessed, Watkins, Tibbs, and the other men were part of a protective detail under the command of Leftenant Nigel Forbes. The social unrest in Burkina Faso was intense enough that the home office decided to beef up the security without being obvious about it. Nigel had already done a tour with the Special Air Services group, and when offered the new assignment accepted it as a chance to do something completely different.

Malcolm often accompanied Nigel and the others as they patrolled the grounds. He was careful not to ask too many questions, but he listened intently to the answers. He spent many afternoons in the kitchen, where the soldiers congregated when not on patrol. Nigel explained that it helped keep them out of sight and out of mind, since people tended to ignore what happened in the servants' areas.

Over time, the soldiers grew used to 'the kid' being around. For the most part, Malcolm just sat quietly and listened to the conversation. Partly it was because he knew they were more likely to speak freely if they forgot he was there – and what they had to say was often pretty interesting to a pre-teen boy. Part of the reason for his quiet was because he was afraid of wearing out his welcome. For now, at least, they accepted his presence, and he didn't really feel very welcome anywhere else. Eventually, he became a little more confident.

When Nigel mentioned something called 'PT drills' Malcolm looked at him in confusion. Nigel smiled at him and asked him if he wanted to come along. That was how he ended up joining a group of men in mis-matched running clothes, jogging around the compound at five in the morning. After the morning run, during which Malcolm was lapped several times, they adjourned to the gymnasium that previous inhabitants had installed in the basement of the embassy. The hand to hand combat drills were particularly interesting.

That afternoon, Malcolm was so sore he could barely move. But when Nigel, with a knowing smile, asked him if he was game for tomorrow, he said yes without even thinking. Over the course of the summer, Malcolm made a lot of progress, and was able to keep up on the morning runs by September.

Over time, he gradually came to realize that the protective detail really didn't mind him hanging around either. Sometimes he'd catch one of them telling a particularly ribald story, and they'd be watching him out of the corner of their eye, waiting to see his reaction. He accepted the teasing good-naturedly, mostly because the stories were usually funny.

When the tutor returned from holiday, Malcolm still went to exercise before his lessons, and then brought his homework down to the kitchen afterward. Sometimes Nigel would ask what he was studying, and occasionally offer his opinions. This led to some interesting conversations, especially when Nigel or one of the others had been stationed in one of the countries discussed in his social studies classes.

Not that their comments were always appropriate for inclusion in his essays.

By the end of his first year in Burkina Faso, he and Nigel had gotten into the habit of walking the grounds in the early evening and talking. Their conversations weren't always about homework, or his job. Sometimes they discussed things seen on the CNN news feed. Other times Nigel told stories about his family and how he ended up in the service. Malcolm's father was also forced to order new clothes for his son twice that year, as the regular exercise had him filling out as he grew taller. Nigel was a bugger about eating properly.

Malcolm didn't think much about his friendship with the soldier, even as he became something between a cool older brother and father figure. One time around Christmas, Nigel was talking about writing home to his Mum, his father having passed away years ago; it struck Malcolm that he knew more about his friend than his own father. Ordinarily, such a realization might have saddened him, but at the same time, he was very grateful for Nigel's friendship.

It was a few minutes after that when Nigel asked him what he wanted to do when he got older. Malcolm thought about the question, which he'd never had a good answer to before.

"What kind of schooling do you need to get into the SAS?" asked, looking up shyly.

Nigel just looked at him for a moment, smiling faintly. Then he looked away and began outlining the enlistment requirements.

Scene Break

No, Malcolm thought to himself, Nigel taught me better than that. If I don't have much time left, I need to make the most of it, don't I? Crying about it is not a good way to spend the remainder of my days. He looked out across the grounds as they fell into deepening shadows. The first stars appeared as the sky faded from indigo to black.

His thoughts wandered back to Brimstone, asleep in his dormitory. I need to get him used to accepting food from the others. That way when I kick it, poor little bugger won't starve to death. He ignored the lump growing in his throat and focused on setting his priorities. He also realized that he'd already decided to stay at Hogwarts. He'd enjoyed the last two months more than anything he'd done since leaving Burkina Faso. The headmaster had assured him that refraining from using magic would not help his condition at this point. I might as well learn what I can. Maybe I can help my fellow inmates a bit before I'm gone.

He smiled grimly into the falling night. I do know that things are going to be a little different. I don't have time to waste anymore.

A/N:

By popular demand – now you know who Nigel is. )

And another thank you to Runsamok for her grammatical expertise and flaw-catching!