Chapter Seven: A Promise Kept

Greg finally bowed to the necessity of 'calling' his kids into the manhunt; the whole team hoped they could locate the two missing men. His own 'team sense' couldn't pick up Spike any more than Sam, a development that left Parker shaken; unconsciously, the Sergeant depended on knowing his teammates' locations. Reluctantly, he called the Toronto School of Magic and told them to let the kids out of class to meet Auror Onasi.

While Auror Onasi picked up the kids, the team's phones let out a rising shriek. Hands dived into pockets, down to belts, yanking the devices up. Spike's initials and the gray and silver Canadian flag were on every screen. Lou's fingers flew on his phone, trying to pull up the location of Spike's phone, but the GPS coordinates that came up were jumbled and useless.

Lou's frustration stood out on his face. "This is nuts! We should have a location, not a bunch of nonsense!"

"Can I see?" Auror Onasi asked; his entrance had coincided with Lou's cry. The Auror surveyed the phone, cocking his head to the side as he read the coordinates. "Warded," he announced after a few seconds. "Probably one of the War Division's specialty wards for any…" he grimaced, "…prisoners."

"You've seen this before?" Wordy asked.

"Personally? No," the Auror admitted. "The War Division's not supposed to operate domestically. But Senior Auror Simmons has worked with them a few times…he picked up a few tricks from them and he was my training Auror my first year on the job."

"Can it be broken?" Ed demanded.

The shrug was helpless. "You saw how willing the War Division is to help us," came the reminder. "Maybe, maybe they could break it…if they wanted to, but they're more likely to dump a mountain of red tape on all our heads if we ask."

Alanna, looking rather upset, spoke up from the doorway. "Lance and I both tried to find Uncle Sam and Uncle Spike with our magic…no go. We can tell they're still alive," Greg nodded firm agreement, "But where they are…no luck."

"We need to get ahead of them, then," Jules suggested. "Figure out what they need to do, then maybe we know where to find them."

"Okay, let's do that," Greg agreed, sweeping his team, his liaison, and his kids with his gaze. "Let's start with what Auror Onasi found out."

"The Isle of the Blessed," Lance declared as soon as he'd read the account Auror Onasi had found and the kids had been brought up to speed on the theory of why Sam had been abducted. "That's the only place they can do this."

"The only place?" Ed asked skeptically.

Alanna stepped into the breach. "The power to Mirror Life and Death is part of the Old Religion…magic as it was used in the time of Camelot. At the time, there were sorcerers who had the innate ability to Mirror Life and Death; they could do it wherever and whenever they wished, but that ability died out when magical users began to use Latin. Latin spells are easier to use, especially with wands, but they're less powerful than the Old Religion."

Lance took over, filling in the rest. "Some aspects of the Old Religion are still around; many of the magical artifacts forged by the Old Religion are too powerful to be destroyed, but, on the whole, the Old Religion is dead. These days, the only way to Mirror Life and Death is with the Cup of Life, which is kept at the Isle of the Blessed, the last remaining stronghold of the Old Religion."

Jules frowned. "So, what's the difference between what you two use and the 'Old Religion'?"

Neither teen was offended by the question; Lance tilted his head to the side, thinking a moment. "In a lot of ways, they're the same," he admitted. "Most of the spells we use are spells any sorcerer of the Old Religion could use.

"But, I'll tell you one thing: no wielder of Old Magic could ever Mirror Life and Death, not like this anyway. Old Magic will not violate free will, will not rip life from one individual and give that life to another. That's Dark Magic and Old Magic won't do it, plain and simple.

"On the other hand, with the right practitioner, the Old Religion will. It doesn't care if a life is stolen…it's no more sentient than a nail; it bends itself to abuse quite easily. Old Magic has a different…foundation and there are lines that can't be crossed, limits that must be respected."

Auror Onasi arched a brow at the explanation, but the light dawned. "So, the tales of Morgana Le Fay sundering the Veil between Life and Death…if she'd used Old Magic…?"

"She couldn't have done it," Alanna confirmed. "But as a Priestess of the Old Religion, she was more than capable of doing it…and the Old Religion demanded an equal sacrifice to close the Veil." With a sigh, she looked at her uncle. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're going to need me and Lance along for this one."

Greg Parker grimaced at the statement; it was Madame Locksley who answered for him. "I'm afraid so," she confirmed, sweeping in. "Director McClellan, after much prodding, was kind enough to confirm that Ryan and the Squib Squad are familiar enough with Britain's DMLE (1) to leave several…roadblocks…in our path. It will take an equal amount of influence to overcome those roadblocks in time to rescue Aurors Braddock and Scarlatti."

Lance inclined his head. As the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin, it would mostly fall to him to deal with Britain's magicals. "Copy that," he remarked, his eyes already harder than sapphire. "If I have to ram the facts down their collective throats, I'll get us through."

Madame Locksley sighed, looking over at her Sergeant. "I'll inform Commander Holleran, Sergeant Parker. Auror Onasi will accompany you as well, so that you have at least one Auror that Magical Britain will pay attention to." She considered a moment, clearly trying to think of anything they'd overlooked, then took a step back. "Bring them home, Sergeant."

"Copy," Greg agreed.

Harry Potter had spent much of the past half year sulking over his failure to come home with Lancelot and Alanna Calvin. The Wizengamot and, more importantly, his wife had been highly unimpressed to discover that a Muggle had managed to show the war hero up in a simple beast taming challenge. The scorn, long lasting, died away shortly after that same Muggle and his compatriots strolled through the British Ministry of Magic in full battle armor.

Then Canada's squad of Squib and Squib-born soldiers showed up in Britain, claiming to be on the run from a group of Muggles masquerading as Aurors; they needed Britain to stall the Muggles long enough to complete a small task on the Isle of the Blessed. Most of the DMLE took up the challenge eagerly, but Harry, though prejudiced against the Muggles who had so effectively shown him up, smelled a rat. Accordingly, Harry made sure he was close enough to the International Portkey Department to be on the scene when the Muggles arrived, in all their armored glory. A quick head-count made the veteran Auror frown. They were down two members…and their Auror liaison had changed.

Pressing to the front, he barked at Parker, "Where's Auror Wilkins?"

Parker's face contorted in grief…grief that Harry recognized and knew all too well. He bowed his head as the new liaison replied, "I'm sorry, Auror Potter; Auror Wilkins fell in the line of duty several months ago."

"My condolences," Harry told them, his words heartfelt. "We hadn't heard." He gestured for his fellow Aurors to stand down, frowning as he dug in his memory for the names of the other two missing members. "Has the same happened to…" he trailed off at the alarmed looks he received.

"We hope not," Lancelot Calvin remarked, shifting to the front. "In truth, Auror Potter, that's why we're here. Four nights ago, the Squib Squad kidnapped Auror Braddock from his apartment building; two nights ago, Auror Scarlatti went after him alone and was captured himself."

Harry drew a sharp breath at the accusation. "That's a very serious charge, Heir Calvin," he replied, grave and formal. "What evidence do you have to prove these charges?"

"Auror Onasi?" Lancelot requested, holding out a hand. A folder was dropped in the youth's palm. Lancelot approached and offered the folder to Harry; he opened it and found himself looking at a series of Muggle images. "These images were taken from the security tape in Auror Braddock's apartment building. We've been able to positively identify two of the kidnappers: Ryan Peck and his deceased brother, Matt Peck."

Paling sharply, Harry's eyes fell on the figure that reeked of malice, even in just a picture. "What is this magic?" he whispered, horrified.

"A Shade," Lancelot said simply. Harry looked down into the boy's eyes; the boy drew a breath. "My father told me once that you'd promised to help us if we ever needed it, Auror Potter. Well, now we need it."

Memory flared.

"Promise me something, Harry. If anything happens to us, be there for my kids when they need it. Help them hold the line against the darkness."

Harry drew in a breath, held it. "I promise, Artorius. No matter what, I'll be there for them. I'll look after them, take care of them."

A quiet smile. "I appreciate it, Harry, but you know us purebloods. All interrelated…so close you have to wonder about our future sometimes. I've got a plan already; just trust me. A good family, a good man. Be the wind at their backs, Harry. We're first in every desperate attack, last in every desperate retreat; we need good friends to keep us safe."

Harry laughed. "Merlin's beard, Artorius…are you always so melodramatic?"

Sadness lurked in the other man's eyes. Almost to himself, he murmured, "That's how a King of Narnia fights, Harry."

"Now you need it," Harry breathed, his gaze just as intent as the lad's. He turned to his Aurors, his green eyes going emerald hard. "Get a Portkey for the Isle of the Blessed and every Auror trained to fight Necromancers, on the double!" Still grim, he turned back to Lancelot. "Just promise me something, Lancelot."

The boy cocked his head, a curious look in his eyes.

Harry looked the still-growing teenager in the eye. "Today, I'm the one who goes first in this desperate attack, understood?"

[1] Department of Magical Law Enforcement