HoH Ravenclaw, Short, Harry and Blaise, WC: 1530

AU in which Potter and Zabini are spies! Dun dun duuunnnnn

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"I don't like this," Harry muttered into his comms unit, feet shuffling against the squeaky linoleum floor. His partner tutted loudly in his ear but didn't speak. They both knew it would throw them off, and this mission was too high-risk to even say a word that might be out of place. Instead of furthering commenting on his worries, Harry glanced around at his surroundings.

He stood in queue in the most ornate bank he had ever seen. Marble walls glinted back the ceiling light shafts, and gold-leaf railings reflected images of the vendors and the customers. The patterns on the wall were loud and obtrusive. In its ostentatiousness, the Bank of Erised was the most famous in the world. In terms of APR, not so much. The bank was also known to be detrimental to those who couldn't pay back loans fast enough. It was positioned on some of the most expensive land in the region, and owned over half of the millionaire stock hold.

Big property, big money. That's what they were told in the briefing.

"Alright, Harry, we've just had three more enter on the East side of the building, all wearing the exact uniform as before. Again, no face show due to the shadow. Hopefully your suit will record though as it goes on. Can you confirm that your recording device is working?" Blaise Zabini asked through the earpiece. Harry wiped his left hand over his mouth to show a confirmation. "Thanks. We'll just wait until it plays out. Not long now, and the queue is being held up by Mrs Robinson." Harry coughed to hide a laugh. Two people looked around to glare at him. The bank was so silent that any noise disturbance was unusual to them. He apologised.

Trust Blaise to make a pop-culture reference at a time like this, he thought.

The mission was simple enough, despite all the trouble they had going about it.

Two weeks ago, the Public Protection Control was given an anonymous tip-off regarding a robbery that was going to take place at the bank on this date. The tip-off was passed onto a secret agency who worked just outside the boundaries of the government. They call it Dumbledore's Army. And Harry and Blaise are just two of the many who work within the agency, working towards protection for everyone, but in a slightly more underground manner. For this mission in particular, Harry was going undercover to record the robbery and try to make a case against those involved. It also meant that there would be one person, disguised, in amongst the public who could attempt to control the situation.

That's what they hoped, anyway.

"Not long now, Potter," Blaise encouraged, grimacing from inside the grubby Ford Fiesta parked ten blocks from the bank. "Can you see any action from inside? I know we're seeing your camera, but your eyes are better than the cameras."

"A compliment," Harry breathed, smiling discreetly.

Blaise scowled half-heartedly. "Don't count on it every time. Can I confirm, is there anything else happening?"

Harry wiped his right hand across his mouth, signalling a no. Nothing yet. If that was a good thing, he didn't know. It was difficult doing a job like this, being in a somewhat private sector. It was difficult because governance was controversial, but they couldn't sink to a vigilante level.

The comms unit crackled. Harry coughed, asking for confirmation of what was happening. There was no voice on the other end of the line. Then he yawned loudly, hoping to get a signal from Blaise, or Hermione, or anyone else who might have eyes on the goings on of outside. More than a few people looked at him that time, as if demanding he not be so rude as to be tired in such a place. But this was no time for apologies.

Crackle. Harry.. Visual... Unit display... Confirm... CONFIRM! Blaise's voice was coming through very quietly. Almost as if his distance had increased tenfold.

Harry ran through the options in his head. If the comms wasn't functioning, it was also likely that the recording device was faulty, and that his team didn't have eyes on the situation. One option would be to abort the mission, in case his team was in jeopardy. This would mean leaving the bank, with the civilians inside, and most certainly not getting any idea on who the robbers would be. Although it might benefit the squad, there was no way he could justify leaving the mission. Not with so many lives at risk and a huge shot at taking down a large company of terrorists.

His comms crackled again, and Blaise's voice managed to break through the static.

"Continue with the mission, our live is fuzzy but the device should work. Be -" and Harry's partner was cut off again.

He liked to think Blaise was wishing him well. Maybe 'be careful' or 'be safe'. It was more likely that Blaise would have chosen the less-friendly 'Be less stupid' approach.

A buzzer sounded once in the room, loud and clear. All staff members behind the windows looked towards their screens, open-mouthed, staring, horrified. Then, hurriedly, everything was action stations. Lights were flashing, someone was on the phone - a brunette girl, with dark glasses and a smattering of freckles - and the customers were starting to panic. Harry could sense the anxiety in the air.

It was happening.

The goal wasn't to look out of the ordinary. With this in mind, Harry began calling through to the windows, copying other people, asking for help or understand. He shouted at the panes of glass, demanding an explanation, all the while whilst calculating his exit strategy without Blaise on his side. The odds were not ideal, but they had gone through the details of the mission enough times - in the meeting rooms, on the plane, in the car, and over the comms when Harry had been walking the ten blocks to the bank.

"I don't like this," he murmured again, almost hoping Blaise would quip in. No such luck. It wasn't just the nature of the mission that bothered him, but the set up. Anonymous tips were rarely good things, but if the government trusted, they were told to trust it too. And Harry being there didn't guarantee that there would be no casualties. He could just be there, in amongst victims, waiting for an opportune moment. How would he even get out of a situation, if one arose? He had no weapons, no ammo, no communication outside. There was nothing except the odds.

Gunshots sounded throughout the building. Harry wished he had a vest on, but that would, again, have been far too obvious. If he was shot and didn't die it might have raised a few red flags to the enemy, as such.

A few people screamed, others looked confused. Idiots. In his periphery, Harry assessed the situation - the people, their weaknesses and strengths, and he wished that Blaise had come in with him to help somehow. Again, another pointless wish.

There were twelve people in the queue where Harry was. Three females and eleven males. Around the floor there were another nineteen, bringing the total up to thirty one. One pregnant woman, four children, and a dog. Ten elderly. Those were the people in need of the most protection, and those were the people Harry opted to stick close by. He could overcome these odds. He could overcome the odds that said that maybe eight of these people would end up dead.

Three more gunshots. Fired in quick succession from the same gun, Harry deducted. That meant there was only one of however many mercenaries who was trigger-happy. That was better than all of them, by a long shot.

Ten seconds of silence followed this.

One. Two. His heart beat fast against his rib cage.

Three.

Four. The guide dog began to snuffle at his owner's feet.

Five.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

The doors to the back rooms burst open with an explosion, followed by a procession of six, heavily-armed, burly men. Harry took in their size and weight ratio, determining whether he could take any of them on, given an opportunity. He didn't want to come out of this a hero, but he wasn't going to be a coward if the situation came to it. It was difficult ground, that much was strikingly obvious.

They should have done the mission a different way.

"Everybody get on the ground and be quiet!" bellows the largest of the six. "Hands behind your heads!"

"Hush, Mambo," quivers an elderly lady to her guide dog. The golden Labrador doesn't comply, but barks loudly in the face of a terrorists ski mask. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he's new." The dog was obviously young, but well-trained.

A rough-placed boot to its hindquarters, then head, knocked it dead.

"This is not a hostage situation. We have deactivated every cell block in this area, and every internet connection. You will not get out alive."

Harry stood, horrified. No way. This was not happening.

"Don't waste your prayers," another of the terrorists said, a grin in his tone. "Have a nice sleep."

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Thanks for reading!