Author's Note: Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. I do hope, however, that this monstrosity of a chapter makes up for it! Enjoy!
Chapter Nine
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his office, listening to the sounds of the many tools and instruments he had occupying the shelves. It had been just over a month since the unplanned assault on the Death Eater base, and term was close at hand. Running through a mental checklist, he thought of the things that had to be done. The students were responsible for acquiring their own supplies, unless, of course, someone needed access to the trust fund Hogwarts had in case there was financial difficulty that prevented a student or their family from getting the required items. He was pleased to know that no one had needed to access the fund, and everyone at Grimmauld Place had their supplies. Although there was certainly a load lifted off his chest with that knowledge, that was the least of his concerns. With the Ministry running a smear campaign against two of his students, and by extension, him, Hogwarts would be under close examination from a lot of people. The Ministry was corrupt, dangerously so, according to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he suspected that Ministry officials would somehow worm their way into the school, wanting to micromanage everything and ensure the truth of Riddle's return remained hidden. The elderly wizard didn't know how that would play out, but the news that Fudge had provided a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor gave him reason to be suspicious.
Originally, Dumbledore had requested that either Remus Lupin or Mad-Eye Moody return to serve as the instructor, and both of them had gladly agreed. However, as they were making the necessary arrangements for the ex-Auror to return, after, naturally, weighing out the pros and cons with Lupin, they ran into problems. While they were in the process of going over the rehire paperwork with the Ministry, Harry's trial got in the way, and they were forced to put everything on hold. Following that, Minister Fudge had ordered that Dumbledore's search for a teacher be halted permanently, resulting in the Ministry taking up the task. With no explanation as to why he had been ordered to stop his search, he had decided to cooperate with the Ministry rather than engage in a lengthy battle that would undoubtedly result in the opening of an investigation of one thing or another, and he didn't need that on his plate. No, rather than fight, he let Moody know the situation and left the ball in the Ministry's court. That had left him with who he was about to meet, one Dolores Jane Umbridge, who Dumbledore learned was the Senior Undersecretary for Fudge himself. While that gave him pause, he figured it would be best to allow Umbridge to prove herself one way or another. Either she was going to do Fudge's bidding and do her best to continue to deny the truth or she wasn't. Only time would tell, but he hoped to get to know the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor well enough to gain some insight on what she would teach the students. The Hogwarts headmaster understood the importance of preparing the staff and students for all-out war, and a rigorous training course of offensive and defensive spells and dueling training would be ideal. However, exams were also on the priority list, so he figured that if she was going to offer a balanced curriculum featuring equal amounts of theoretical and practical methodology, then he would be satisfied so long as the student body was equipped for what was coming. The truth couldn't be hidden for much longer, he knew, and he hoped Umbridge realized that. One way or another, things were going to get very ugly, and the man knew all too well that life and death hung on a multitude of factors, not the least of which included how well-trained a fighting force was.
Hearing a knock at the door, he rose from his seat and went to answer it.
"Good afternoon," he greeted warmly.
A woman whom the headmaster thought resembled a toad smiled pleasantly as he ushered her into his office, gesturing for her to sit down as he took his position behind his desk.
"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" She asked in a breathy tone.
"Indeed I did, Dolores. I trust you are settling in well?"
"Yes, quite well, in fact. Thank you."
"Excellent! I shall not waste any more of your valuable time, so I will get to the point. I called you here because I'm sure you're aware that our students have gone through multiple Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in their time. The reasons for that unfortunate occurrence are many, so we shall not discuss them at this time. However, since I was not informed of the reasoning behind why the Ministry decided to halt my search and hire of an instructor, I only wish to hear from you what you desire to impart to the students of Hogwarts. As I'm sure you know, it is rather difficult to find a teacher, particularly for such a subject as Defense Against the Dark Arts, so it is quite important for me to communicate clearly with my staff as to what is being taught within these walls."
"Of course! I, ahem, ahem, I understand completely, Headmaster. While I would be more than happy to provide you with an in-depth analysis of my curriculum that the Ministry of Magic has been so gracious as to provide for me, I would respectfully request that be saved for a later date simply due to the fact that I still have much preparation ahead of me. However, I will provide you with the assurance that all students will be taught everything they need to know for their year, including, of course, any material that will be on exams such as the Ordinary Wizarding Level and Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test examinations. With the vast theoretical knowledge the children will acquire in my class, I assure you that they will be more than capable of performing superbly during the exams, and those who will not be taking such exams will be prepared to do so in the future."
That told him everything he needed to know. Without a doubt, the woman wasn't going to do anything about the impending threat the wizarding community was facing. Instead, she was here strictly to interfere, and that was incredibly dangerous. The professor had no idea what she was in for, nor how many lives she and Fudge were putting at risk. It wasn't so much what she said that caught his attention. In fact, what she said sounded good. No, what truly gave her away, whether she knew it or not, was what went unspoken and the flash of fear that crossed her face, as if she wasn't expecting to be asked about what she would be teaching. The headmaster didn't know how long he could allow her to run interference, and he also wouldn't be surprised if the Ministry tried to expand its rule over the school in the weeks ahead. But the one thing he knew for certain as he dismissed her was that she needed to be watched, and closely. As he stepped into his fireplace, a loose plan began to form in his mind.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place
Sirius Black, Mack Bolan, and Molly Weasley were sitting at the kitchen table discussing dinner plans when they heard a faint pop from the living room. Seconds later, Dumbledore entered the kitchen, his face serious. His normally twinkling eyes were hard, as if angry.
"I am calling an Order meeting immediately," he said by way of greeting.
Moments went by as the rest of the Order members arrived. Bolan placed his usual enchantments on the house that protected them from the Weasley twins and their magical listening devices, as well as any device that Leo attempted to rig up. So far, the son of Hephaestus hadn't tried anything, but the soldier wasn't taking any chances. Bolan poured his wizard friends some tea before taking his place at the table, taking a sip from his own refilled mug.
"Is everything OK, Albus?" He asked.
"Yes and no. First, I don't have any activity to report, other than the usual tragic news of more murders that, while the Ministry has managed to hide, the mainstream media has been covering constantly."
That wasn't news to Bolan. Following the impromptu assault on the Death Eater training compound, he had wasted no time in teaching the Order of the Phoenix how to use technology, including phones and televisions in order to keep up with current events. His friends at Camp Half-Blood had been helpful in those particular areas, since he was able to speak with the Hecate cabin and have them place enchantments on the electronics to hide them from monsters and protect them from interference with magic. Immediately following the assault, news had been flooding in about murders and other acts of terror in both the United States and London. Most murders were unexplainable, according to London police, although there were a few mass shootings and firebombing runs thrown into the mix. That led Bolan and the others to conclude that most of the deaths were due to the Killing Curse, and it was further evidenced by the Ministry of Magic covering up any report of the news, opting to sensor all wizarding media outlets by threatening immediate shutdowns if anything remotely resembling mention of Voldemort was printed. Kingsley and a few other Aurors had been helpful in updating them on the activity of the Ministry, and with each report more and more of the puzzle slid into place.
"OK," he said.
"We're going to have to do something about all the killings. However, I think we might have another problem."
"We'll take care of the killers when the time is right. What do you have for us?"
"As you are aware, the Ministry had previously ordered me to quit looking for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. About a week ago, I received word from Minister Fudge that he had found a qualified teacher. I just met with her, and I believe she is corrupt."
"How so?"
Dumbledore relayed the details of the meeting, leaving nothing out. When he was done, Moody looked outraged, grumbling to himself.
"I presume you have a plan," Lupin said.
"Sort of, but all I Have right now is suspicion. I don't really have any proof."
"That's no problem," Bolan said. "If she's dirty, we'll find out. Give me a little time. I think I have an idea, but I'll need some help."
Justice Department Headquarters, Washington D.C.
Hal Brognola was sitting in his office going over some paperwork when his phone rang.
"Brognola here," he greeted.
"Hal, it's me," Aaron Kurtzman replied.
"What do you got for me?"
"I'm going to need you to come to the Farm as soon as you can," the computer whiz said urgently.
"On my way."
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
"What's going on, Bear?"
"Has Striker been in touch at all lately?"
Brognola took a moment to consider his options. While it was true that Bolan had not been in contact since his assault on the Death Eater compound, he had been forced to keep the Farm out of the loop concerning the soldier's current mission. Of course, that hadn't stopped Kurtzman and his team of computer hackers from doing what they could, like running the pictures of the defeated Death Eaters through facial recognition or monitoring James Robison. However, the true nature of the mission could not be explained, since it involved two worlds that were hidden from most of mankind.
"No, why?"
"Because it appears that Robison is sending Dylans and his pals on another mission."
That gave the Big Fed pause. The three suspected demigods, despite their age, were dangerous individuals. They had already killed nearly one-hundred civilians, and whatever their next mission would entail would certainly up the body count. He couldn't authorize Able Team to tail them, since there was no way to know if, say, the kids had reinforcements in the form of monsters or wizards in case things went south. The only person who was truly equipped to deal with Dylans and his friends was the Executioner, but Brognola didn't want to send his longtime friend into a trap.
"What's the plan?"
Malfoy Manner, Wiltshire, England
Draco Malfoy paced in his bedroom, thinking. Below him, he heard the faint sounds as witches and wizards dueled in the training room. He did his best to drown out the sound, but he couldn't. It only aggravated him further. Hearing the din below as Death Eaters shot various dark spells at dummies only served as a grim reminder of his assignment from the Dark Lord he had just received. He shuttered at the thought of what he had to do. Of course, being a Malfoy, it was expected that he would support the Dark Lord and join the ranks of fighting men and women bent on terrorizing, killing, and torturing all who dared get in his way. However, nothing could be further from the truth, as far as Draco was concerned. If he had it his way, he'd join the side of the angels and battle it out to the death if need be to protect people from Tom Riddle, even though it would mean betraying his family. His current assignment was a challenge; there was no doubt about that. But he wondered if he could use it to his advantage. Perhaps let Harry Potter and the others in on the secret somehow. That brought up another subject. His constant bullying and rivalry with the Boy Who Lived.
If he was being honest, he couldn't really say why it was that he bullied the boy. Hurling insults at Hermione Granger was another matter, but he didn't like doing even that, although he was supposed to hate anyone who wasn't a pure-blooded wizard, especially Muggle-born witches and wizards. While he couldn't say for certain whether or not he would have been the best of friends with the trio he so often bullied in another world, the one thing he could say with absolute certainty was that he sort of liked the group. If his mission was to succeed, he'd have to find a way to get on their good side and earn their trust. He had information that could, at least in part, prepare Hogwarts for what was to come in the not so distant future. In another time, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps he and the Golden Trio would have stood side-by-side in the fight against Voldemort and his forces. It didn't matter now, he knew, since he was in appearance a full-fledged Death Eater. He knew the spells, knew the tactics, and had gained an assignment that was for only Riddle's most trusted supporters. No matter how he sliced it, the twelve-year-old couldn't imagine himself supporting the tyrant in what he had planned, and he couldn't stand the thought of contributing to the death of people who only wanted to live their lives but got in the way of the Dark Lord by simply existing. As he heard footsteps approaching his door, he knew what he had to do.
"Draco," Lucius Malfoy said, entering his room.
"Yes?"
"I have some news. Read this."
His father handed him a piece of parchment. He quickly read the letter, absorbing all the information. He took his time giving it back to his father, however, so as not to draw any attention to himself. When he was finished memorizing the information, he looked up, taking care to show a mixture of shock and slight annoyance.
"What does this mean?"
"It means that the Dark Lord wishes for you to get to know these exchange students. Get close to them. Earn their trust and make them trust you, and if you can, get them to join us! Don't you see, son? This is a perfect opportunity for you. If you do it right, they can help you accomplish your task! It's perfect! I have some things I must attend to. This letter is yours for your reference, although, I must confess, it lacks much information. Do what you wish with it."
As his father shut the door, the twelve-year-old Slytherin grinned. Whoever the exchange students were, he was very eager to meet them, but not for the reasons his father and Tom Marvolo Riddle had in mind. Reading through the letter once more, Draco Malfoy began making plans.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place
The Order of the Phoenix was about to conclude their meeting for the night when Bolan's phone rang once more.
"Yeah," Bolan said.
"It's me. Striker, we have a problem."
"What is it?"
"Dylans and his pals have taken another mission."
"Where?"
"Current intel suggests that they'll be deploying to Colorado Springs. Where they're headed after that, well, we won't know until the agents catch up. I just wanted to let you know that we're on it."
"No."
Brognola paused briefly on the other end of the line. He knew that when his friend resorted to one-word responses, his mind was made up. Whatever his number one commando had decided, the Big Fed was going to do anything he could to help him.
"What do you want to do?"
"I'm going in. Dylans and his friends want me. I don't want any of the agents put at risk. Pull them out as soon as the kids leave the compound. I want Bear and the team tracking them. I'll handle it once they drop into Springs."
"Done," Brognola said.
"Send me everything you can on their mission. I'll call you back in a few minutes."
Bolan terminated the call and glanced around.
"Are you actually going?" Lupin asked.
"I am. Dylans and his buddies can't be going to Springs for a day of hiking Pulpit Rock or Pikes Peak. It's something more. I'm thinking probably another mass shooting."
"But they'll trap you." Dumbledore objected.
"Maybe. But I'm the only one who can deal with them. If my theory that they're demigods is correct, not only does that mean that they're probably really powerful demigods, but they could be joined by wizards or monsters. Not to mention that monsters will probably be hunting for them. Couple that with their combat training and the likelihood of them being accompanied by other highly-trained soldiers either to help them or simply to transport them after the mission, and we can't risk more innocent lives. My people or the FBI can't deal with them for the reasons I just mentioned, and I'm not putting any of you or the kids in danger unnecessarily."
"Are you going to kill them?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Let's just say I'll do whatever's necessary to protect others. I'm sure you've figured out by now that I'm not one to bother with search warrants, arrests, or prosecution. I get called when there's jobs no one wants or no one can handle. When I find those responsible, I kill them."
"Be careful," Dumbledore said.
"Always," Bolan answered, lifting his enchantments as he headed upstairs.
Entering his room, he quickly sorted through his gear. He ignored the automatic rifle with its attached grenade launcher, opting instead for his MP-5 submachine gun. He chambered a round, then checked the loads in his sidearms before grabbing a Tanto fighting knife. Unzipping another bag, he filled his belt with extra magazines and grenades, then grabbed his communications gear, quickly putting the tiny throat mic and earpiece on. Doing one final check, he ensured he had his wand and some more ammunition and grenades before exiting the room. Walking downstairs, he nearly collided with Annabeth.
"Sorry," he said.
"No worries. Percy and a few others invited me to an evening picnic, and I was running a little late. Hey, you want to join us?"
"I'd love to but I have to go. I'll be back later."
"Where're you going?" The daughter of Athena asked.
"On a mission. Listen. Go enjoy your picknick. I'll be back soon. I need to make a call."
Removing his phone from his pocket, he watched as the demigod continued walking, giving him a worried glance as she went through the front door. Hitting a button, he speed-dialed Brognola's private line and ensured the scrambler was enabled.
"Brognola," the Big Fed greeted.
"It's me. Any word?"
"Yes. Two things. First, the agents just reported that a chopper took off with the boys inside, and they're pulling out. They will not be tailing them for the moment. Second, I've got their mission objectives in hand now. I was just about to scan them and send them over to you. I can arrange for Jack to meet you and we'll try and get you to Springs ASAP. They're moving faster than I thought."
"No need. I'll be right there," Bolan said before exiting Grimmauld Place and disapparating.
Justice Department Headquarters, Washington D.C.
"Striker! What the?" The Big Fed spluttered, nearly spilling his coffee onto a thick stack of papers.
"Sorry Hal," Bolan said as he pocketed his phone. "I needed to get here fast. You said that Dylans and his friends have already left?"
"That's correct. They're planning to storm downtown Colorado Springs. Nothing in particular, just find somewhere crowded and start shooting. This time though there's more problems. They're supported by eight heavily-armed mercenaries, with two dozen more for backup. Wizards are also reportedly going to show up, but I don't know when that'll happen. Of course, there's monsters there as well."
"Already?"
"Yep. Apparently this has been in the works for some time. So far, you're dealing with half-a-dozen Laistrygonian Giants and a whole lot of empousi. Of course, that doesn't take into account any monsters that might specifically hunt for the demigods."
"How many wizards are they expecting?"
"A half-dozen at most."
"Alright. If there's nothing else, I need to get going. Tell Bear that I have my earpiece. He can jump in anytime if he has news."
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Mack Bolan strolled through downtown, his sidearms on display. He had concealed his submachine gun in his belt to avoid drawing unwanted attention, as it wouldn't do to have the police called because he was carrying an automatic weapon. While he could always get out of the situation with the help of Brognola, it wasn't worth the hassle. He could reach the gun and be firing within a second anyway, so he wasn't worried. His sidearms were another matter, however. Colorado Springs was more loose when it came to gun control laws, which meant he could open-carry and no one would give him a second glance. Deciding to get a bite to eat, he walked into a packed burger joint, scanning for threats as he entered the line. Fifteen minutes later, he walked to a table on the patio, his food in hand. The Executioner ate quickly, counting down the minutes until Dylans and his team were expected to HALO jump. Where they would land was a mystery, but Bolan guessed it would be remote enough that no one would notice their entry, yet close enough to their target that they could approach on foot. Why Robison had chosen that particular method for them was yet another mystery that really didn't matter, but he had to wonder what exactly was going through the man's head while planning the raid. Oh well, he thought as the distant sound of a helicopter filled the air. Whether it was the bird carrying the deadly cargo or another chopper it was hard to tell.
"Striker," Kurtzman spoke in his ear. "They're coming in."
"Roger. Keep tracking them."
"Will do."
Bolan took a sip from a coffee he had bought before he sat down to eat, wondering how long it would be until the shooting started. As he set down his cup, he watched as two empousi walked by, followed by a Laistrygonian Giant. Resisting the urge to take them out, he leaned back in the metal chair, prepared to spring into action at any moment.
"Striker, they've landed. You've got thirty-two men and three boys about half-a-mile out."
"All of them came at once?"
"It looks like it. How they managed to pull it off is beyond me; they landed in the middle of downtown. It's a wonder how they weren't seen falling from the sky."
"Yeah," Bolan mused.
The soldier rose to his feet, grabbing his pistols and placing them carefully in his belt as he moved. Dodging the crowds of people was somewhat difficult at times, but for the most part his path was clear, allowing him to move quickly. Pausing, he watched as three men wearing windbreakers rounded a corner. Immediately, the Executioner spotted the bulges under their jackets and knew they were trouble. Guessing Dylans or whoever the team leader was had sent them ahead as scouts, he feigned drunkenness as he approached the men who were just beginning to unzip their coats.
"You got a light?" He slurred.
The point man paused, thought for a moment, then reached into a pocket and produced a lighter.
"Cigarette?" He asked, brandishing the lighter impatiently.
"Right here," Bolan said, unholstering his Beretta 93-R and shooting the man between the eyes.
The silencer on the weapon turned the normally loud shot into nothing more than a muffled cough. The man fell without a sound, and before the other two could react, he dropped them with single shots to the heart. Quickly searching the first man he'd shot, he relieved him of an AK-47 automatic rifle and a bandoleer of extra ammunition. Finding only a half-empty pack of cigarettes after taking his weapon, the soldier searched the other two and relieved them of their extra ammo, emptying their AKs before noticing the last man was wearing a wireless headset. Taking it, he listened for any communication as he resumed his hunt. Reaching into his belt, he had just finished putting on his own gear in addition to the AK-47 when the voice of a child spoke through his stolen earpiece.
"What do you have for us, Scout One?"
Bolan didn't answer as he watched for threats. By now, civilians noticed the three dead men and were leaving. Not seeing any phones pressed to ears just yet, he knew he had to end this quick. The problem was that there were almost thirty men still alive, plus the three boys, an army of monsters, and wizards. All of which, the soldier knew, were bent on destroying the downtown area and killing as many people as they could. Therefore, he couldn't just walk away.
"Bear," he said, careful to cover his other throat mic.
"I'm here."
"I need you to keep the authorities away for as long as you can. I don't have time to explain, but can you do it?"
"I'll do what I can. I'll update you if they're on their way."
"Thanks, Bear."
Rounding a corner, he was about to tell the group of men and women walking his way to leave when a burst of automatic weapons fire broke through the normal hubbub, rounds creating sparks off the pavement. As Bolan took cover behind a trash can, he heard the screams of people as they tried to run. More gunfire tore through the air as the Executioner waited.
"Who fired those shots!" Sammy Dylans bellowed through the radio. "You're not supposed to yet! Scout One, where are you? Why didn't you give the signal?"
"Oh," Bolan vocalized into the throat mic, "I'm sorry. I must have forgotten."
"Who is this?"
"My name isn't important. I'm assuming you're the kid they call Sammy Dylans, right?"
"Yeah, what's it to you?"
"I'm the guy you want," Bolan said, charging from cover and tossing the stolen communications gear away.
The Executioner triggered a burst from the automatic rifle at a man who was crouching to reload. The 7.62-millimeter copper-jacketed slugs caught the man in the chest and head, and he fell, spraying blood from his ruined neck. Several more men charged toward him, their weapons spitting long bursts that came nowhere near the soldier. Civilians were few and far between, most having fled the scene. Those that were still around scrambled for cover, some of them dying as the assassins threw lead in their directions. Bolan stiffened as he saw two women and a little girl go down near a coffee shop, all of them taking at least a half-dozen shots in the torso. Tracking the shooters, he put a short burst into each of them as he ran, wondering where Dylans and the other two kids were hiding. Spotting another man lining up a shot at a group of men running into a restaurant, the soldier emptied his clip into the assassin, the man falling face-first onto the pavement, the 7.62-millimeter rounds channeling deep wounds through vital organs. Reloading on the run, the Executioner saw an army of empousi sprinting down the road. With no civilians around, Bolan withdrew a fragmentation grenade from a pocket, pulling the pin and pitching the bomb directly in the center of the empousi. Dropping prone, he had just enough time to observe the confused looks on the monsters' faces before the bomb detonated seconds later. Five seconds after the detonation, Bolan rose from cover, shrapnel still singing through the air as he tracked the two surviving monsters, dropping them with short bursts from his submachine gun. Bolan's combat instincts flared, warning him of danger to his left. Spinning, he was forced to roll out of the way as three Laistrygonian Giants barreled toward him. Coming up on one knee, the soldier fired a single burst from the MP-5, the nine-millimeter parabellum rounds stitching holes in the giants' torsos. They collapsed, screaming, then dissolved into dust as Bolan reloaded.
Three giants were down. According to Brognola's intel, that left three still alive and kicking. At least ten empousi were down and out, and he had no idea how many remained. He didn't even bother trying to count the dead men. It was a wasted effort, but he needed to find the three kids before they escaped. How many more men stood in his way? How many monsters? When were the wizards coming, if indeed they were coming at all? The answers were nothing more than who knows. He had no choice but to take everything as it came, and if he died or was captured in the process, then so be it. He had been in rougher spots and had come out alive, and hopefully this would be no different. Triggering short, controlled bursts on the move, he cut down a half-dozen more men, then reloaded the submachine gun and cut down the three remaining giants who came charging at him from inside a building. A small army of empousi charged him as he was tracking Sammy Dylans, whom he recognized from photographs that Brognola had provided for him. Pulling two more M-67 fragmentation grenades, he tossed the bombs into the center of the monsters before taking cover behind a parked car. Both bombs detonated simultaneously, sending shrapnel in all directions. Blistering heat momentarily washed over the soldier, but it quickly subsided as Bolan rose. Gold-colored dust surrounded him and covered parked vehicles, indicating that the monsters were out for good. Hoping that was the last of them, he continued moving down the street, spotting the three children several yards ahead, raising weapons to kill several employees of a restaurant who were gazing out the shattered window of the building. Bolan raised his MP-5 and was about to fire a burst meant to distract them when a flash of light flew past him, striking the windshield of the car he'd taken cover behind. The glass exploded on impact with the spell, and a half-dozen robed figures strutted up behind Bolan. Spinning, his submachine gun spit out a single sustained burst that cut all six wizards down before they could fire off any other spells. Sweeping the weapon from left to right, he stitched them all from sternum to throat. They toppled backwards in a heap of blood and gore, their wands falling from nerveless fingers.
Dylans and his friends were well ahead of him, and he sprinted after them, trying to decide his next course of action. Killing them didn't exactly appeal to the soldier, despite what they had done. If he could take them alive, perhaps they could gain intel, not to mention it would afford the three youngsters a second chance to get it right. However, if they weren't going to let up, and if they were going to continue to kill bystanders, then he wouldn't have a choice. On the move, he wondered if his theory that they were demigods was true. Only one way to find out, he mused as he rounded the corner of a strip mall and spotted them running across a street toward a movie theater. A burst of gunfire alerted the soldier they had found more targets. Ditching the AK, he slung his submachine gun and drew his Desert Eagle, watching as Triston Alverez ruthlessly gunned down a terrified group of children who were playing in the waterfall. Triston was about to reload his smoking gun when the authoritative roar of a massive pistol drew his attention. He shoulder-rolled to the left, dodging a large-caliber slug that missed him by less than an inch. Bolan watched as the kid rose, noting that the three boys were adept in combat. Triggering another round, he aimed high, forcing the boy to roll away again, this time directly into the water spirting from the ground. The Executioner saw him land hard on his butt, then smile as Dylans and Bobby Moore came running. As Bolan watched, Dylans pointed in his direction, having spotted the gleam of his pistol. Next, Alverez stood to his full height, obviously unfazed by the water. Hearing a sound, Bolan shoulder-rolled to the right as an unnaturally massive wall of water erupted from the ground, flying at him with alarming swiftness. Coming up on one knee behind a planter, he had just enough time to watch Dylans raise a hand, sending a massive lightning bolt slamming into the flood. Bolan rolled away, barely avoiding the electrified flash flood that struck the planter, scattering dirt, plants, and bits of stone. The wave disappeared, and Bolan stood.
Scanning the street, the Executioner noticed that the boys weren't where they had been seconds earlier. Instead, the three of them were in the air, Alverez and Moore surrounded by heavy rain while Dylans manipulated the wind. Yes indeed, they were demigods, and if he was not mistaken, these three were the sons of Zeus and Poseidon. That posed a problem for Bolan. Not only were the three of them skilled in combat, but the simple reality that they were demigods meant that they had an advantage, and they had to know that. True, the soldier had his wand and other tools of his trade, but since Moore and Alverez were near their domain, assuming they were sons of Poseidon, that meant that the water would strengthen them. Dylans would tire soon enough, but not before considerable damage could be inflicted upon the warrior. He might even summon another lightning bolt and kill him if he stayed where he was for too long. He needed a plan. Unfortunately though, they didn't seem to want to give him that chance. Before he could so much as take a step, he was engulfed in a second wall of water that knocked him off his feet. Bolan resisted the urge to fight as the water began moving rapidly, carrying him along. The soldier ran the numbers through his head as his lungs began to burn. With his eyes shut, he couldn't see anything, but he knew he couldn't be too far away from at least one of the boys. Or could he be? Could it be that Alverez or Moore created the flood so that they could kill him, then dump his body somewhere? Was it possible that they could drag a massive wall of water far enough away from them that he couldn't swim over and stick a knife in their backs? He had no more time to ponder those questions. The ache in his lungs was getting worse, and he knew he would pass out soon. He was about to try and swim for air when the water level dropped just enough for his head to surface.
Inhaling deeply, he treaded water, ensuring he still had all his gear before looking around. They were moving rapidly through the city, Dylans leading the way. Moore and Alverez were on either side of him, smiling widely as they looked at him.
"So," Alverez said, "you're our guy, huh? I have to say, that really was a lot of fun!"
"What was? The shooting people part or forcing me to kill over thirty armed fighters part?"
Bolan was careful to not let them know he knew that half-a-dozen of their forces were wizards. He couldn't do anything about the monsters. Dylans and his friends would see them for what they really were, but he decided to let them draw their own conclusions about what he saw during the firefight.
"Both, actually. I enjoyed watching you. What's your name?"
"None of your business," Bolan said.
The two boys smiled in reply. Glancing around, the soldier saw they were now far away from the city, as no buildings were visible. Instead, all that greeted them was a faint outline of treacherous terrain, complete with massive boulders and cliffs. As they neared a particularly nasty-looking boulder, the boys let the water level drop just enough so that Bolan's left shoulder slammed hard into the rock, sending pain radiating down his entire left side before it went numb. A second stone mercilessly struck him in the side, knocking the air from his lungs. The water level rose again, a third stone missing him by less than an inch.
"Gosh," Alverez piped up cheerily, "isn't it amazing how nasty nature can be?"
Bolan remained silent.
"Where are we going?" He asked after a while. "It looks like your buddy's getting tired."
"Why our rendezvous point, of course!" Moore answered. "You know, if you would be so kind, why don't you tell us your name? It will make introducing you to our friends much easier. Of course, if you don't, I hope that you keep in mind that there are other ways of getting information from you."
Bolan showed no emotion on his face as he weighed his options. Getting captured wasn't exactly on his schedule for the day, and especially not by the three demigods. Nonetheless, it had happened, and he had a choice to make. He could see where they were taking him and blitz the place on arrival. He still had all his gear and was in no rush. Further, despite taking hits from the rocks, he was still in prime fighting condition, the hits doing nothing more than causing some manageable pain that would ultimately leave some bruising. Alternatively, he could try and escape now, his only option being apparition since he was still swept up by a flood. Of course, that would give the boys enough of a clue to figure out that he had the ability to fight wizards on their turf, which in turn could lead them to drawing the conclusion that he could fight monsters as well. Ultimately, he knew, if he could avoid giving them any clue about who he was, he'd do whatever needed to be done. His choice was made for him though as they plunged him deep beneath the water again. Hoping they weren't looking, he disapparated, landing on the front porch of Grimmauld Place. Checking his gear again, he cleared his weapons of water before storing them in his belt and walking inside.
"You're soaked, man! Here, let me help with that," Percy Jackson said by way of greeting.
The son of Poseidon waved a hand and the soldier found himself completely dry.
"Thanks, Percy. You're the best. Listen. I need you to gather everyone as fast as you can."
The boy nodded, pulling out his phone from a pocket.
"These things are so handy," he said as he followed Bolan into the kitchen. "I'm glad you and Leo were able to build them."
"It was a fun project. They'll even work when we go to Hogwarts. Something tells me we'll need them there, which is partially why we made them in the first place."
"The Order has them too, don't they?"
"Yes. If anyone needs anything at all, we're able to contact each other."
"Ah, Matthew, you're back," Dumbledore said, entering the room.
"I am, but I have news that everyone needs to hear."
"Excellent! Well, if I'm not mistaken, the others are on their way. I saw Ms. Granger, Ms. Chase, and Ms. Levesque through the window."
A few minutes passed as everyone trickled in, entering the kitchen and helping themselves to various drinks. Harry, Ron, and Cedric were the last ones in, setting down a picknick basket.
"Did all of you go on a picknick?" Bolan asked, glancing around at the children.
"Percy, Frank, Nico, Will, and I did after you left," Annabeth explained. "Apparently so did they, although we didn't see them."
"Oh, well no worries, I was just curious."
"sandwich?" Cedric asked the group. "We have a ton."
"Toss me a couple," Bolan requested.
Cedric and Ron tossed him a sandwich, and he caught them both. With one in each hand, he spoke before taking a bite.
"I presume all of you have been keeping up with the news in the United States?"
The demigods and Hermione nodded.
"OK, well for those of you who haven't, have someone fill you in later. For everyone who has been up-to-date, you should know that I just encountered the shooters who terrorized a mall in Denver."
"You mean the three kids?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"Right on the money."
"What can we do?" Dumbledore asked.
"At the moment, nothing. They got away. But I needed all of you to know because we need to be on guard. For reasons I can't get into right now, just know that they're with the bad guys, and they're extremely dangerous. You're dismissed, but I'm going to need Percy and Jason to stay behind for a moment. After that, I'm calling an Order meeting."
Confused, one by one people began filing out of the room. Once everyone had left, the soldier addressed Percy and Jason.
"I have some news for you two," he began. "I know both of you pretty well and I assume you've told me all you know about your heritage, correct?"
"Of course, Mr. Cooper," Percy said. "I'd never lie to you."
Jason just nodded his agreement, growing more confused as he sat at the table.
"OK. In that case, this is going to come as a terrible shock, but the two of you have half-brothers."
Both of them went pale. Percy was stunned, and he had no reason not to trust the man speaking to him.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"What I mean is that Sammy Dylans, who I'm sure you've seen if you've searched the news outlets hard enough, is a son of Zeus, and the other two boys, Triston Alverez and Bobby Moore, Percy, they're your half-brothers."
"Then why haven't we ever met?"
"Who knows. Maybe you did, but it wasn't at Camp Half-Blood."
"You mean that the three of them were enemies in the Giant War?"
"That I can't say. If I had to guess, I'd say they were enemies in both wars you fought. I recognized all of them as Greeks by the way they fought, but I figured you might want to know who you may run into one day, Jason."
"Yeah, thanks. I had no idea Jupiter, Zeus, whatever, had more children. It doesn't surprise me though. How did you run into them?"
"That's a long story. Let's just say I've fought them, and they're really dangerous."
"Fair enough," Percy reasoned.
The demigods had long gotten used to the cryptic nature of the Executioner's speech. If their newfound friend and fellow warrior didn't want to share the story, who he really was or a dozen other related details, that was fine with them. He had proven himself to be trustworthy, and for that, the demigods would fight alongside him without a hesitation.
"Well," Jason spoke up, "I hope someone can keep an eye on them."
"My people are on that. That's how I ended up meeting them."
"Interesting," Percy mused. "So that's why you came in soaking wet. It was from your mission Annabeth mentioned."
"Yes. They got away, which is why I needed to warn everyone in the first place. These kids aren't your average Joe. They're extremely dangerous and they know what they're doing."
Both demigods left after a couple minutes, the full weight of what they had just heard occupying their thoughts. From there, the soldier proceeded to fill the Order in on the details of the mission, then, checking the time, called Hal Brognola. He cleaned all his weapons, then made a late night grocery run. That completed, he went to bed for a good night's sleep, his dreams filled with ghosts from his past.
Three Weeks Later
King's Cross Station
"What is Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" Annabeth asked. "There's literally no Platform Nine and Three-Quarters! Where is it? What is it? Who was dumb enough to create it?"
"It's in between platforms nine and ten," Hermione explained with a laugh. "You have to run at the wall."
The demigods looked at each other. Annabeth, Percy, and Nico had survived Tartarus. The nine of them had traveled to various places and took on many monsters. They had faced combat of horrific magnitude. But the idea of running at a solid brick wall did not sound like a good day.
"I'll go first," Bolan said.
The soldier was officially on staff at Hogwarts, all be it covertly, and his job required him to serve in many capacities, one of which was security detail. He and Dumbledore had agreed that, while questions would be raised, he should board the Hogwarts Express with the students, just in case anything happened. He had been briefed on how to get to the train and had even scoped out the area and had practiced the trick with Dumbledore many times before the kids were scheduled to board the train.
"You don't have to do this at your school?" Ron asked, ignoring Bolan.
"No, not exactly. Our school was quite different," Percy answered vaguely.
"Look," Bolan cut in, "it's getting down to the wire here. We need to get going. I'll go through first and wait for you, and then we will board together. We're here early enough to find good seats, but only if we stop wasting time. Don't worry guys," he finished, glancing at the demigods. "You'll be fine."
With that, the Executioner charged the wall at a full sprint, then disappeared, finding himself staring at the behemoth that was the Hogwarts Express. Only a few students had boarded so far, but they barely glanced at him, probably assuming he'd leave as soon as his son or daughter was safely on the train. After Bolan had disappeared, Percy Jackson took several deep breaths, charging at the wall with his trunk in front of him, leading the way. Bracing himself, he shut his eyes at the last possible moment, waiting for the inevitable thud that would most assuredly knock him unconscious, if not outright kill him. But it never came. Instead, he opened his eyes to see the big American standing off to the side, waiting.
"Told you it wasn't that bad," he stated.
"These Brits are nuts," the son of Poseidon commented, careful not to say something that might blow his cover.
After a while, everyone in Bolan's crew made it through the barrier. The wizards were indifferent, having done the same thing at least once before. The war heroes, however, were a different story. Nico looked annoyed. Annabeth, Hazel, and Piper stifled screams once they found out they were still alive, the daughter of Athena then turning her attention to the train in amazement. Leo freaked out so much his hair burst into flames. Thankfully, it was only for a second, and no one besides Bolan noticed. Jason and Frank looked relieved, and Will was simply glad to be alive, thankful that he didn't have to check his friends for injuries. They boarded the train, finding a compartment in the middle that was big enough to hold all of them comfortably.
"So what do we do now?" Leo asked.
"We still have around twenty minutes before the train leaves. Crowds will be gathering quickly. For now, I'd advise you to not get up and leave, otherwise you'll lose your spot. From then, we leave for Hogwarts," Bolan answered, already knowing where this was going.
"So," Jason asked, "so how long is the ride to Hogwarts?"
"You sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
"Let's just say it's going to take all day."
At that, the demigods glanced at one another, doing their best to hide the panic from their eyes. It wouldn't due to cause the wizards sharing their compartment to grow suspicious, but each of them knew that it was going to be nearly impossible for them to remain still. The ADHD most of them dealt with was going to be hard to manage. Bolan himself didn't really like waiting either. He understood where the demigods were at. He was a warrior through and through, and he never liked waiting for action, although he was able to do it for as long as necessary in order to get a job done. Experience taught him that while waiting was certainly a drag, it was also good in many ways. First, depending on the situation, it allowed the warrior to rest. Second, it allowed him to ensure that he could verify his target, whether it be behind the scope of a rifle or waiting for the perfect moment to strike at a criminal compound. So, rather than complain, the soldier would make the best of it. He just hoped the demigods would do the same rather than annoy the living daylights out of their friends. Minutes later, the train began to fill with students, and several of them noticed the big American. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out an invisibility cloak just as the Death Eater he had battled weeks before appeared, a boy following close behind.
"Malfoy," Harry hissed.
Bolan watched as the boy's father, whose name he couldn't recall, glanced around, a sneer evident on his face. What or who he was looking for Bolan didn't know, but he would find nothing suspicious as far as he could tell. Deciding it was too risky to let any of the other Order members see them off, Bolan's crew had said their goodbyes at Grimmauld Place. If any Death Eater showed up in search of any intel or tried to find Sirius Black, the effort would be wasted. Besides, Bolan thought, while Sirius was confined to the house, he'd still have plenty of opportunity to wage war against Tom Riddle. Nonetheless, he was glad he'd brought along his invisibility cloak just in case. Harry and the others pretended he wasn't there, chatting amongst themselves as the kid called Malfoy boarded the train, joined by two tough-looking kids. As soon as the train began to move, Bolan removed his cloak and stored it in the belt.
"Cool," Leo exclaimed. "You have a belt like mine!"
"It comes in handy," Bolan replied just as Ron and Hermione entered the compartment.
"You'll never guess who's a prefect," Ron asserted.
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Malfoy!"
"What?"
"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "Pansy Parkinson's also a prefect."
The door opened, and three boys strolled in. Bolan glanced up, noting the middle boy's icy blue eyes and blond hair, a sneer plastered on his face. The two other students flanking the much skinnier boy looked like trouble, although Bolan couldn't imagine them actually getting in fights. Reminding himself never to underestimate a potential enemy, he figured they mostly followed the third boy around and acted tough. No matter the case, Bolan would keep his eye on these three, especially if they proved to be supporting Voldemort. At the moment, the big kids looked bored, but nonetheless, the soldier knew they could be trouble. Evidently Harry and his friends didn't like the three of them because they sighed audibly and looked frostily at the boy with blue eyes. It was then that Bolan recalled the three of them boarding, with the Death Eater father watching as the train left the station.
"What do you want, Malfoy," Harry spat.
"Easy, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "You see this badge? I'm a prefect, and you're not. That means I can give you detention!"
"Maybe, but I can revoke your status as prefect," Bolan said. "I wouldn't try and push it if I were you."
The Executioner caught something in the boy's eye as he glanced around, first spotting the demigods, then the big American.
"Oh really?" He hissed. "Just who are you?"
"Call me Mr. Cooper. That's all you need to know."
The two tough-looking kids stepped forward. Draco tried to call them back but they continued moving, lumbering toward Bolan with a predatory look in their eyes. The soldier risked a glance around and saw the Golden Trio reaching for wands in surprise. The demigods stepped in front of them, their own wands raised. Turning his attention back to the two thugs, he saw that they were only a few feet away.
"Name," Bolan demanded, opting to try and keep the peace.
"Crabbe, Goyle," Draco snapped.
Ignoring their leader, they stared at Bolan.
"Who do you think you are?" Crabbe growled.
"Let's get one thing straight," Bolan asserted. "I asked you a question. You will answer it or I'll give you detention for a month and take fifty points from your house every day of that month. Second, I already told you who I am. Now let's try this again. What is your name?"
"Malfoy, what's going on?" Harry asked, clearly confused.
The Slytherin prefect paused. Normally he'd continue to bully the kid, but something was concerning him. Crabbe and Goyle had been acting strange ever since they boarded the train. Malfoy hated to say it, but they seemed more competent than normal. They were more alert. Remembering two things, he considered what to do next. First, he wondered if the big American currently being bullied by his two supposed friends was the mysterious man his father had dueled and lost to. If so, then he needed to let the man know he could be trusted, and he added that task to his mental checklist. The kids pointing wands at Crabbe and Goyle were probably the exchange students, and he knew that he'd have to leave a good first impression. However, if they had been around the trio for any length of time, and he was guessing they had, that meant his job was going to be a lot harder. Second, he also remembered that he had to find a way to get the trust of the trio he so often harassed. He didn't know how he could accomplish that, but one thing was for certain. Either Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had gone completely insane and were trying to threaten the dangerous-looking American, or they were not who they were pretending to be. The big American opened his mouth to speak once more when Crabbe, to Draco's surprise, charged the man, his hand flying upward and holding a blade. In horror, Malfoy drew his wand, knowing it was too late to help the man. At the last second, Bolan sidestepped, avoiding the attack.
The kid was good though, and while his momentum carried him forward, he caught his balance and swung the knife again. Bolan stepped into the attack and snatched his wrist, directing the knife away from him as he drove his fist into his gut. Crabbe collapsed, the wind knocked out of him, and the soldier turned his attention to Goyle, who was clawing for something under his robe. Bolan drew the Beretta and aimed it at the thuggish Slytherin, who froze.
"You two have five seconds to leave," the soldier ordered.
The two frightened fifth-years sprinted for the door, Crabbe stumbling a bit as he charged from the compartment. When they had gone, Bolan holstered his gun.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy is it? I have questions."
"OK," Malfoy answered simply.
The soldier gestured for the young prefect to step forward. As he did so, he noticed that the dark-haired man's hand wasn't too far from a wand holstered on his right hip. He knew that if he tried anything, either the man or the American kids would start firing spells at him before he could so much as grasp his own wand in the pocket of his robe. As he looked around at the clearly confused and horrified Gryffindors and the alert Americans, he couldn't help but wonder if he would have no choice but to tell them everything he knew and what he was planning. If so, he hoped the risks wouldn't outweigh the possible benefits such a move could produce. On the one hand, such a bold act could expedite the process of gaining the trust of everyone in the compartment, since he wouldn't have to hunt them down individually and concoct various schemes in order to get them to hear him out. Everyone he needed to work alongside was in one place, and that was an obvious plus. However, he couldn't predict the outcome. Not only was there the risk of being dismissed outright as a liar before he stepped off the train, particularly by the Gryffindor trio, but there was also the risk of eavesdropping or someone barging into the compartment. If it was one of the trio's many friends, that was one thing, although there was still plenty of risk. However, he was more concerned about his two companions returning, either for vengeance or to simply check up on him. If that happened and they heard him spilling his guts, he knew his life would be in danger. There was also another problem, one that he needed to warn everyone on the side of the angels about immediately. While he was boarding the train he had spotted a familiar face belonging to a boy of about ten. He was alone, sitting in a compartment near the front of the train, gazing thoughtfully out the window. But the boy posed a serious threat particularly to the big American and his crew. For the moment, Malfoy thought, Max Billings considered the Slytherin prefect an ally. However, if he were to overhear any of his conversation, particularly if Crabbe and Goyle spilled their guts as he guessed they would and the undercover Death Eater grew curious, Draco Malfoy could think of at least a dozen ways he could disappear and no one would be the wiser until it was too late. Oh well, he thought. He'd just have to take it one moment at a time.
"Let's get down to business," the man said in a deep, authoritative tone that sent a chill down Malfoy's spine. "I'll give you one chance to tell us everything you know about the two who just tried to kill me."
"I'll talk," Malfoy said quietly. "But I can't do it here."
"What do you mean?"
"Let me tell you about a boy named Max Billings."
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Albus Dumbledore strolled through the massive castle halls, returning from the kitchen. The students of the school would be arriving shortly, and he was performing last-minute checkups in preparation for the night as he always did. Entering his office, he took a ragged hat from a shelf and placed it over his head.
"Headmaster," a small voice said in his head. "This is most unusual."
"I am aware," he replied. "But I must alert you to a change."
"Go on."
"This year we will be hosting exchange students from America as part of the war against Voldemort. These students are demigods who have faced combat. I must warn you that their memories are horrific, but I must ask you to place them all in the same house as Harry Potter if you can. It is crucial for the mission. However, if you choose not to do so, then I will trust your judgment."
"Very interesting, Headmaster. Do not worry about me. I shall look into their heads as I do with every student, and I will not be startled by what I may find there. As for sorting them, I cannot say whether I will be able to grant your request or not, although I wish to do so. However, I promise, Headmaster, that I will do my best. The Dark Lord must be stopped."
Aboard the Hogwarts Express
Harry Potter finished changing into his robe, his mind filled with questions. Hours had passed since Matthew Cooper had been attacked by Crabbe and Goyle, and he still couldn't understand it. In all his years of knowing the Slytherins, granted he didn't know them well, he had never seen them behave in such a violent manner. What was more astonishing was that Draco Malfoy not only was shocked by the event, but without revealing too much, he had made it clear that he was on their side. Potter still had his reservations, but the Slytherin prefect was anything but a liar. It was even more shocking when he had apologized for his incessant bullying. Although everything in him wanted to remain skeptical, something told him that Malfoy wasn't trying to trick them. He had briefly warned them of the kid Max Billings, explaining in no uncertain terms that he was extraordinarily dangerous. The Triwizard champion didn't fully understand why at first. Draco had begun with the warning that Billings was an undercover Death Eater who was partnering with a former SAS commando, to which Cooper had stiffened. Curious, Ron had asked what the SAS was, and after receiving the answer, the wizards knew why Cooper had gone on alert. The SAS was no joke, from what limited information Harry had. Apparently, their training was very difficult and they were very skilled warriors, like Cooper was. The fact that Billings was working with the unnamed ex-SAS commando meant that there was a high possibility he was trained by him, which, coupled with his mastery of spells, made him an excellent fighter.
"Alright," Bolan said, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. "We're about to get off. Harry, you and your friends know the drill. Americans, you're coming with me to the boats. Are we clear?"
Everyone nodded as the train slowed and people began to exit, creating chaos as they moved. A giant of a man was standing off to the side shouting for all first years and the exchange students to follow him. Bolan trotted toward the man, glancing behind him to see Percy and Nico raising weapons. They were close enough to Hagrid that they could strike him with lethal results, and whether or not Celestial Bronze would harm him was a mystery. The soldier didn't want to find out and reacted accordingly. As the weapons flashed, the Executioner stepped inside Percy's attack, directing the blade away from Hagrid while he pivoted toward Nico. The move was enough to stop the demigod in his tracks, and Bolan let the war heroes know that the giant man was a friend. Looking around, the soldier was relieved to see that no one noticed the action. They followed the giant man to a fleet of small boats, and Bolan helped his crew into a few of them before jumping into one himself, scanning for threats.
Reaching the magnificent castle without incident, Annabeth immediately began talking, marveling at the architecture. Bolan listened patiently as he knocked on the castle doors. Seconds later, the stern face of Minerva McGonagall peered at them.
"First years and exchange students, follow me," the professor ordered.
The soldier watched as they were led away, then proceeded to the Great Hall. Strolling up to the staff table, he took his seat, ignoring the stares from the students. After some time, the first-year students and the demigods entered the hall, the first-year kids looking scared out of their minds. Professor McGonagall gave some brief instructions, followed by the Sorting Hat singing a lengthy song about the history of Hogwarts. The sorting of the first years took a while, but Bolan paid close attention.
"Chase, Annabeth," McGonagall called.
The daughter of Athena walked up to the stool, trying hard not to show her nerves. Placing the hat on her head, it took all her willpower not to freak at the small voice that spoke inside her head.
"Well hello, Ms. Chase! I see you are the first of the demigods who will be joining us for the year!"
"You can talk?"
"Of course! However, you shouldn't be alarmed. No one else can hear our conversation! Now, if you don't mind, let me see your memories, otherwise I can't sort you!"
"You sure?"
"Oh yes, quite sure, Ms. Chase!"
Annabeth let the walls drop, allowing the full scope of her past to be examined by the magical hat.
"Gryffindor!" The hat proclaimed authoritatively after a short while.
Taking her seat at the enthusiastically clapping table, she spotted the Golden Trio a few seats down. For a moment, she wondered if the hat knew of the mission, but didn't let that bother her. The fact that she was in the same house that they were was a significant advantage whether or not the hat had intentionally placed her there because it meant she would be near Harry at all times. She only hoped the others would have the same fate. Nico was next, followed by Jason, Percy, Frank, Hazel, Piper, and Will, who were all sorted into Gryffindor.
"Valdez, Leo," the Transfiguration professor called.
The son of Hephaestus stepped forward, sat on the stool, and five seconds later was sorted into Gryffindor with the others. Relieved, the daughter of Athena let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding as Dumbledore rose to speak.
"Excellent! Now, before we feast, I'd like to make a couple of short announcements. First, as you probably have figured out by now, we are hosting exchange students from America. Please treat them as your own. Second, along with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I'd like to introduce a new addition to our staff. Mr. Cooper, please stand up!"
Bolan rose to thunderous applause from the Gryffindor table. Moments later, the rest of the students joined in, with only Crabbe, Goyle, and Max Billings staring at him coldly. As the soldier watched, Malfoy made a show of doing the same before discreetly flashing a smile.
"Mr. Cooper is here to help us with security and some other matters. I assure you; he is a valued member of our team. But the time is now upon us. We feast!"
Plates in the center of each table were instantly filled with food. The soldier helped himself to the piles of meats, potatoes and roles. As he dug his fork into his meal, he caught Umbridge gazing at him with a look of curiosity on her face. Deciding to ignore her for the moment, Bolan ate, watching the hall. He was filling his sixth plate and buttering some bread when he caught Max Billings' eye. The boy looked angry for some reason, and every instinct warned him that Billings had him in his sights. For what, Bolan couldn't answer. Someone, probably the ex-SAS commando Billings was partnered with, wanted him out of the game. As he resumed buttering his role, he made a mental note to keep an eye on the Death Eater.
"I'd like to see you in my office after dinner," Dumbledore whispered before rising to his feet.
Bolan nodded slightly as Dumbledore turned to face the students. Clearing his throat, he began speaking.
"Now, with our bellies full, I'd like to make a few closing remarks before we head to our dormitories. First, as a reminder, no magic in the corridors please."
"Ahem, ahem, ahem!" Umbridge suddenly cleared her throat loudly, rising to her feet.
Bolan watched as the woman, either unaware of the strange stares she was getting from both Dumbledore and the students or knew about the looks but didn't care, began speaking. The Executioner listened intently as Dumbledore sat down, clearly confused. Though he found her speech incredibly boring, the soldier forced himself to pay attention, making mental notes as she droned on about the Ministry of Magic, providing well-balanced curriculum, and how, with enough theoretical knowledge, everything would be fine. After what seemed like hours, Umbridge cleared her throat a final time, then sat down. No applause rippled through the hall until Dumbledore clapped first, breaking the awkward silence. Slowly, the obviously sleepy students followed suit. Bolan listened to the rest of Dumbledore's announcements, then followed him to his office. As they sat down to talk, one thing had been cleared up for the Executioner. Umbridge was there to interfere with Hogwarts. As he left the office a while later, he was already forming a plan to get her out of the game.
Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed! I'm sorry there's a lot of details missing here. Like, you know, dipping into the memories of the demigods during the Sorting, details of Umbridge's speech, and that sort of thing. I'd guess most of us are familiar with the Order of the Phoenix and all that, so yeah! Anyway, please review or whatever! I'd love to know your thoughts! Here's a question, in parting. So I'm wanting to get rid of Umbridge quickly because there's going to be massive battles and all that, right? So what are your suggestions on how I should do that? Should Billings try and assassinate her? Should Bolan or the demigods do something dramatic? I could keep asking questions but that's enough for now! Bye!