AN - So, sorry for the short chapters folks. I am trying to get something out on a more regular basis. Part of the delay is waiting for my beta to get the chapter back to me with edits done, the other part is you run of the mill busy stuff. Here's the next chapter. Thanks for the comments and enjoy!

The thick smell of burning material bit at Brad's nose as he knelt, his knee collecting moisture from the damp grass. He heard the rustling of bodies behind him as the occupants of the Weasley tent filed out, but he kept to his lane. That was one of the things drilled into him in his training. No matter what was going on, you stay focused on your lane of fire. Trust your team to have their lanes covered and don't fuck them by getting distracted.

"Departing." Eric's voice was low, almost inaudible but for the radio. He wasn't sure that any one of the youths being escorted heard him but they followed. Once the rustling of their departure had receded Brad crouched up and began slowly working his way forward. Another whump. This time he could see the brightness increase during the explosion. More screams of terror.

It was painful, moving so slowly. He wanted to rush in, to knock skulls and stop this mayhem. That was emotion talking though, not tactical reasoning or logic. Reason was your ally on the battlefield. It was the one who could think clearly when shit got real, that's who would come out ahead.

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. He repeated the mantra to himself, steeling his hammering heart. If they ran in headlong and got themselves injured or killed, they'd be useless. Better to take it slow and do it right.

Brad stopped and crouched, raising his rifle at the gap between tents to his left, where he heard the noisy steps of approaching people. They rounded the corner and his finger twitched but remained outside of the trigger-well. Two adults, two children, running hand in hand. They stopped in their tracks when they spotted the alien in front of them, so foreign looking in his panoramic goggles and body armor. He dropped the rifle low and beckoned them past him.

"It's safe this way, go!" He called it just above a whisper, but it caught the night between explosions and screams and sounded deafening in his ears. The family hesitated only a moment more and then darted past him, as though afraid he would leap out to grab them. Instead, he turned his head toward Mr. Weasley. "You know who's friendly better than I do, take the lead."

Mr. Weasley dutifully took the lead and they moved through a row of tents. Brad chanced a look into the sky and saw the figures floating and bumping in the air, spinning sickeningly. Was one of them a child? He banished the thought from his mind immediately, but his heart knew it was and he knew that late at night that sight would come back to him.

Focused on the current tactical situation, he noted that the figures were very close. He was also starting to make out the sound of chanting and laughter from a tent one row over. It was time. He tapped Mr. Weasley on the shoulder and whispered, "When the shooting starts can you get them down?"

"Yes, but I'll only be able to concentrate on that," he replied. Brad knew what he meant by it. You'll be on your own against them.

"Good, that's all I need. Get ready," Brad and Jason crept to the edge of the tent to get a look around at the riotous group. Brad produced a mirror from a pouch on his vest and edged it around the corner. The throng of individuals were standing still, most of them pointing their wands to the sky and jeering at the figures above them. Every now and then, one cast a fireball at one of the tents surrounding them. All of them wore dark robes and metallic masks that hid their faces.

"We break on three," Brad said, collapsing the mirrors telescoping handle and stowing it back in his vest, then readying his rifle. "Three, two, one."

He turned the corner ducking low, giving Jason a clear line of sight as he rounded the corner behind. Brad raised his rifle and everything seemed in slow motion. The masked figure closest to him looked him dead in the eye, stunned. In his hand was a wand shaped like the head of a cane, the tip pointed up. Brad couldn't help the glance upward and, directly above the masked figure, he saw the spinning, sickeningly small body.

A white-hot rage burned in him at the sight. He didn't hesitate, pulling the trigger several times. Red streaks shot from the tip of his rifle, striking the masked figure in the chest and head, each shot was at once its own Stupefy spell and a hard hit from a rubber bullet. As the figure dropped, he heard the tell-tale rat-tat-tat-tat-tat beside him, Jason's SAW ripping a fountain of red into the masked crowd. They broke apart immediately, running in different directions.

Brad shot another in the back as he ran, and then another. A third made it past a burning tent frame before Brad could get a bead. He didn't think about it, just ran after the man. He would not let that motherfucker get away with this. Brad rounded the corner and heard Jason's voice in his ear. He didn't listen, didn't reply. Instead, he raised his rifle at the retreating figure, but the man ducked past another row of tents, blocking the shot.

Around that corner, Brad caught the sight of robes trailing past another corner. He sprinted past but this time saw nothing to indicate where his quarry had fled. He didn't slow down, darting forward and looking both directions as he passed between rows. After two rows he stopped, crouching and closing his eyes to listen.

"Non, S'il vous plaît!" He heard a panicked, melodic voice from nearby, but it was back toward the riot they'd ambushed. "Please, no!" The voice raised an octave in fear and Brad stood, darting toward the sound. He peered through the half open flap of a tent to see a large, black robed man standing over two young, silvery-blonde girls.

The older one was clutching the younger to her chest as they huddled together and she was shaking her head through the tears. Brad almost shot the man, but someone else inside the tent spoke up. Someone he couldn't see.

"Would'ja just shut 'em up already?" he said in an irritated voice.

"We oughtta take em, don'tcha think?" the bigger man asked, turning his head to the left. Perfect, now Brad knew which way to go.

"We're here for their money, we don' need the bloody French ministry after us, you nit," the other man said.

"But, they're Veela, I can tell. They'll fetch a great price, I know it." He took another step toward the terrified girls. Brad was sure he knew where the one was now and he'd heard quite enough.

"Yeah? Wha'da you know about sellin'-" he didn't have a chance to finish the sentence as Brad burst through the tent flap. The figure was standing just about where Brad thought he'd be and the operator sent several rounds flying until he slumped to the floor. He turned his rifle on the other man who was just pulling out his wand.

"FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!" Brad spat out in a commanding voice. The man, who'd just taken hold of his wand, panicked at the commanding surety of Brad's voice and dropped the wand. "Arms up, NOW!"

"Hey, don' worry, friend-" he started to turn but Brad stopped him cold.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The man complied, ducking his head low as if to soften a physical blow. "When I tell you," Brad said, no longer yelling but equally commanding, "back up to the sound of my voice."

"Sure thi-" he started, but Brad again cut him off, letting him again know who was in charge here.

"Back up, back up, back up, back up, STOP!" Brad yelled it, stunning the man into cooperation. A great deal of detainment exercises involved knocking your target off balance and keeping them off balance. The loud commands and direct orders were often enough to keep them reacting in an emotional state, not a logical one. That gave Brad an advantage.

"ON THE GROUND!" Brad shouted, and the target complied immediately. "Arms straight out, NOW!" He did so and Brad let his rifle hang, grabbing flex-cuffs from his vest. He'd thought it idiotic to be bringing flex-cuffs on an FID mission like this, but here he was.

"Look, ya don'-" he tried to turn his head to look back but Brad was already there to respond. Brad dropped his body weight into a knee that was planted in the middle of the man's back, pushing the air from his lungs. Brad wrenched the detainee's right arm behind his back, putting the cuff around his wrist and zipping it tight. Then the other hand, then the feet. In short order the would-be human trafficker was hogtied and Brad stood up.

For the first time, he looked at the two terrified girls. They were still huddled together on the far end of the tent. They looked just as fearful, only now that fear was directed at him. He realized with a start that he must look like a monster in his goggles and armor with the loud weapon. He pulled the goggles up, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting in the tent, then fixed his gaze on the older girl's eyes.

He found himself wanting to rush to her side and kiss her. It didn't just sound like a good idea, it sounded like the only idea. For a moment he stepped forward with the intention of planting his lips on her's, then the absurdity of that plan caught in his brain and he reset. What the fuck, Brad?

Instead, he caught that one step and stooped low, to her eye level, remaining a respectful distance away. He let his rifle hang at his chest, showing open palms, the universal sign of "look, I've got nothing, I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're safe now," he said, staring into her deep blue eyes. With a start, he recognized her as the girl from the market. She nodded once and sat up, swiping each of her eyes with the back of her hand. Brad turned and gave the girls a moment to collect themselves.

"Boss?" A questioning voice called from outside that he recognized immediately as Jason's.

"In here," Brad called out. He expected to see Jason walk through. Instead, a pair of burly looking wizards in dark gray robes entered, followed by Jason.

"We got a problem," Jason said, in what felt like a tremendous understatement. The wizards, who were wearing official Department of Magical Law Enforcement insignia, looked at the two bodies and the crying girls.

"We'll handle this," one informed him in a baritone voice.

Brad followed Jason outside and was met by a bright flash. Brad thought it was the flash of a weapon discharging, but there were others. And so much talking. That was when it hit him. Oh shit, he thought. That's the press.