About time this thing got updated, eh? Sorry for the delays, I spent some time getting my first book published (huzzah!) and I've also been a little stumped on how I wanted to get from where we are in the story to where the story ends. I'm happy to say that I've spent the last several days plotting out the rest of this story, so there shouldn't be any more big question marks in my brain (and there is plenty of story left). Enjoy!
Daniel Burke set the cup of hot chocolate down on his small desk and sighed. It was the standard MRE bullshit that the US military ordered in bulk, nothing like the custom peppermint chocolate that his Sandra made. It was about as close as he could get to feeling the comforts of home, though, so he choked it down.
He sat with a grunt, grabbing the stack of papers that were laid neatly in the center of the desk. It was late, having been a long day spent sifting through dry reports on the status of FOB Phoenix, the hunt for evidence of Voldemort's return, and a few dozen other, much more boring subjects. Sleep would have to wait until the last few reports were reviewed, however.
The first report in the stack was a status report on Observation Post Hogsmeade. The OP was actually a modest, two-story building that sat catty-corner to the train station, and Task Force Ansible had paid a little more than the place was probably worth to obtain it quickly and discreetly. That adage about location wasn't wrong and this property was perfectly suited to their needs.
It had, on paper, been purchased by Charlotte Hayner, a Canadian witch who had moved to Hogsmeade to get a fresh start after finding her husband, the owner of a major chain business of some kind in Canada, had been cheating on her. She apparently intended to open a small bakery, which was her lifelong dream.
He rolled his eyes at the intricate back-story that he thankfully had no part in, lengthy undercover work now a distant memory for him. In reality, she was a seasoned MACUSA Auror who had been given a crash course in intelligence gathering. As a witch, she was already accustomed to the intricacies of undercover work, as anything done in the presence of non-magic folk was necessarily undercover. It certainly made his job and her training go a lot smoother.
Daniel was most interested in what lay above and below the main level of the house. The entire floor above the bakery was, aside from a modest bedroom for dear old Charlotte, set aside for intelligence gathering. They had a window with a perfect view of the train station and could monitor anyone coming or going via train, which was the most common route for visitors to the school. The team was also slowly working on getting some cameras and bugs placed throughout town to really pan out the view, though it was painstaking. Unknown prowlers didn't last long in small towns if they got caught, especially paranoid magical towns.
Charlotte had also purchased subscriptions to all of the major news publications, along with some of the less common ones, ostensibly because she was a bit of a gossip and loved celebrity news. In reality, it gave TFA access to news of the major happenings throughout Britain's magical communities, without having to try and snag someone else's paper or bug the few Ministry sources they still had for info every day.
The thing that really made that house spectacular, however, was the fact that it had a tunnel underneath it, going from the cellar to a small, hollowed out tree in the woods just outside of Hogsmeade. If the bartender was to be believed, it was due to the historical owner's secret mission to eradicate a local coven of vampires that had once supposedly inhabited the area. He apparently used the tunnel to sneak into and out of town at night, hunting for them in the woods without leading them directly to his home. Regardless of the reason it existed, it would allow them the ability to sneak in equipment and personnel without drawing a suspicious eye. He'd made sure to tip the hell out of the bartender for that story.
Setting that report aside, he took a sip of his shitty hot chocolate and picked up the next one, a report on the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. Her name was Dolores Umbridge, previously Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and by all accounts kind of a bitch.
The report was a collection of statements compiled by an Auror loyal to the Order of the Phoenix, an organization headed by Dumbledore and designed to fight Voldemort. The Order was assisting TFA in intelligence gathering as well, though there was some tension to it now, since his disappearance. So long as they had a common enemy, he didn't see any issue cropping up from it though.
The statements all painted a pretty unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected picture. The general consensus was that Umbridge seemed to be more concerned with blood-status than most of her counterparts, and she had a tendency to lose her temper when her orders were not explicitly followed.
They were going to have to be careful about their footprint. He had a suspicion that even the faintest whiff of their operation would have her calling for blood, something he knew the Ministry and much of the international magical scene would be only too happy to extract. While MACUSA its experimental program had been very successful, and several nations were working to emulate it, the majority still either sat on the fence or were firmly in the other camp. They would need to be very careful indeed.
His final report, from the same Auror and by far the shortest of the three, indicated that there had been a mass breakout from the prison, Azkaban. Shit. The dementors apparently refused to talk about it and even became hostile with responding Aurors, forcing them to leave the island or risk damaging their relationship with the mysterious creatures.
The few escapees that had been confirmed were all sentenced to Azkaban for their roles as Death Eaters. So far, there were no leads on where the prisoners were, there was not a complete list of who exactly was missing, and no indication of a problem had appeared from any of the news agencies. They were apparently in the dark about the breakout.
That was something he was going to want to keep an eye on. A prison break so close to the return of Voldemort had foul play written all over it, and the Ministry ignoring it was very telling. It was one thing for them to try and deny this Dark Lord's return initially, but they could only keep their heads in the sand for so long as the evidence stacked up.
At this point, they had audio and video evidence from the graveyard, but it could be argued as spotty and circumstantial, and that was if you trusted technology. Voldemort was never seen on camera. They also had two eyewitnesses, one of which had been pretty brutally tortured, and that was captured on camera. It could be argued that torture plays tricks with the mind, but the Captain had come through psychological evaluations intact. Now there was a breakout in Azkaban involving known Death Eaters.
Prudence demanded the claim be at least investigated and any intelligence service worth its salt would do just that, even if just to disprove the claims. He paused and set the papers back on his desk, frowning.
To cover up a massive prison break on top of everything else, with known Death Eaters being the escapees? He was beginning to suspect that the Ministry was more than just inept. It was starting to look like they were actively helping the Death Eaters at this point.
He stamped that report as urgent and set about typing up his suspicions before sending it off to Fort Bragg for review by the brass. Finally finished with the night's work, he looked at the mug of gently flavored water. It wasn't worth finishing. He dumped it in the sink and headed to his bunk to get some sleep before the on-site inspection of OP Hogsmeade, which was rapidly approaching.
Staff Sgt. Jason Steele took a deep breath of "fresh" air as he stepped outside of the theater...performing arts center...whatever the hell it was. London air wasn't great, but it was better than the pretentious, stuffy air in that place.
"Excuse us," Jason said, bluntly pushing his way through several performers that were standing on the sidewalk, making enough of a hole that they could escape and not being particularly gentle about it.
"That was…" Harry muttered, falling into step beside Jason.
"Horrible," Jason finished before Harry could get the chance. Harry nodded his head in agreement. Sirius was going to get a serious ass chewing when they got back.
He'd been insisting since they'd returned at the end of the school year that they should go and see an interpretive dance troupe. He had insisted that the place would be packed with very attractive girls who would be impressed by a couple of gentlemen with such good taste.
Instead, he'd been packed into a hall teeming with geriatrics and hippies, stuck watching a bunch of pretentious assholes gyrate incoherently to music onstage. Even the music could barely be called such. At least there had been a bonus slam poetry session during the intermission. Yes, Sirius was going to pay.
"I'm definitely not getting those hours of my life back," Harry agreed. They walked together in silence for a few moments.
The one thing going for the place was that it was so close to Grimmauld Place, though now the proximity wasn't a boon in his mind. The walk was short, a paved footpath leading through the park almost directly to the home.
A brief wait for traffic was all they needed before jogging across the street. The sound of shuffling footsteps behind them caught Jason's attention. As they turned toward the steps to Number 12, Jason turned a little extra, glimpsing a pair of strangely clad men jumping across the street in their direction.
He pushed Harry up the steps, reaching into his pocket for his collapsible baton and cursing at himself for not bringing his concealed handgun. Once they made it across the street, however, the two seemed to lose their focus. They jogged to a stop several feet from the duo, Jason holding Harry against the door with one hand, his baton ready in the other.
"What in the blazes," the younger of the two asked, looking around confused.
"I thought you said you saw 'em cross the street!" the other barked. He looked directly at Jason, or through him rather, as there was no sign that they'd been spotted.
"I did see them, I thought…" the younger one said, shoulders sagging.
"Blast it, we're never going to find Black at this rate." With that, the two crossed the street again, splitting apart to check different ends of the park.
"What the fuck was that?" Jason asked, still holding Harry against the door. He glanced up to see Harry looking just as confused as he was.
"It must have something to do with the protection charms on this place," Harry replied after a moment as Jason relaxed and collapsed his baton again. "I don't remember what exactly they are, but they're supposed to be really strong. Did they say they were looking for Sirius?"
"Yeah, they did." Fuck, there goes seeing the sun for the rest of the summer.
"You're all here because each one of you knows, deep in your heart, that the path we're being led down by our so-called-leaders is one toward certain destruction," the Death Eater exclaimed. He was an older man, gray wisps protruding from his chin, varying in length and direction of growth. He was pointing at the wall, to the world outside where these leaders were allowing the "criminal muddying of our bloodlines," to be specific.
Tony was sure he'd made out a few of the dark creatures with him. The young woman next to him, a petite thing of beauty with jet black hair down to her waist, was almost certainly a werewolf as well. If nothing else, joining the Death Eaters might be good for meeting prospective mates.
There were others too. The bald man behind him was probably a vampire, though it was hard to tell. There was something off about his scent. It was impolite to bring it up, however, and seeing as he was only here because Eden requested that he do so, he figured he'd let them do their own background checks. He had no personal stake in the success of the Death Eaters.
He thought back to his meeting with the charismatic man. Abraham had insisted that Mr. Eden wanted to meet him and after several more beers purchased by his strange benefactor, Tony relented and allowed Abraham to bring him to the same bar where they'd first met.
Mr. Eden was sitting in a booth in the corner of the bar, away from most of the other patrons. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find out that Mr. Eden was also an American. They hit it off immediately and Tony found his reservations rapidly diminished.
The tall, bald man had a vision for the future, wasn't afraid to work for it, and damn it all if Tony didn't believe he could accomplish it. And he was right, too. It was high time that werewolves, hell, all dark creatures, finally took their place above those filthy muggles that were ruining the damned planet.
Step one, become a Death Eater. Eden didn't explain further, and Tony didn't mind that. There was a purpose, a plan, and he had no problem being a cog in that plan. Eden wasn't an Alpha, but he had an uncanny pull and Tony was willing to see where it led.
"Welcome," the man greeted them grandly, gesturing them to stand up, "the Dark Lord welcomes you all into the ranks of the Death Eaters. Together we can solve this mess we're in."
In general, these Death Eaters seemed to tout more-or-less the same vision of hegemony over muggles as Eden did, though they focused more on the pure-blooded wizarding aspect. Any of these dark creatures around him that weren't plants by Eden were fools if they thought the Death Eaters had their best interests at heart. If he'd been given this pitch on his own, he'd have been out the door ages ago.
No, he was here to fulfil Eden's need, his vision. The Death Eaters weren't a part of that vision, not in the long term anyhow, and he couldn't wait to rub their smug noses in it, whenever the plan was unraveled.
Eden ran a hand over his bald head, letting out a huff of distaste. He didn't particularly enjoy sitting and waiting, it was a waste of time that he could be using elsewhere. However, Lord Voldemort was due to return shortly and had sent word that he wanted to see everyone after the success of their operation at Azkaban.
He glanced around the dining room, able to see the entire thing from the dark corner where he sat alone. There were clusters of Death Eaters scattered throughout. Some of the prisoners were sitting at the table, eating ravenously, as though they'd been starved. Others were hugging and clapping old friends.
Already, he noticed a difference in their pallor. Each of their rescuees had been stuffed into a cramped little cell, dark and dank. To a person, they were pale and crazed and over half of them didn't believe they were actually being rescued. More than one had to be stunned just so they'd quit fighting to stay "safe" in their cell.
There was little doubt in his mind that each of them had been damaged mentally during their time in Azkaban. A horrible way to go, really. Though he was confident in his ability to conjure a patronus, he didn't think he would relish an extended stay with dementors, certainly not one without his wand. The stubby wand, twirling in his fingers, gave him a sense of safety at that dark thought.
He found his eyes resting on her again. A slender, pale woman with raven-black hair that kept darting her eyes around the room. He'd spotted her on the ride back to Malfoy Manor and kept finding himself staring.
When they'd first arrived, she'd hugged the lady of the house, apparently related after some fashion. Since then, she'd taken to pacing the floor and muttering to herself. He'd tried to work up the nerve to go speak to her twice now, but there was something about her intensity that he didn't want to disturb.
Everyone in the room jumped as the far doors swung open with a thump. Standing in the doorway, arms open as though a messiah set to receive praise, stood Lord Voldemort. He was wearing a dark black robe that had probably seen better days, and still sported that snake-like nostril slit. Disgusting, really.
"Welcome back," Voldemort said, gliding into the room. The Death Eaters appeared to gravitate around him and, with a tug of jealousy, he noticed that she did too. Gone was the look of distressed longing in her eyes, now that he was here. "My loyal followers, it has been far too long since you last tasted free air."
There were several whoops of agreement and as Voldemort took a seat at the head of the table, others began grabbing spots. As Eden stood up, heading for one of the nearby open seats, he saw Lucius and Crouch Jr, trailing the glaze-eyed muggle soldier behind them.
"A lot has happened since our movement was so abruptly...paused," he smiled wickedly at the murmur of agreement that they would not be so easily stopped.
For the next hour, they listened as Voldemort finished patting himself and the Death Eaters on the backs, and then Lucius outlined the status of their little insurrection. Control of the Ministry was approaching a halfway point. There were still a number key positions at the DMLE and several other mid-level spots which needed to either be filled by a Death Eater or for their current occupant to be placed under Imperius, but they were making progress.
It was a slow process, getting people in the right spots and placing a strong enough Imperius to control without causing suspicion, but they appeared confident that they would be able to perform a raid on the Department of Mysteries by the end of the year. The reason for said raid was unclear to Eden, but that didn't bother him much. If he played his cards right, he could be running the show by then. Maybe even a little before.
"Finally," Voldemort said, surprising Eden by gesturing his way, "I must call attention to a new addition to our modest organization." There were several chuckles at that description. "Howard Eden, here, has played a rather large role in keeping us out of the newspapers, along with helping us successfully break my most loyal followers out of Azkaban. I expect that all of you will offer our American friend here all of the courtesy befitting a member of my inner circle."
Eden smiled, bowing his head. It was read as deference by those in the room, he was certain, but in reality he was hiding a grin. He was in.