Author's Note: Hey people! Here's chapter eight! I'm sorry it took so long. It's hard to write long chapters quickly. As always, thank you to those who have reviewed, followed, favorited, or simply stopped by to give this a read. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, England

Several hours had passed since the events of the morning. As soon as Bolan explained his plan and picked out his strike team, he had met with Severus Snape, who taught him all about how the Death Eaters operated during the first war the wizarding world had experienced. He couldn't offer much information about their current exploits, since he was no longer a Death Eater and they seemed to have drastically changed their operations. He had, however, disclosed the location of the dark wizard training compound he had discovered, and taught the soldier tons of new spells, including ones he had invented. To Snape's surprise, it only took Bolan minutes to master the material and memorize everything he needed to know. Armed with new knowledge and more spells than he had expected, he then confirmed with Kingsley Shacklebolt his status with the Ministry of Magic. Not only had he been informed that he was an independent contractor, but he had also managed to get the demigods off the hook for using magic, purging any records of them the Ministry had managed to gather via Albus Dumbledore. The Auror had then called an Order meeting, where he proceeded to update the Hogwarts headmaster on what he had done, requesting that anything he did with the papers of the demigods was to be under the radar. They were still in the middle of the meeting, and the soldier brought himself back to reality, taking a long pull from a glass of ice water.

"What sort of information did they have?" McGonagall asked.

"Thankfully, not much," Shacklebolt said with a sigh. "Albus did only what was needed to alert the Ministry that wizards from America would be attending his school. Fortunately, after Mack and the others told us about the battle, I managed to get to the records in time and was able to get rid of them before anyone went to investigate. They aren't going to trial, and, for all intents and purposes, they do not exist. They are, in effect, just as covert as Mack is."

Further discussion was cut off as Bolan's phone rang. Guessing that the call would be important and unhindered by the fact he didn't have to keep anything hidden, he answered the call, putting the secure phone on speaker before speaking.

"Striker here," he greeted.

"I have news," the grim voice of Hal Brognola growled in reply.

"What is it?"

"First, I had Bear and his team run the photos you sent me through every facial recognition program they have, and then some."

"Go on," Bolan prompted, guessing where his longtime friend was going.

"No dice, Striker. They aren't on file anywhere. I'm guessing they're wizards, including the kids."

The soldier filled the Big Fed in on the day's events, finishing his monologue with the current intel he was getting in the Order meeting.

"OK, I've reached out to my contacts in the wizarding world," Hal explained. "Of course, there's no telling how long it'll take for them to get back to me, since I had to contact them via owl. I figured it couldn't hurt, but it looks like you folks are on your own for the time being."

"Understood," Bolan acknowledged.

"There's something else. About an hour ago I got word that there was a shooting in Denver."

"Where?"

"In a shopping mall. Here's why I tell you. First, Robison has claimed responsibility for the attack just like he did after Half-Blood Hill, and there are high-quality photographs to prove it. Second, and this is the most important, the shooters were kids."

"Interesting. Any idea on who the kids are? Any known ties with gangs?"

"Negative, Striker. The kids are not tied to gangs. Covert FBI reports say the three kids, age ten, are working directly alongside Robison. I'll send full dossiers to you in an email, but we know who they are. Sammy Dylans, born in Chicago. Triston Alverez, born in Kansas City, but later moved to Chicago. Finally, we've got Bobby Moore, born in New York City before moving to Chicago. If you're curious about the Chicago link, that's how the three of them met. They were all around five at the time, before mysteriously disappearing. That's all we know about them. It was only by chance that the FBI guys found out they were working with Robison. They were watching the compound when they spotted an SUV leave with the boys. The agents weren't sure if they were kidnapped or not, so they followed them to the mall. Apparently the boys ate like pigs for a good while before one of them, either carelessly or deliberately, basically thanked Robison for forking out the dollars for their meals. They got it all on tape before leaving."

"Why did they leave so early?"

"I can't say for sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say they didn't suspect anything was going to happen. They thought the boys were just out for a bite to eat on their employer's dime."

"Tell me about the shooting."

"After the FBI agents left, eyewitness reports give us the rest. Dylans and his friends noticed the agents leave and figured someone was on to them. They pulled out MAC-10s and just started shooting as they made their way to the nearest exit. It isn't known how much ammo they had or if they used it all in the shooting, but current estimates put the death toll just above seventy, with approximately twenty-five in critical condition. Of course, it's still early in the investigation, so we'll keep you updated."

"Please do."

"There's one thing I can't figure out, Striker."

"What's that?"

"Why use kids? Based on the intel we have; Robison has plenty of skilled mercenary forces at his disposal."

"True. But something tells me they were willing participants. I don't believe for a second they did it at gunpoint. This is just a hunch, but I don't think they're working for Robison."

"You better explain," Brognola said, clearly confused.

"From the sounds of it, these ten-year-old boys are pretty shady characters. If I had to guess, given what we know about Robison, I think he's partnered with demigods. I told you what I overheard when we were ambushed. The monsters know, at least in part, that an American commando and demigods have put a stop to all their attacks so far. Some of the attacks were meant as distractions, probably to either get one of us killed or at least throw us off the trail. That being said, if I were Robison, I'd try and draw out my enemies. If I have partnered with demigods, depending on how long I've agreed to work with them, I'd train them in the use of mortal weapons, hand-to-hand combat, and tactics. Basically, I'd do everything I could to make sure these demigods were able to take on whatever is thrown at them. Since they're young, no one would suspect a thing until it's far too late. If I'm correct, that's what he's done. I believe it very likely that Dylans and his pals are veterans of the Second Titan War or the Giant War, maybe even both. The difference is that rather than fight alongside Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter, depending on whether they're Greek or Roman, they chose to fight against them."

"If what you're saying is true, then that means sending you in to blitz Robison's headquarters would be a trap."

"Correct. It would mean doing exactly what he wants, which is to throw me off the trail. Sure, I might take out a lot of his forces, maybe even kill him. But that would serve no purpose since either Dylans and his friends would escape and continue with their plans along with Tom Riddle, or they'd kill me."

"That or they'd capture you and use you as a hostage and as a source of intel."

"Right. I'd say we ignore this for now. I'll take care of Robison when the time is right. I don't advise sending in Able, since there more than likely will be powerful demigods there. Who knows, Robison might even have wizards and monsters there too."

"All of which Able is not equipped to deal with. This is one of those times where Dylans and his buddies go free."

"For now," Bolan said. "But I get the feeling we'll meet them soon. Our mission will continue as planned but keep me updated on anything you find."

"Will do, Striker," Brognola replied before terminating the call.

"So what happens now?" Lupin asked after a momentary pause.

"The way I see it, we continue as planned. We strike, ideally just conducting a soft probe of the training facility, then we spend the rest of our time here until we go to Hogwarts."

Time went by slowly after the meeting. Bolan left the house and made a grocery run, glad for the chance to get out of the house and not be ambushed. Returning, everyone pitched in in unloading the seemingly endless piles of groceries before preparing some dinner. After the meal, the soldier quickly headed to his room and cleaned his guns. Reloading empty magazines, he observed that he was on his final loose rounds for the Beretta. Just as he pulled the last round from the box, it magically refilled, and he smiled. Recalling Snape's description of the monsters he saw during his reconnaissance, Bolan figured it would be good to take along some of his heavier hardware, especially since he expected things to go south. Unzipping a large bag, he removed an M-82 .50-caliber Barrett sniper rifle. Pulling his wand from a pocket, he placed a silencing charm on the weapon before ensuring he had plenty of armor piercing rounds for the gun before storing the gear in his belt. At first, he was worried the massive rifle wouldn't fit, but Hecate had pulled through yet again, and he was thankful as he continued selecting weapons. He briefly contemplated packing away some of his C-4 or Semtex but thought better of it. If they needed to destroy the compound, it wouldn't do to blow it up, especially since it was hidden underground. Not only would the potential for a collapse be eliminated from the equation, but if it came down to it, dead bodies would send a bigger message. As Bolan did a final weapons check, he thought about all he had learned from Dumbledore and Snape, and as he changed into a combat blacksuit and strapped on his belt, he knew he not only had no qualms about using deadly force, but he was, all be it covertly, authorized to do so. The time was coming when the enemy would be repaid for the blood they had spilled, and the Executioner was ready to deliver.

Minutes later, everyone was ready to leave. The plan called for all members of the Order, plus the demigods and the Golden Trio. Bolan, Snape, and a select few demigods would actually conduct the probe, and it was the job of everyone else, minus Harry, Ron, and Hermione, of course, to serve as reinforcements if things got too overwhelming for the initial strike team.

"Alright," Moody barked, "let's go over the plan again. Remember, constant vigilance!"

Dumbledore stood in the center of the room, unfolding a piece of parchment.

"The plan," he began, glancing around the room, "as it stands, will run as follows. Mr. Cooper, Professor Snape, Mr. di Angelo, Mr. Jackson, and Ms. Chase are the strike force, or more ideally, the recon force. We will all apparate to downtown London close to where the compound is reportedly located, and then split up. The small recon force will follow Professor Snape while the rest of us casually mill about. We will keep in touch via, well, the tools I have never seen before called police radios Mr. Cooper has managed to procure and enchant so there will be no interference due to magic. Our friends will keep an open channel, which will allow us all to be updated immediately if they encounter any trouble. Remember, as we wait, we are to do our best to avoid drawing attention to ourselves or engaging the masses. The rest is up to our beloved strike team."

"Does everyone remember how to use the radios?" Bolan asked.

Those who had police radios nodded. Bolan had purchased the equipment from an electronics store on his way back from his grocery run, opting to use them rather than the more sophisticated Bluetooth communications units he and the rest of the Stony Man warriors commonly used. Their communications, therefore, would have to be brief and the volume would have to be set on low in order to maintain stealth for as long as possible, but if things went wrong, and given the differing levels of familiarity with equipment Bolan was used to, he figured it would be best to use the radios and hope they did not go out of range. He knew that Snape had carefully plotted out the location on a hand-drawn map, and from where they would land downtown, the compound was nowhere outside the range. The problem was more so how deep underground they'd have to go that could disrupt communication. If that happened, he'd draw the team in and keep them at a safe distance. Further, he had only taught a select few how to use the equipment. He had one, which he would use to update the others via open channel, and Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, with eager fascination, and Moody carried the others. Overall, he believed he could trust the wizards, but if push came to shove, he hoped one of the demigods, who were far more accustomed to using electronics, would step in and assist if needed.

"Alright. Remember to keep the volume low if you can so you don't draw unwanted attention. Mr. Weasley and Professor Moody, keep your radios off unless you hear otherwise from me, or Professor Dumbledore tells you to turn them on."

"Yes, very good. Now, one final item before we depart. Misters Potter and Weasley, along with Ms. Granger? You three are to serve as lookouts. You are to always be with one of our American friends at all times. Let me repeat. You are not to go on your own. You are to be lookouts only, and if you see something that might be suspicious, you are to inform at least two of the Order members or two of the Americans. Now, Mr. Cooper? You are now in charge. We shall follow your lead."

They left Grimmauld Place and apparated directly into downtown London, which was crowded with people. Shops of all types and restaurants created ample opportunity for the backup force to spread out, which they promptly did as Bolan and the three demigods followed Snape further into the crowd. After a little while, they came to a manhole cover, which the wizard lifted while Bolan and the others climbed down, the Executioner checking for threats as he hit the dirt below.

"This is clever," he said.

"It is. This is made to look exactly like a normal manhole. I had to look that up, but you know. It's not leading into a sewer."

Snape was right. This manhole only presented a clear dirt path at the bottom, and there was only one way to go, which was further into the spacious tunnel. Bolan was actually glad that they didn't have to take a swim or wade through sewage. That would not only save them from being contaminated, but they didn't have to worry about losing their electronic equipment.

"We're in," he subvocalized into his radio. "I think we're getting close. I want everyone to move in half-a-mile south."

"Will do," Dumbledore acknowledged.

The team continued moving down the tunnel, careful to stay in the center to avoid casting shadows onto the walls. Having Nico helped with that problem, since he could effortlessly manipulate the shadows if need be. The tunnel was dark, but it wasn't so dark that Bolan needed to use the night vision goggles tucked away in a pocket, since light from somewhere ahead cast enough illumination that they could watch out for threats. This slightly concerned the soldier, since any guard who was actually competent enough to scan the entire tunnel would spot them. He needed a place where he could lay low and set up the sniper rifle, and he needed it fast, because the light was getting brighter with every step. As they rounded a bend, he spotted what he was looking for. Carved neatly into the wall was a granite shelf protruding from a wall.

"Professor, do you know what that is used for?"

"That shelf? When I was here last, they had a bunch of crates on it."

That wasn't good. Bolan couldn't say for sure what might have been in those crates, but instinct told him the compound trained in more than wizarding warfare. He could be wrong, and he hoped he was as he signaled the team to stop as he climbed a small staircase, removing the sniper rifle from his belt and dropping prone. Checking the loads in the weapon, he quickly made sure everything was undamaged, then peered through the scope, zooming in on the compound as he did so. First, about a thousand yards ahead stood a small security gate, guarded by two giants. There were no Earthborne, Bolan noted, which indicated that whoever ran the facility rotated the sentries. It wasn't known how many were in the compound, but as he looked around, he could see people milling about. In the first room directly to the left of the gate there were at least a dozen men and women dueling with each other and their instructors. In another, much larger room, children, some younger than the demigods, were doing the same. Men in black robes were roaming the halls with M-4 carbines slung over their shoulders, looking relaxed. Beyond that, he couldn't see much else, but he had seen enough to know that Snape was absolutely correct in that this was a training ground for up-and-coming Death Eaters. The point, as if not proven enough, was further driven home when he saw one of the children, a boy around thirteen, point his wand at one of his instructors. The blond-haired man falling to the ground writhing in obvious agony told Bolan exactly what the kid had done. Two more children shot jets of green light at a dummy the soldier spotted in the center of the room, the mannequin exploding on impact with the killing curses.

The soldier decided it was time to go. He had seen enough to understand the danger posed by Voldemort and whoever he was working with, and he could assault the place at a later time. The warrior was about to pick up his rifle and descend from his vantage point when he spotted someone moving out of the corner of his eye. Too late, he observed two men in black walk behind the rest of the team, carrying a wooden crate between them. The Executioner could do nothing as the team scattered, trying to avoid being spotted, but the night vision goggles on the men's faces caught the movement. Shouting in alarm, the men dropped the crate, hands immediately reaching under their shirts. Biting back a curse, Bolan drew his Beretta and placed two shots right between the hardmen's eyes, dropping them to the ground. An alarm began blaring, and Mack Bolan focused his attention on the gate, where the giants were starting to move forward. Fixing one of them in his sights, he squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked against his shoulder but made no sound as a .50-caliber armor piercing round slammed into the giant's chest, crumpling it to the ground before it dissolved. The second giant raised a spear, but Bolan's next round caught it in its head, and it too dissolved. With no choice, he returned the rifle to his belt, watching as Nico summoned his spent rounds, quickly placing them into a plastic bag he had brought along. So far, he had only used four rounds, but he wondered how much uglier their situation was about to get as men, women, and children came flying out of the gate, triggering short, controlled bursts from M-4 carbines or hurling killing curses into the tunnel, seeking to leave behind no witnesses of whatever the intruders had seen.

As Bolan dived off the shelf and rolled, he noticed that there were no monsters following the army. That was good, but they were severely outnumbered and outgunned. Rounds and killing curses kicked up dirt all around Bolan as he charged forward, his wand raised. He knew the others were doing the same, their only option being to fight. Retreating would only place innocent lives at risk, and they all understood that fact as they plunged into a battle they might not win. Bolan yelled into his radio for backup before one of the kids ran straight at him, her wand poised for action. She attacked, sending a jet of light at him. Blocking the spell, he was forced to sidestep as the girl sent a killing curse his way. Bolan's wand flashed, and a flash of purple fire flew from the end of his wand, but the girl quickly blocked the spell. As Bolan prepared for the next attack, he thought he detected a look of mild surprise, as if the young dark witch didn't expect her enemy to use dark magic in return. That was good, the warrior thought as he blocked a stunning spell. At least for the moment, they had an advantage.

"Crucio," the girl said.

There was a loud crack as Bolan dodged the curse, simultaneously sending several spells at her as he moved. Sticking his wand out from his cover behind a pillar, he sent a killing curse at the girl, not even bothering to utter the incantation. The Death Eater dodged the deadly green light, and the curse continued flying, striking another Death Eater in the back. The dark wizard crumpled to the ground, dead, and as Bolan moved, continuing to send spells at the girl, he heard yelling.

"Control your spells! You're killing our own!"

The soldier had no time to wonder what that meant as the girl's foot came flying at his head. Bolan ducked to avoid the kick, holstering his wand with one hand while covering his head with the other. The girl proved her inexperience in combat by trying the same lightning-fast kick again. This time, the Executioner's hand shot out, his fingers curled into blunt spears, and hammered into the dark witches leg with full force, striking a cluster of nerves. The soldier saw the girl reach behind her back, producing a pistol as she toppled to the dirt. Her first shot went wild. Before she could bring the gun around and adjust her aim, the soldier's wand came out of its holster and a jet of green light struck her in the heart, killing her instantly, the gun falling to the ground from lifeless fingers. Two dark witches who were trying to fight Percy and Dumbledore abandoned their current duels, their faces contorted into masks of rage. As they turned, both of them raised their wands, trying to point them at Bolan. The Executioner was quicker, sending two more killing curses flying their way. Shocked, the witches watched the jets of green light strike them in their chests, their wands held limply in hands that only were halfway pointed at the soldier. The Death Eaters collapsed, and Percy and Dumbledore ran up to Bolan.

"We've got to get out of here," Percy shouted.

"I know. I have an idea," Bolan replied.

As the soldier relayed his plan to them, he reached into his belt, removing four M-84 flash bang grenades he had brought along. As the Hogwarts headmaster and the son of Poseidon ran off to tell the others of his escape plan, the soldier decided to buy them some time by killing a few more Death Eaters. On the move, he hurled killing curses at anyone with robes, thankful for the fact that Dumbledore had taught him non-verbal incantations as he left a trail of dead bodies behind. By the time Moody had signaled that everyone knew the plan, at least a dozen more dark wizards and witches, a few of them children, lay dead.

"Alright, we surrender," Bolan roared.

The automatic weapons fire and barrage of dark spells immediately ceased, the survivors gathering together and aiming weapons and wands at the Executioner. He slowly and silently let loose the spoons on the grenades, having already pulled the pins before he had shouted. Someone opened their mouth to speak when Bolan let the four grenades fly. Counting down the seconds, the warrior took cover in an alcove and stuffed his fingers in his ears, shutting his eyes just before the bombs detonated, creating a wall of sound and light so bright Bolan could see it through his closed eyelids. Rising from cover, he saw his team doing the same. He was glad to see that they took his advice as they began running, Bolan sending a killing curse over his shoulder at a kid rising clumsily to his feet, trying to bring an M-4 carbine to bear on the retreating warrior. The boy fell backwards, dying without so much as a scream. They continued running long after they had ascended the latter, meeting up with the three remaining members of their party outside a crowded restaurant.

Inside the Compound

Boris Thornton rose unsteadily to his feet, trying to recover from the disorientation and blindness that he was experiencing. Slowly, as he glanced around, the other inhabitants of the compound were doing the same. Thornton continued looking around, surveying the carnage while searching for the force that had attacked them. Several of his charges were dead, that much was clear from the unmoving, oddly contorted bodies and the two men with holes in between their eyes leaking blood. The ex-SAS commando knew death all too well, so it wasn't hard to also see that the majority of the downed fighters were unconscious rather than dead. The first to fully recover, he began rolling over bodies, trying to wake up those who were knocked out. Unable to do so, he was about to pull his pistol and discard the useless forces when two wizards and a witch who had recovered began pointing their wooden sticks at the unconscious heaps. One by one, Thornton watched as they stood to their feet, taking in their surroundings.

"They're dead! How are they dead?" Martin Simonds asked incredulously. "Even some of the children!"

"What about those two," a wizard of about ten, Thornton couldn't remember the name, asked, pointing at the men with their heads blown off.

"Shot in the head," the ex-SAS commando answered. "I'm not finding any brass though, except our own, that is."

"The others? How did they die?" Simonds asked, kicking over the dead body of a red-headed witch.

"The Killing Curse," The wizard boy said thoughtfully.

"Tell me about this curse," Thornton said.

"It is a curse that was labeled as one of three curses among the darkest forms of magic. The Ministry of Magic dubs it, among two others, to be unforgivable and, if used on another human, will land you in the wizard prison called Azkaban for life. It is a very hard curse to perform and is used by us Death Eaters. You've seen it making your rounds. It's the jet of green light. It kills instantly, leaves no mark, and is almost impossible to block."

"Do you know of anyone who can use such dark magic and get away with it?"

"My parents told me that during the first war, the Minister of Magic authorized the Aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses to fight the Dark Lord's forces, but right after the war they were made illegal. So, no, sir, there isn't anyone who can get away with it, especially if they're not on our side."

Thornton thought for a moment.

"Max," he said, "do you remember who used it?"

"I know of a few who can. Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody can, but they didn't. I watched them fight. The only one who used the curse was a big dark man. He was good, too. He hurled out spells without even saying the incantation. He fought like a warrior. If I had to guess," the ten-year-old finished, "I'd say he shot those men in the head. The others only used stunning spells."

"So you're saying he killed some of our finest?"

"Yes, sir. He was the only one. I promise. No one else used the curse. I saw most of it myself, then I got busy dueling one of the kids before the flash bangs went off. Whoever that man is, he single-handedly killed over a dozen of us. He used dark magic."

The former SAS commando pondered this information for long moments. During the fight, he had only glimpsed the dark man, and from what he remembered, the boy was right. The man was sending jets of green light flying at a speed that rivaled Max and a select few Death Eaters he'd seen while they were training. Further, the fact that two of his men were dead with holes in their heads told Thornton the man was more lethal than he realized. Based on the description Max had just provided, none of the other enemy fighters were the culprits. If they didn't use deadly force, then it stood to reason they didn't carry firearms. It was that simple. If that was true, then he hoped he never had to encounter the big man again. However the enemy had found out about their training ground didn't matter. Thornton figured the enemy wasn't there to assault the place. No, they were only gathering intel, he told himself. The men who were shot took them by surprise and sounded the alarm. That meant that the dark man, maybe others, would have planned a true assault. With a jolt, the ex-SAS warfighter realized that might still happen. What if the man came back? What if he called in reinforcements? As he began pacing, he was reminded of something the boy had said.

"Max. Tell me again, mate. What happens if someone uses that curse?"

"They are tried by the Ministry and get a life sentence in Azkaban."

"So our little friend?"

"He shouldn't be a problem, but the Master won't be pleased, you know."

"I know, mate. If only there was a way to figure out who attacked us. I wish we could find out who that man is and if he really gets thrown in that prison, Az … whatever it's called. I want to know who we're dealing with."

"Perhaps," the ten-year-old said, grinning evilly, "perhaps I could help with that. Give me some time. Let me talk to the Master on your behalf. I," the boy finished, chuckling to himself, "have a plan!"

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sat at the kitchen table, sipping from his hip flask, deep in thought. The former Auror knew that Voldemort was a dangerous man. He knew the Death Eaters were ruthless. He had scars to prove it. Battle wounds that would always serve as a reminder of the terror of the First Wizarding War. He recalled those Death Eaters he had personally fought and killed. With each memory he brought to the surface, he couldn't help but think just how wrong it all felt now. Something was brewing, and it wasn't anything good. In fact, he suspected it would be far worse than anyone realized, especially since their operation called for nine elite demigods who had seen more combat than children their age ever would and a covert, extremely dangerous warrior named Mack Bolan who had brought death and destruction to terrorists, crime syndicates, and all those who sought to put the United States at risk to join them in their war against Riddle and his forces. Moody knew a little about the man from what he was able to recall from long ago. The man had become known worldwide as a vigilante who waged a one-man war against the Mafia. He was feared by criminals everywhere, then mysteriously had died suddenly in Manhattan. By now, Moody thought, any record of him had been thoroughly scrubbed clean, and that was why he fit perfectly in their covert camp. The ex-Auror wasn't a trusting person. Experience had taught him that much. But seeing the man in battle and knowing who he really was, he knew he was a trustworthy friend. Whatever was stirring out there to take down three worlds, Moody knew, he was glad that Mack "the Executioner" Bolan was a friend. He didn't know how many people they could truly trust in the days ahead.

"You alright, Mad-Eye?" Bolan asked, taking a long pull from a goblet of butterbeer.

"Something's not right, Mack," the wizard answered.

The two men sat alone in the kitchen, the others, after debriefing, long since making their way to beds after a very long and eventful day.

"What's on your mind?"

"I've just been thinking a lot about the first war. I fought in that war. I was an Auror back then. We were authorized to use the Unforgivable Curses, you know, fight fire with fire sort of stuff. Tom and his Death Eaters were ruthless. They were cold-blooded killers, some of them, like Bellatrix Lestrange, are still doing time in Azkaban for the things they've done. But something's off. The Death Eater numbers seem to be climbing. Riddle is recruiting as if he has nothing to lose, and even the children are fighting more skillfully than most adult wizards. That's scary. Couple that with what's going on in America and what went on at Half-Blood Hill, and, well, I can't help but think we've got a real problem on our hands."

"I would agree with you," Bolan said.

"I'm not sure how to deal with this. My guess is, based on what you told us at the debrief, we were never supposed to be seen. Now that we have been seen and there are survivors, I'm thinking the word will spread."

"It already has. The monsters I shot knew of us. I have no clue how it's spreading so fast, but it is. We'll need to take it one day at a time. For now, we can't do anything but wait. Going to Hogwarts is our only option."

"That's what's bothering me. The fact that we're being found out, at least partially, isn't good. Mack, if I had to guess, I'd wager that we're going to be infiltrated soon. I don't know how. I don't know when. I don't even know if I'm right. But I've been in this game long enough to know that we're in serious danger."

"Me too," Bolan mused. "We'll just have to keep our guards up. Right now, I don't think we have anything to worry about. But let's hope you're wrong, Alastor. I'd hate for someone on our side to get hurt."

As the former Auror refilled his flask, he pondered Bolan's words. Somehow, he thought, no matter how he played it out in his head, he couldn't shake the nagging thought that no matter how hard they tried, the enemy was going to slip into their midst. If that happened, it could very well prove to be the end for all of them. He hoped he was wrong, but impending doom was all he could envision as he returned to the table, wondering if this night would be his last.

Author's Note: Well, that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave suggestions of what you'd like to see in this story. The next chapter will be out soon. I'm thinking I'll skip ahead to Hogwarts, as I don't want to keep dragging out the action. As always, feedback is welcome, and thanks for reading!