The crack of the pistol rang through the air. Harry breathed the sour odor of cordite through his nose and concentrated harder. Gently, he squeezed the trigger on his 9mm pistol, and sent a round 25 meters downrange. It smacked through the target silhouette, at the center of the head. On the target Harry had thumb tacked a picture of Draco Malfoy, and the round slammed through his forehead. In the space of twenty seconds, Harry sent the remaining twelve rounds downrange and into the target. Harry watched the silhouette splinter into pieces.
Despite his suspension, Harry still spent a lot of time with the Dueling & Muggle Self-Defense Club. Indeed, that, and Ginny, were the only things that were keeping him from doing something stupid…like gutting Malfoy or his goon squad. That was quite the possibility considering the fact that the Headmaster had only taken away his badge; Harry still had all of his weapons. While technically he wasn't supposed to have them on his person anymore, Harry was following what he had been taught in Wales: "Don't even take a shit without being armed."
Obviously, it was quite the temptation, and Harry found himself almost losing it on a number of occasions. The day after his little skirmish with Malfoy, Harry had been walking to his morning classes when he spotted the disgusting bastard going in the opposite direction. Malfoy had seen him as well, and despite the crunched nose and black eye Harry had given him, he gave Harry a knowing, contemptuous smile. Harry had remembered Malfoy's little comment, and had started going towards him…that was when Ron, Doc, Neville, and the girls had all but dragged him to his next class. The rest of the school didn't know the full details, and could only look on in surprise. Harry, nonetheless, had not been happy to say the least, and wound up having a nice, long chat with his uncle in his office the other night…
* * *
"Uncle, why did we let that bastard go? Why did the Headmaster back down…"
"Lad, the Headmaster already explained it to you. The evidence we had went up in ashes, the only witnesses to the event are you and your friends, and Malfoy has denied everything. We weren't even up in the first place to swing something like this and even the quiet way the Headmaster has been going about warning the people of that bastard Riddle's return have been met hard." Alex was referring to the fact there had been a rather quiet, yet nonetheless brutal, struggle within the Ministry as the Headmaster had started testifying to all available media outlets of the return of the Dark Lord. Harry had heard of how just about all stories were censored, and a few of the older ranks in the Auror's were swiftly retired.
Alex had sighed when he had finished, and continued, "I believe you, the Headmaster believes you, and so does everybody else who has a brain. Sadly, Fudge lacks one and all he is waiting for is the opportunity to throttle everybody over this. They are waiting for one slip, one slip, and the whole lot will come crashing down our ears. We should be lucky that since the elder Malfoy only wanted you removed from the position of Student Head of Hogwarts Security that this op was merely a provocation, one designed to hurt you. It did, but you're still here, and for intents and purposes nothing has really changed."
"What of Alice? What of the fact those sick fucks raped and murdered her?"
"She knew the risks, both when she accepted to be an informant, and when she came to testify on your behalf."
Harry felt something deeply painful and bitter well up in him. In his years, this wasn't the first time he had seen bad things happen to good people, yet after the Triwizard tournament he just couldn't control himself. At the moment it was even worse then before, for when Hagrid had been in Azkaban and Sirius about to be executed, he had had options, means of changing the situation. Not this time though. Harry glared at his uncle and spat back. "So that's it? Alice gets slotted and has her body buried in some shallow grave if not fed to the fucking crows? All we can do is wave the flag and say she died for the bloody Queen and Country? It isn't that what they say? Wait I forgot…we have neither and instead have that prick Fudge and a Headmaster who…"
Alex stopped him, and spoke back icily. "Who has the burden of commanding a secret, dirty, shitty little fucking war that has to be fought, against both an evil fucking enemy and a government with its head so far up its asshole they need to pipe in the ruddy air they breathe! That flag you said I wave? You're right… I do wave the ruddy flag and tell you to trust that Headmaster you're belittling," Alex jabbed a finger at him, "You know why? Because in this sad, vicious fucked up little world good men, good people like you and me and the Headmaster and your mates, send other good people, again like ourselves, in harms way to keep other good people safe in their beds. Even when those good people become stupid people and don't believe there's danger even if there's a goddamn Hungarian Horntail breathing down their necks!
Throughout his tirade, he hadn't lost control of his breathing. Alex looked at Harry from across his desk, and leaned towards him. Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, Alex explained gently, "Every war has casualties, we all lose good friends, people dear to us. All we can do is fight on, and hope to avenge them somewhere down the line."
"Why not now? We already know the players, fuck they sleep under the same roof as we do!"
"We take them down, so what have we accomplished? Destroyed several of the rank and file Death Eaters? Have we truly made a dent in the capacities of the Dark Lord? All we can do is bide our time, and wait for the bastard to slip up."
"And when he does, if ever?"
Alex grinned darkly. "He will, and when he does he is ours."
* * *
Harry hadn't totally mollified, but he could see the reasoning behind it. If push had come to shove, Harry knew the Headmaster would have stuck his neck out for him, but things were just too unstable to take the chance. So, Harry had lost a friend, a job, he still was ineligible to play Quidditch to boot as the Headmaster told him he could be given back his badge once things had cooled down. He supposed he was lucky that he wasn't given any detentions, and no House points had been taken as great pains were taken by the faculty to hush things up. Even Snape made no mention of it as he returned to verbally attacking Harry in Potions. Neville was ignored, as were Ron and Hermione as Snape heaped barb upon barb on him. Harry learned to zone to out, and carry on. At least he tried to and was succeeding somewhat…
One thing, however, had solidified in his mind, and that was his fears of Voldemort and his supporters attacking him through those close to him were more then confirmed by what had happened to Alice. True, they probably would have killed her just for being an informant, but Harry knew better. Malfoy the Elder, when not blinded by his own arrogance, was a cunning and sly opponent It was for that reason he found himself dressed in his uniform of green jumper, shirt, and trousers, firing rounds at the range, and waiting for his friends to show up.
Which they did as Harry turned around when he heard the soft crunch of snow behind him. Harry saw that it was Neville, Ron, Doc, Katrina, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. All were dressed comfortably, eschewing robes and school uniforms for jeans, sweatshirts, and the like. Except for Neville and Doc, who both wore uniforms that they had. Harry waved them over, and told them to get comfortable around a small wooden table Harry had set up behind the firing positions. On it was a small array of pistols, predominantly Walther PPKs and five-shot .38 revolvers that Alex had scrounged for them along with a couple of Colt .45s that Doc liked.
"Right, besides me, Neville and Doc, who here knows how to shoot?" Harry asked as he looked around. Neville had learned to shoot with him in Wales while Doc, in his words, had learned to shoot before he could ride a bicycle. As he suspected no one else did, so he quickly set about teaching them about range safety and the particulars of their weapons. How to load; unload them, the safety, and how to set the zero (the mechanical sights which are set upon the eyesight of the individual shooter) on their weapons. Harry had, and after discussion with his uncle, decided that it was time that those close to him had an ace or two up their sleeves. In this case, he was going to teach the girls, and Ron how to shoot. After all, he himself was a believer after the fight in the Broomsticks of Alex's philosophy, agreed with by Moody and several of the other wizards in the Order, that both muggle and magical weapons were going to be needed in this war. Should an emergency arise, then those five rounds or seven (the Walther or Bond gun as Alex called, had six in the magazine and one in the chamber), could be the difference between life and death.
There was also another, secondary reason. One which Harry told no one about, and which even Alex had to talk about obliquely. Alex had told him of the poem, during the SERE lessons, by Kipling, "Soldier of the Queen". The last stanza stuck in Harry's head.
"If you're wounded and dying on Afghanistan's plains
And the women come forth to cut up your remains
Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
And go to your God like a soldier"
From the pictures Harry had seen of Alice, as well as stories he had heard from Moody (who had been captured and held for the better part of eight months by the French supporters of Grindewald in 1944) these were serious players, and they played for keeps. Harry sometimes wondered if he had the guts to take his own life, or whether it was more then a bit macabre to think that his love or his friends would wind up in a situation where they would face such a decision…
Still, a bit of extra firepower never hurts. Harry concluded.
Harry had, before they had arrived, set up targets at a range of five meters. As soon as they were done zeroing their weapons on the ten-meter targets, Harry had them start first with the shorter-range target through reaction drills. With the weapon placed in a pocket or some other place comfortable. Harry explained that these weapons were a last resort, a fallback weapon to be used when things were at their absolute worst. It was for that reason Harry gave them only one load of ammunition, five rounds for the revolvers (hollow-points, as Harry felt that the extra stopping power of the rounds would be of greater use then standard ball), or seven rounds for the Walthers. Likewise due to that reason, he had them practice shooting at what would normally be ridiculously close ranges, but from what experience he had, it was speed drawn from practice that won the day the day. Not to mention that if they had to use their pistols then the bastards were probably so close they could be engaged hand to hand.
Watching them at work, he saw that Hermione, no doubt because she had been born to the muggle world, was a damn good shot. Taking out his pocket binoculars, Harry saw that her target was filled with two, three-round shot groups from the Walther she had been using. The groups were so close together you could have covered them with a bronze Knut. Harry looked over at Ron's, and he wasn't that bad either. Neville and Katrina were having a good time as Neville showed her how to shoot. Neville was standing behind her, bracing her against him as he had her hold out her weapon, both hands in use. He had his hands around hers, and was telling her through the earplugs to take her time, to breathe deep, hold it, let half out and then fire. Harry watched them, and felt a pang of jealousy as he watched both his mates (Ron and Hermione were having fun as well) have a good time with those they cared for where as he…
Taking a gamble, Harry went over to Ginny, who was holding her weapon with only a single hand and firing at the targets with a lot less success then any of her peers. Harry watched her for a moment, and decided to throw caution to gamble, and play another round of chance once again. Stepping lightly, he got up behind her and remarked, "A crack shot we have here I see." Ginny turned around and glared at him furiously. Harry laughed, and braced her against him, one hand on her hip, and the other steadying the pistol. Leaning to her ear, Harry spoke, "Now breathe long and keep it." Harry felt her breathe deep and hold it in.
"Breath out half and squeeze gently…"
She did so, and fired. The round went through the bulls-eye. Harry smiled, and looked at her for a brief moment, savoring the look of pride and satisfaction she had. Just as quickly, he laughed, told her good work and started playing the game all over again. So that to outsiders, all it would appear was a couple of friends doing something they enjoyed, or something like that anyhow.
Harry coached her on her shooting, as well as that of the others, for the next three hours as they expended countless rounds of ammunition downrange. Doc was having a good time, and cracked to the amusement of all, except perhaps Hermione, that in his part of the country boys and quite a few girls learned how to shoot before they could walk. Or close enough anyhow.
About an hour before sunset, Harry called cease-fire, and had them clean the area of shells and make the place look neater. Then he joined them for about another hour as they cleaned their weapons. When that was done, Doc and Neville got up from the table where they were sitting at to collect the weapons, but Harry raised a hand and stopped them.
"I want all of you to keep the weapons you fired today, and carry them with you, loaded but on safe without a round in the chamber, at all times. All right?"
"Why, Harry? Our wands should be more then enough protection?" Hermione spoke up. While being of muggle parents, and a very good shot, she had as much, perhaps more, confidence in magic then Harry did.
Harry grinned crookedly, "Call it a hidden edge of sorts. You get disarmed, Hermione, and that disco gun you got there," Harry pointed to the Walther she had used that afternoon, "may be the only thing to keep you safe, Hermione."
"Trust me on it," Harry finished.
All of them did so, putting them in pockets and proceeded to get up to leave. Harry joined them, hoping, praying, that they would never have to use the weapons he had given them, and trained them on. For if that happened, they were really in the shit.