"Come on, now, Mike." The grating sound of a chair scraping across the floor rang out. Howard Eden patted the chair beside him in invitation. "Have a seat."

A dozen options flashed through Mike's head...running, bashing Eden's head with the chair, choking him the second he turned his back. Ultimately, Mike knew it was useless, so he sat.

The table was scattered with an array of scholarly texts and childrens books, united only by their mentioning of the Deathly Hallows. Eden had taken the study up as something of a hobby, getting his hands on any information about them that he could.

Mike didn't follow exactly what they were, or why he was interested. He didn't really care. Mostly, he tried to enjoy the remaining moments before it was time to be tortured and placed back under the Imperius curse. Eden said it was bad for the mind to be under Imperius for long periods of time, and he wanted Mike's mind sharp...for some reason. He'd been vague about that part, but Mike was sure it wasn't good.

"I was hoping we could have a conversation," Eden said. It was the same way he started these half-assed interrogations. Mike was grateful for that, too. Eden didn't seem to particularly care about Harry, Ron, or Hermione. He'd ask a few questions every once in a while and get the same answers as the last time, since Mike hadn't seen them in...how long had it been?

Still, he didn't know much and he didn't share much. What Eden spent the lionshare of his time asking about was the Task Force. Mike had let little bits slip. He tried not to, but there was only so long you could hold out.

After the first slip-up, when he'd admitted to hunting Eden across Africa, which was not strictly legal since they hadn't been invited by those host nations, he'd realized he couldn't last forever. He was going to let out really important information about the Task Force.

From then on, he'd started doing his best to invent an entirely new Task Force to spill the beans on. Eden probably wouldn't be able to fact check anything for a long time. With any luck, Eden would hear something he wanted to hear and would kill Mike to get rid of the headache before realizing it was phony info.

"How many of your soldiers were deployed to England?" Eden asked, not looking at Mike. He was trying to smooth the dog-eared page of a children's book about the Deathly Hallows.

"There were quite a few," Mike said, noncommittally. He knew he was asking for pain, but there was a process to this shit and he was going to follow it. If he was going to give up information, Eden was gonna work for it, damnit.

"Mmm." Eden turned to look at Mike. He didn't show any sign of irritation. "Ballpark it for me."

"I dunno," Mike scratched his chin. It was haggard on account of him not shaving in...however long he'd been here. His hair was long too, but he did his best not to touch it. It bugged him, having long hair. "Quarter of a million, somewhere in that-"

Pain racked through his body and he went rigid, falling out of the chair. The pain was short lived, but intense. When it let up, he heard Bellatrix sigh in pleasure. She was a fucking psychopath. He hadn't realized she was here, which was stupid.

She had been spending a lot of time with Eden lately, the two had become an item. Mostly he could ignore it, but not always. You can't close your eyes or look away when you have no control of your body, so he'd unfortunately witnessed some making out that he wished he hadn't.

"Miiiiiike," Eden drawled, grabbing him hard by the arm and pulling him back into the chair. "You've gotta do better than that."

"It's been forever," Mike said, trying to catch his breath back. "They'll have changed...the security arrangements...personnel strength, all of it."

"Oh, give it a rest," Eden batted a hand dismissively. "You know plenty for me, I'm not giving up that easy. I'm alright with hard-to-get." He winked at Bellatrix, who had made it to Mike's side without him noticing. She purred in response and Mike cringed.

He felt a cold finger trace down his neck, starting at his ear. Her breath was warm and repulsive on his neck. "Answer the question little muggle, or I get to play."

Here we go. Mike told himself he was prepared, that he could definitely handle what comes next. He rocked his head to the side, hoping to break her nose. He caught nothing but air and toppled out of the chair. She didn't even scream out in surprise, just jumped out of the way and hit him with her favorite curse.

He managed not to scream for several long seconds, but it was always just a matter of time and she'd go however long she had to in order to get him to scream. When she finally let up, he was drained. He looked at her as she pulled out a dagger.

"I was thinking we could try something a little different today," she purred to Eden as she sat down on Mike, dropping the point of the blade against his chest.

"I'm always down to experiment," Eden chuckled, "you know that."

Brad eyed the stack of wooden blocks for a long moment, struggling to decide which of them to go for. He was tied with Sara and playing with the only currency that really mattered right now, chores. The loser would be cleaning in the mess hall tonight and tomorrow, while the winner basked in their glory for the next few days.

"Make your move," Sara chided him. She looked confident that she would win, which only drove him to concentrate harder. Brad reached for the middle one, opting for the safer route-

Crack. A sound like a gunshot ripped through the room from somewhere behind Brad. He toppled the blocks over as he turned, smoothly pulling his sidearm amid the shouts of surprise from his team.

"Hello!" greeted a cheerful and tentative voice. It took Brad a moment to see the short house elf standing beside one of the chairs. The four operators registered the presence of Dobby at the same time and were putting their sidearms away as the base security element rushed into the room.

"We're good, we're good," Brad waved his hands. The security team relaxed, but only marginally. "This is Dobby, he's a friend. That wasn't a gun, it was him showing up."

The security element filed out as the officer on duty, Lt Manning, gave a halfhearted word of warning to the elf for causing a panic.

"Hey, Dobby," Brad greeted once they were alone. The elf looked mildly embarrassed for causing a scene but he had remained quiet, which Brad remembered as unusual for the elf. He'd only met the creature a few times, but Dobby was usually bursting at the seams with a desire to talk.

"I've come with a letter from Harry Potter," Dobby whispered conspiratorially. A folded parchment popped into his hand at the mention. Brad took the letter as the elf looked around the room.

"How's everything going at the castle? We haven't had any word." Brad held the letter, wanting to tear it open. He knew this was his only chance he might get to talk to someone from the castle, however, so he needed to seize the opportunity.

"Hogwarts is not well, Master Gordon," Dobby winced as he said the words, probably from a habit picked up from the years of self-inflicted punishment anytime he spoke ill of his master. As a free elf, he was no longer compelled to do so, but the lessons had left their marks. "I must go. I will come back next week. If you have a message for Harry Potter, I can bring it then."

Brad opened his mouth to speak, but Dobby didn't give him the chance. With a loud crack, he disappeared. One of the guards popped their head in to make sure everything was still fine.

"What's it say?" Eric asked as the team crowded closer to Brad. He'd almost forgotten about the letter. He opened it up and read aloud.

I've been trying to find a way to talk to get in touch for a while now, but Umbridge has been keeping too close an eye. I was suspended so we weren't able to go to Hogsmeade for visits.

We're alive but school's never been like this before. Umbridge has added so many rules. The Prefects were disbanded and she formed an Inquisitorial Squad entirely out of students from Slytherin. They're the ones enforcing the rules now, they even get more authority than some of the teachers.

We're also not learning much practical magic. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a Desk Jockey from the Aurors Office and we're only learning from the book, no real practice. Hermione has talked me into starting a group of students interested in actually practicing. We want to be able to defend ourselves. If you have any advice for me on how to do that, I'd appreciate it.

I don't get to see Dobby that much, but he's willing to pass messages for us every once in a while to help out. He really likes clothes, if you're looking to pay him. No one likes it here with Umbridge in charge. I hope you guys are doing well.

Harry

Brad set the letter down on the table beside him. That wasn't good news. He knew that Umbridge was probably not going to be an effective leader, but not teaching them anything practical for defense...that wasn't going to fly.

Already Brad was thinking of different training set ups, exercises, and a dozen other thing that the US Army Special Forces did to assist training locals. He wouldn't be much help with the actual magic part, but still.

"Well, sounds like they're having a shitty time," Jason said, poking the letter and sliding it down the table.

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "Are we gonna help em?"

"Yeah, I think we are." He wasn't sure what Colonel Boyd was going to say about all of this. He was paranoid about the secrecy of the FOB and Brad could see him denying them authorization to help. He'd have to play it by ear, maybe get a little creative in his interpretation of their orders.

"Hey, boss?" Sara asked. Brad turned to face her and felt a little uneasy by the smirk on her face. "You lost." She pointed to the pile of wooden bricks he'd knocked over.

"Damnit."

As the others went back to what they were doing before Dobby's arrival, Brad stuck the letter in his pocket and headed to the mess hall. It felt good to get some news from outside the FOB.

If only he could get some mail out to Fleur. He'd promised to keep in touch but Colonel Boyd had given him specific orders that he was not to contact anyone outside of the FOB, with the exception of Harry Potter, and even then only if he could guarantee anonymity. It had been too long since he'd spoken to her. He was good at keeping his mind occupied, but not her absence was starting to really suck.

He hadn't realized how freeing it had been, having someone he could confide in completely. He had his team, but it wasn't the same. He could talk to each of them, trust them with his life...but it wasn't her. It wasn't long before he started to wonder how far Dobby could apparate.

Fleur gripped her quill tightly and stared at the parchment, unsure what to say. Her first letters had been sappy, there was no question in her mind about it. But she couldn't help it and she didn't think that would be an issue...she still didn't think it was.

But several long weeks had ticked by without any word from him. Bubo had returned each time with nothing. Her letter had been taken, but there was never a reply. It left her at a loss for words now.

For the last several days she had battled over what to say. Sometimes she was angry at him for completely ignoring her, as though he'd discarded her. Then she felt hurt. She had shared an intimate part of herself with him, a part of her that she could never give to anyone again, even if she'd wanted to...and she didn't. After that, she cycled into worry. He simply wasn't the kind of guy who would just leave forever without a word.

So it was, a vicious cycle that she couldn't seem to find her way out of. Both maman and papa had asked if she was doing okay, which told her that they knew she was not. Still, they were gracious when she lied and never pressed the issue.

Her father had finally told her that since she wasn't in school she should get out and do more. She wasn't sure if it had been advice or a command, but she'd been working part-time at an entry level job at Gringotts for a little while now. They were an international banking conglomerate so she could transfer anywhere she wanted to, should the need pop up.

It was easy enough work, not particularly good for distracting her, though. She thought about the signs she saw posted. High value items were traded and sold fairly frequently, some of them requiring a personal escort to the receiving branch, usually somewhere outside the country.

Lately, her branch had been short on personnel for those transfers. Just last week, Bognuk had tried to convince her to take a pair of enchanted daggers to Australia. She'd turned it down, fearing she might not be home when Bubo finally returned with word from Brad.

She finally dropped the quill back to the desk. She couldn't think of what to write to him that hadn't already been said. Picking up a jacket, she headed toward her waterfall, promising herself that she'd look out for the next transfer. Maybe a trip would do her some good.