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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 7 Words: 198,021
Warning: In this chapter, Harry goes to training camp, roughly similar to boot camp. I've tried to keep the swearing PG-13, but a word here and there might offend. Apologies in advance if they do. Harry lifted Ginny's trunk into an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express, sliding it securely onto a rack. He was almost reluctant to let go, but after a moment, he turned back around, meeting Ginny's eyes. She slid her arms around him and he held her close, cradling her against his shoulder as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "It's only four months 'til the Christmas holidays," he murmured into her hair. "I know," she whispered back. "And we can owl. You can even owl me while I'm at training camp." "I know," she said again. She pulled away and looked up at him. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "It just feels…odd…not to be going to school with you. Hogwarts won't be the same without you lot there to keep me company." "And cause trouble," Harry teased. "Though I expect you'll do that very well on your own." "Oh, you!" She stuck out her tongue at him and he immediately took advantage, claiming her mouth for a long, slow kiss. He felt her melt against him and tightened his arms about her. This was proving harder than he'd thought. Finally he forced himself to end the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. Her own breath was equally ragged and her hands had slipped down to the small of his back, holding him against her. "I should go," he said reluctantly. As if in agreement, the whistle blew, warning of imminent departure. "I guess." Ginny leaned up to kiss him again, this one much more chaste, though with no less feeling. "I'll owl you when I get there," she said. "Send it to the Ministry," he reminded her, though he'd already told her several times. "They won't let the owls come directly to us. It interrupts the training process too much." "I know, Harry." The whistle blew again, and she gave him a quick hug, then stepped back. "Go," she whispered. "I love you." He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her again—his last kiss for months. "I love you, too." He let his fingers slide down her soft cheeks, and forced himself to leave the compartment and go back out onto the platform. "About time!" Ron said peevishly as Harry stepped off the train. He and Hermione had been waiting while Harry said goodbye to Ginny. "What did you do, spend the whole time snogging?" "Most of it," Harry said blandly before Hermione could take Ron to task for rudeness. Ron gaped, and Harry grinned. "Oh, come on, Ron. I was on the train a whole five minutes. There wasn't time for more than wrestling her trunk into the compartment and saying goodbye." "With a kiss or two," Hermione put in. Ron glared. "One or two," Harry agreed. Just then the porters closed the doors and the train let out a great gasp of steam. All along the train windows were being opened and heads stuck out for a final farewell to families. The window of Ginny's compartment slid down, and she leaned out to wave. "Bye, Ron!" she called. "Bye, Hermione! Bye, Harry! I love you!" Any answer Harry might have made was drowned out by yet another whistle and the great steam engine's chugging to pull the train forward. The wheels began to move, and the crowd of parents and siblings surged forward, following the train a few steps and waving their loved ones off to school. Harry waved too, but he didn't move; he knew he was in for enough teasing as it was, and he wasn't about to give Ron any more ammunition. The train pulled past the station and into a curve, slipping out of sight beyond the buildings. Harry watched until the last car was gone, then sighed and turned to face his friends. Ron had one eyebrow raised and a sardonic look on his face. "What?" Harry asked. "Nothing," Ron said with a smirk. "Just comparing the look on your face with the mental image of an Unspeakable. They don't quite match up, mate." Hermione sniffed. "Since you wear that look on your own face more often than you like to think, I wouldn't talk, Ron Weasley." Ron coloured brightly, and Harry snorted with mirth. "Come on," Hermione went on before either of them could continue, "or we're going to be late." "We're Apparating, 'Mione," Ron protested. "We can be there in about half a second. What are you worried about?" "We can be in Diagon Alley that fast. We've still got to get to the Ministry, through the wards, and up to the meeting area in—" She looked at her watch, a Muggle timepiece her parents had given her for Christmas. "—forty-five minutes. I'd say we'd best go." "You're probably right," Harry put in, to smooth things over before Ron really got going. "Bill and Charlie should already have our trunks there." "All right, all right," Ron grumbled, pulling at the neck of his robes. They were new, and apparently a little higher-collared than he was used to; he'd been fidgeting with them all day. "Let's go." With a small pop of imploding air, the three of them Disapparated. Bill and Charlie were waiting for them in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. "Left it a bit late, haven't you?" Charlie observed as the three of them appeared, staggering a bit; they were all still a bit clumsy at Apparition. "I thought you were going to be here ten minutes ago." "The train just left," Hermione said with a dark look at Ron, who had opened his mouth, probably to complain about Harry snogging Ginny. "We Apparated straight here." Neither of Ron's brothers looked happy, but all Charlie said was, "Well, we'd best get a move on. Your trunks are already at the Ministry and waiting for you; all you have to do is show up. Come on." They set off at a pace that had Harry, Ron, and Hermione practically jogging to keep up. "What's the rush?" Harry said, very glad now that the three of them had spent most of August getting into better shape. When Bill and Charlie moved, they moved. "We've got a good forty minutes." "We have to make a stop first," Bill said shortly. They trotted up the steps of the black granite building and through the wards, following the same route they'd followed before to room 42 and Umbra Nacht's office. Nacht was waiting for them at her desk, an expression of mild impatience on her face. "Not before time," she commented as they approached. "Well, come here, Onyx. Let's see what we can do for you." Harry, who had stopped just behind Hermione, twitched in surprise. "Me?" he asked unthinkingly. "You're the only Onyx in here, unless you count the one on my necklace," Nacht said dryly. "Come here. We need to take care of that scar." Harry was rattled enough that, for a moment, he wasn't sure which scar she meant—he had several—but her meaning soon became clear. "Push back your fringe," she ordered, pulling her wand from her sleeve. With a slightly nervous, sideways glance at Bill and Charlie, he obeyed. She touched the tip of her wand to his lightning scar and said, "Macula Abdo Dum Impero!" An odd, icy sensation, so cold it nearly burned, flooded his scar. He would have yelped and jumped away, except the sensation was so very different from the one he'd felt when Voldemort was alive that the two sensations couldn't possibly be related. It lasted for an interminable moment, then suddenly it was gone, and Nacht pulled her wand away. "There," she said with satisfaction. "That should take care of it." Puzzled, Harry turned back to his friends, who were all looking at him with varying expressions of surprise and shock. "What?" he said, beginning to get worried. Hermione recovered first. "Your scar," she said. "What about it?" Ron spoke up, finally. "It's gone, Harry." "What?" He whirled back to Nacht. "What did you do?" "It's just a glamour, Onyx," she said calmly. "It'll hide your scar until you've finished training camp. There's no point to code names if you have a highly-visible mark on your face advertising who you are, is there?" She turned to Ron, and her face hardened. "And speaking of code names, Red Knight, I had better not hear you call anyone from the Department by any name except the one we've given them. Ever. If I do, it will be grounds for immediate termination and charges filed for endangering the lives of Ministry officers in their line of work. Am I rightly understood?" Ron's jaw gaped open and he stared at her for a moment. "We're in your office," he protested. "Irrelevant. The use of code names should be instinctive by this point. Don't use your legal names for anything, ever, until you have left training camp and are back in your home. I don't care what the circumstances are. Am I rightly understood?" Ron stood straight, shoulders back, ears turning slightly pink. "Yes, ma'am," he said. She stepped forward, somehow seeming far more ominous than Ron, even with her short stature. "And," she growled, eyes flashing, "if you ever talk back to any superior again, let alone to me, I'll have your bollocks in a jar on my desk. Got it?" He swallowed and nodded. "Good." She glared at Hermione and Harry. "That goes for the two of you as well," she said warningly. "Yes, ma'am," they both chorused. Harry had never in his life seen anyone so intimidating as Umbra Nacht. She nodded shortly. "You may go. Blaze, Seth, once you've got them where they're going, come back here. I've got something that needs your keen eye. And maybe Castor and Pollux as well. This may be a Loki job." "Understood," Bill said. "Come on, you lot. Let's get you on the road to hell." Charlie stifled a laugh. Ron glared at them both. "Not funny, Blaze and Seth," he growled. "Aw, but Red Knight," Charlie said, grinning as Bill led them out of Nacht's office, "he had the best of intentions!" Ron just growled, obviously not trusting himself to say anything. Harry wondered, as they walked back out past the people watching their desk screens, how exactly they were going to get to camp. Would they Apparate? Or a Portkey, maybe? His only knowledge of any kind of military or quasi-military training camp came from Muggle movies and television. He seemed to recall shaved heads, lots of running, officers yelling at recruits, and a good deal of climbing over fences and crawling through mud. He was fairly certain that none of that could possibly take place anywhere near Diagon Alley. Bill led them back out into the corridor and turned right—then, to Harry's immense surprise, stopped only a few doors down. This door was labelled 51. "This is it," Bill said, turning to face them but not opening the door. "We can't go in with you, so we'll say our goodbyes here." "Here?" Harry said, startled. "This is the door to training camp?" "Ahh, but things are not always what they seem in the Department of Mysteries," Bill said with a grin. "This door, like so many others, is more than it appears." He sobered. "We've only got a minute or so, so I'll just give you one quick piece of advice. Training camp is about creating a team—creating trust—looking out for each other. We told you once that you lot already have that, in spades; you have to learn to create it with others as well. Anyone in the department has to have your trust, and you theirs; you have to be able to trust your back to them. Otherwise, you can't concentrate on your job, and people will get hurt. Maybe you." "I thought your partner was supposed to watch your back," Ron said. "He does. He will. But what if you and your partner are both involved in a fight? Or if you two have been sent in and others are meant to watch for anyone following you? You have to trust them, Red Knight." Harry wasn't sure he liked that. Trust didn't come easily for him. Liking, yes; even respecting. But trusting his life, or his friends', to someone he barely knew? "And I'll give you my advice as well," Charlie added. "Elijah knows what he's doing. He won't tell you to do anything that doesn't have a specific reason behind it. Do as he says, without question. He's got nine weeks to prepare you to face God knows what. Don't make it harder on yourself or on him. Right?" The three of them nodded. Harry noticed that Hermione was biting her lip in her nervous-but-determined expression; Ron just looked a bit pale. He wasn't sure what his own face looked like, but he was sure it must be similar. "Good luck," Bill said, and Charlie echoed him. With a smile of encouragement, Bill opened the door, and the three of them walked inside. They entered a small room, not much bigger than the treehouse at the Burrow. Three wizards in dark blue robes with silver cords on their left shoulders waited inside. One had a clipboard and a quill; the other two stood to either side of a door on the far wall, as though guarding it. "Names?" the wizard with the clipboard asked. He was shortish—not much above five-seven—but broad and well-muscled, like Charlie. The other two were taller, but looked just as strong. "Zephyr," Hermione said briskly, with just the hint of a nervous quaver to her voice. She was standing as straight as she could, and anyone who didn't know her as well as Harry and Ron might have believed she was perfectly at ease. "Red Knight." Ron was standing straight as well, but his nervousness was easier to see. He had never been good at hiding his emotions. "And you?" the wizard asked a bit sharply. "Onyx. Sir," he added, not quite as an afterthought. Since this wizard was obviously of some rank, if his shoulder knots meant anything, it seemed reasonable to call him 'sir.' The wizard cracked a small smile. "Right. You're the last three, and you're just in time." He peered closer at the clipboard. "Have you been to see Number One yet? There's a notation here to make certain you do." "Yes, sir, we have," Ron said. The 'sir' sounded a bit odd coming from him, but Harry was impressed nonetheless; extreme politeness wasn't as much a part of his personality as it was Harry's own. Of course, I had it drilled into me fairly strongly, too. "Very good. Go on in, and you'll be starting shortly. Good luck." He pointed with his quill toward the door that was between the two guards. One of them opened it, and the three filed through into yet another room. This one, like the other, was small—no more than ten feet on a side—with plain white walls and no furniture whatsoever. Inside, nine people, looking as though they ranged in age between about 25 and 35, were standing about, silently looking at each other. There was a definite atmosphere of tension. A few looked like they weren't exactly sure what they were doing there; others looked like they couldn't wait to get started. A man in bottle-green robes, who appeared to be the oldest there, stood in the corner, arms behind his back, watching everything that was going on. His face showed nothing of his emotions. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in, every head swivelled to see the newcomers. Harry was more grateful than he'd imagined he could be for Nacht's glamour. For the first time since he'd joined the wizarding world, he could be anonymous. He was relieved to note as well that none of the other recruits—three witches, six wizards—looked familiar. One less thing to worry about, Harry thought; he'd been concerned what would happen if someone they'd known from Hogwarts had been in training with them and had accidentally let slip who they were. One of the wizards, a blonde man with intensely blue eyes, nearly the sapphire Ron's became when he was worked up about something, moved forward. He topped Harry by an inch or so, but still lacked a good two inches of Ron's height. But where Harry had the build of a runner or a Seeker—wiry and slender, though well-defined—and Ron had nearly the breadth of shoulder that Charlie had, while still towering over everyone in the room, this man was somewhere in between. He'd obviously been spending a great deal of time honing his upper-body strength, though, Harry noticed clinically. Well, maybe "noticed" isn't the word. He's practically throwing his strength in our face, trying to intimidate us. And the competition for status begins. Hell, it's just like a dog pack, Harry thought, trying not to roll his eyes as the blonde purposely came uncomfortably close to Harry. Just like Malfoy. Looking down his nose, the stranger said, "More new recruits, are you?" His tone was almost bored. Harry looked for the knots of rank like the ones he'd seen on the three wizards in the anteroom. Seeing none, he said in a carefully casual tone, "Not completely new, but yeah." Ron had come up to stand at his right shoulder, and a sideways glance told Harry that Hermione stood on the other side of Ron. The two didn't say anything, but Harry could feel the support they were lending him silently. Blonde-boy (or so Harry had privately dubbed him; he reminded Harry too much of Malfoy) raised an eyebrow at Ron and Hermione, then jerked his chin at them. "You lot together?" he asked Harry. "Yeah," Ron said, not quite growling. Apparently the similarity to Malfoy had struck him, too. The stranger's mouth quirked and he took a half-step back, getting out of Harry's face. "I see." He stuck out a hand to Harry. "Cipher." Harry took it, halfway surprised that Cipher didn't try to crush his hand, as he'd rather expected. "Onyx," he said. "Red Knight," Ron said in a slightly less-irritated tone. Harry wondered if Hermione had elbowed him, or if Ron was just reacting to the belated show of manners. "Zephyr," Hermione said coolly. She withdrew her hand quickly from Cipher's, though not so quickly as to cause offence. Harry saw why she'd pulled away: Cipher's eyes had taken on a gleam of interest similar to Viktor Krum's in their fourth year. Ron had seen it, too; his eyes flashed and he stepped forward, straightening to his full six feet four inches and shifting his stance so that he stood just a bit in front of Hermione, his right shoulder blocking Cipher's view of her face. Cipher glanced up, annoyance written across his expression, but before either he or Ron could start anything—before Hermione could elbow Ron or stand on his foot or even say his name in warning—the blank wall across from the door shimmered, and a man stepped through it. It was Elijah, whom the three of them had met the day they'd signed on with the Ministry. To Harry's great surprise, he was dressed, not in robes, but in Muggle clothes—black t-shirt, black trousers, black boots with silver metal rings on the outside of the ankles. Motorcycle boots, Harry thought, startled. Elijah was nearly as tall as Ron, and considerably more filled-out; broader and more muscular, and possessed of an aura that commanded instant attention and respect. "All right, you lot!" he barked. "One line, right here, shoulder-to-shoulder. Now!" Cipher, who had half-turned to see what was going on behind him, spun fully round and planted his feet, arms at his sides and shoulders back. He was a good step in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione; obviously, he expected them to step forward and join him. Harry felt his lip curl, but was about to go ahead and do it—he remembered Charlie's advice, and didn't want to make waves his first day—but the older man with the impassive face moved to stand next to Harry, also at attention, though his stance looked much more convincing than Cipher's. Without seeming to stop and think about it, the rest of the recruits took places to either side of Harry and Hermione, forming the line around the three of them and leaving Cipher standing alone in front of the line of eleven recruits. He seemed suddenly to realise that he was by himself, but before he could move, Elijah was in his face. "Can you count, boy?" he bellowed, his face only inches from Cipher's. "I said one line. ONE line! Didn't you see the rest of the recruits moving? Didn't it occur to you to join that line instead of waiting for everyone else to follow your pretty face?" "I—" Cipher began, flushing. "DON'T TALK BACK TO ME!" Elijah roared. 'You got some lessons to learn, boy. The first is manners. The second is counting. So we'll do them both right now. Drop and give me twenty push-ups." "I—what?" Cipher sputtered, turning even brighter red. Harry carefully controlled his face and refused to look at Ron, who was no doubt trying very hard not to laugh. "Make that thirty! You still got to learn manners, boy. NOW!" Elijah's stare would cow a much better man than Cipher, Harry reflected. As everyone watched, Cipher got down and began his push-ups. He had obviously done this before; he took himself all the way to the floor with each one, keeping his body rigidly straight. "Now," Elijah said, and Harry's eyes snapped back to him. He paced back and forth in front of the line of recruits, hands at the small of his back. "I have nine weeks to get you lot ready to face some of the deadliest bastards on the planet. It's not just wands and curses you'll be up against; it's arseholes with knives and other Muggle weapons, things many of you won't have seen before." Cipher finished his thirty push-ups and moved to stand at the far end of the line. Harry caught a nasty look from him out of the corner of his eye, and he felt a rush of irritation. I didn't embarrass you in front of the whole lot of us, you prat, he thought with a purely internal snarl. You did that all by yourself, trying to show off. Don't blame me for it. "So this training is more than learning curses and how to subdue Death Eaters," Elijah continued, either oblivious to the silent byplay or ignoring it. "This is about how to protect yourself, your squad, your partner, and the innocent Muggles and wizarding folk you're sent to save. This is about working as a team. This is about trust and keeping your eyes open." He stopped pacing and met each of their gazes in turn. "And to do this, you will obey each and every order you are given, without hesitation or question. You have signed binding, magical contracts. You were each given the chance to read through them. You walked into this with your eyes open. There is no going back now. Have I made myself clear?" "Yes, sir," said a few people, Harry included. Ron and Hermione just nodded. "HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?" "YES, SIR!" This time all twelve recruits answered, more or less in unison and with a great deal more volume. "Good." Elijah pulled his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at the wall he'd come through, murmuring a spell that Harry didn't catch. The wall shimmered again, then faded into nothingness. They looked out onto a huge, grassy field with tall, thick trees bordering either side. On the far end, Harry could just barely see long, low buildings. A path ran from the edge of the field, where they stood, toward those buildings. "Right," Elijah said, putting his wand away. "Now, follow me, single file. And keep up!" He turned and began jogging at a moderate clip down the path. Cipher was the first to fall in behind him, as though trying to make up for his earlier mistake, and the rest of the line of recruits followed. Harry let himself fall into the fairly easy jog, reflecting that it was a good thing the three of them had decided to spend August getting into shape, if this was the way they were starting out. A few people ahead of him stumbled, and he sighed as Elijah turned and snapped a scathing remark without ever missing a step. It's going to be a long nine weeks. ------------------ 8 September
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---------------- "Onyx!" Harry raised his head from the letter he was writing rather awkwardly on a piece of parchment perched on his upraised knees. He squinted, trying to make out who was standing in the shadows. It might have been mid-afternoon, but the room was dark to keep from disturbing the sleepers who would be on night watch with him. "Nox," he murmured, and his wand light went out. "Crosswire?" he guessed, judging by the broad silhouette he could just discern against the faint light behind the man. "Yeah," the familiar voice said in a low tone. "Elijah's asking for you. I'd guess you're up tonight, mate." Harry groaned and set the parchment and quill down next to his duffel bag, carefully screwing the cap back onto the ink bottle before levering himself to his feet and following Crosswire out the door. He'd been sitting on his bedroll in a corner of the run-down house they were using as shelter for this exercise, trying to stay in a spot where the light from his wand wouldn't disturb Ron, who was sleeping next to him, while Harry passed the time until he was either tired enough to sleep without dreaming, or was called to duty. He blinked in the bright sunlight, pausing a second to let his eyes adjust before setting off. "You sure it's me tonight?" he asked the dark-skinned man as they jogged (nobody ever just walked anywhere in training camp) toward the outbuilding that was the base of operations. "Must be. Everyone else on night watch tonight has had their turn." White teeth flashed in a half-commiserating, half-amused grin. Harry groaned again. If Crosswire was right—and he very probably was—it was Harry's night to be acting OIC of the exercise. Which, by definition, meant that he was responsible for everything that would be going on. "Extra laps tomorrow," he sighed. "Lovely." "Not if nobody cocks up tonight." "Like that's going to happen. Cipher would do it just for laughs." Harry swerved around a tree, swearing as his foot caught a root and he stumbled. Dammit, he had to get more sleep, but if he was OIC tonight, it was going to be awhile before he could. "He won't if he knows he'll end up running those laps right next to you." "Oh, yes, he would," Harry said sourly. "Then he could spend the whole bloody time laughing at me to my face, instead of making snarky remarks behind my back." Crosswire shook his head, avoiding a dry branch on the ground. "What is it with him?" he asked. "All the twit's done since we got here is target you and try to make himself look good. The latter of which he certainly hasn't managed; Elijah saw through him before we ever left the Ministry." Harry sighed. "I know." "I don't know how you keep yourself from smacking his gob," Crosswire said in a tone of mixed irritation and admiration. "I'd've done it long ago." "Years of practice," Harry said, thinking of Malfoy. "Besides, he wants a rise out of me. I won't give it to him." Though it had been close once or twice. The anger that had been eating at him since he'd awakened in hospital after the Battle had finally found an outlet of sorts here at training camp, but it was still there, and Cipher was damned good at finding it. They slowed as the outbuilding came into sight, tucked into a corner of the copse of trees that was their "encampment," and held their arms out to their sides, hands spread, so it was clear they were unarmed, as they approached cautiously. Harry scanned the area, looking for the four guards he knew would be on duty, albeit hidden. But finding hidden guards was part of their training, and he'd become rather good at it. One to the right; two to the left. Which means there's someone behind us. He caught Crosswire's eye and jerked his head backward, minutely, once. Crosswire nodded; he'd come to the same conclusion. They both stopped, waiting. There was no sound to warn them; only the point of a wand pressing at the back of Harry's neck, and three figures appearing to stand in a semicircle in front of the two of them. "Password?" said the smallest of the three, a woman code-named Lakshmi. Her steady, no-nonsense voice and set features reminded Harry of Parvati Patil, the night of the Yule Ball in his fourth year. "Give me liberty or give me death," Crosswire answered. The pressure on Harry's neck withdrew, and the other three guards lowered their wands. Harry raised an eyebrow at Lakshmi and the two who flanked her, Mercury and Kestrel. "'Give me liberty or give me death'?" he repeated. "Sounds a little melodramatic to me." "It's a quotation from an American Muggle during their revolution, Onyx," said a familiar tenor. Cipher strolled into view. Harry managed to avoid a groan at seeing him; the moment he'd seen Mercury, he'd known Cipher had to be there. They were, after all, partners, so they'd be standing duty together. Figures he'd be the one to put his wand against my spine. "Let me guess: you set it," Harry said dryly. Cipher had spent a good deal of the last seven weeks trying to impress everyone with his knowledge of Muggle and wizard military history. "Yes. Fitting, I thought, that quotation. Besides, what Death Eater is going to know what an American Muggle said two hundred years ago?" "What Death Eater is likely to be here?" Crosswire muttered under his breath. Harry suppressed a grin that he knew was unfair. They were supposed to be on full drill; Cipher was quite right to be thinking in terms of what the Death Eaters would and wouldn't know. Though I'll deny to my grave ever thinking that. "So," Cipher continued, oblivious, "if Elijah's called for you, does that mean you're OIC tonight, Onyx? I hope you'll do better than Red Knight did. That wasn't quite a disaster, but not for lack of trying." Harry stiffened. He could handle Cipher making snide remarks about him, but about Ron… "As I recall, Cipher," he said, "you and Mercury were the ones who misread the signals and got in the wrong position, and then you got yourself Stunned within the first ten minutes. Which was what started the whole bloody mess; if you'd been where you were supposed to be, Buzz and Gabriel would have had their backup and nobody would have got through the line. Red Knight had nothing to do with it." That was precisely what Elijah had said in their debriefing the next morning, but Ron had taken the laps anyway, even though it had all been Cipher and Mercury's fault. Cipher flushed, obviously remembering the dressing-down he'd got. "You're his bloody partner," he snapped back, stepping toward Harry, his fists clenching. "You were his Second. Why the hell didn't you make sure I was where I was supposed to be?" "Everybody else paid enough attention to know their positions," Harry snarled, also stepping forward. He was now only a foot or so from Cipher. "What was I supposed to do, hold your hand and make sure you put your feet in exactly the right place?" Cipher's flush had grown deeper; he was almost purple. His eyes flashed. "You'd've loved that, wouldn't you? You'd love to get a chance to show us all up. Tell us all exactly what we're doing wrong." "If it was you standing between my squad and a bunch of Death Eaters, damned right I would!" "Enough!" The single, barked word made them all jump and whirl to face the man who had come out of the building. Everyone snapped to attention at the look on Elijah's face. The older man looked furious. "Onyx—inside!" he snapped. "Mercury and Cipher, your shift is over; you are relieved of duty. Go get some sleep. Crosswire, you and Keystone are replacing them as sentries. That is all." Keystone, an ordinary-looking man of about 25 with dishwater-blonde hair, appeared in the doorway behind Elijah; he slipped past his OIC and over to his partner, shooting Harry a sympathetic glance. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath to calm himself, then made his way inside the building, shoulders tense and jaw set. Elijah waited for him to pass, and then followed him inside. Calm down, Harry thought, trying to slow down his heart rate as he walked inside. Remember what Bill and Charlie said. You have to abide by the regulations; don't let yourself get all worked up over a git like Cipher. Calm down. The single room inside the building was in sharp contrast with its rough, run-down exterior: its interior walls were white and stark, and two tables stood side-by-side across the centre of the room, both of them spread with maps. Each of the maps looked like more elaborate versions of the Marauder's Map, which Harry had given Ginny at the end of the summer. The main difference was that instead of showing Hogwarts, these maps showed the area surrounding their encampment. Harry was fascinated; he wanted to take a closer look at them. But he knew that, before he would be able to, he had a dressing-down coming. He stopped a few feet inside the door and stood at rigid attention, his back to the wall, waiting, as he tried to slow his breathing. The door closed, and Elijah came right up next to Harry's left shoulder, his face only inches away. "You will explain yourself," he growled. Harry forced down the fury at Cipher that still roiled in his belly. Hadn't Elijah heard them? Hadn't he heard all the filth Cipher had been spouting for the past seven weeks? How could he not have done? "Cipher accused my partner and me of incompetence, sir," he said tightly. "I was informing him that he was incorrect." "At the top of your lungs, right outside the building where all our operations are centred, with the enemy who-knows-where, and maybe right in our laps!" Elijah stepped around so that he was in front of Harry now, glaring at him. "If they had been close enough, not only would they have heard you, but you would have been completely unsuspecting when they did show up, because you were too busy focusing on your argument. And you would have led them right to the spot where all our strategies and planning are being done! You would have given us to them—every one of us, every one of your own squad and every other squad on the assignment. And maybe more than that; you never know what kind of sensitive information is in the base of operations!" Harry flushed. He hadn't thought of that. No excuses. Full drill, Potter. You know what that means. He didn't dare look Elijah in the eyes, but he could see the rock-hard expression on the older man's face in his peripheral vision. "Now," Elijah continued, "I know about the crap that Cipher has been throwing in your face and saying behind your back since the beginning. I've even heard some of it. And I've kept a careful watch on the two of you. You've kept your temper for the most part, Onyx, and I've been impressed with you. But if there is any time that your temper must be kept, it's in the field, whether it's an exercise or a true assignment. Got that?" "Yes, sir!" Harry said. He was still seething. If it were me, I would've smacked his gob, Crosswire said. Damn if I don't want to. Damn if I don't do it, soon as we get out of training. He's going to learn to keep his comments to himself if it takes a few broken bones to do it. I'm not fifteen any more, and I don't have to put up with it. "Good." Elijah stepped back. "Now, I called you here because it's your turn to be acting OIC tonight. Red Knight will, of course, be your Second. You're both to report here an hour before your shift starts, and we'll brief you on what's going on. Understood?" "Yes, sir," Harry said again. "Right. Dismissed." Harry turned and stalked toward the door. He had to find some way to cool off before tonight. And I hope I don't run into Cipher before I have. "Onyx!" Halfway out the door, Harry stopped and turned back. "Yes, sir?" The OIC gave a half-smile. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I find running always lets me blow off steam." Taking a few laps around the camp did sound good. It would be a chance for Harry to get some of his energy out, and he could check the perimeter while he was at it. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I think I'll take that advice." He waited for Elijah's nod of dismissal, then jogged back toward the shelter and his duffel bag. I'll change into my running clothes before I go. Cool as it is, maybe the exertion combined with the shock of the cold on my bare legs will distract me. There aren't many other reasons to wear shorts in October. The lights were on and a number of the previously-occupied bedrolls were empty when he got back to the shelter, including Ron's. That surprised him until he remembered that the duty rotation had just changed; Ron had probably woken up when the lights came on, and got up to use the loo or something. Harry came on in the door and headed toward his corner, then stopped in the middle of the room when he saw what sat on his bedroll. Cipher. Cipher, reading the letter he'd been writing to Ginny. Cipher, with a knowing smirk on his face. Knowing where Ginny was. Knowing her name. Knowing she was in seventh year. Knowing she was training up to be an Animagus. Just—knowing. All the anger that he'd shoved away came flooding back, bringing even more with it until he was aware of nothing but the fury. He stalked forward, feeling the rage radiating out of him. He was sure that, if it had still been dark in the room, he'd have been glowing with it. All eyes followed him across the floor, but he didn't care. Cipher glanced up and saw him. "Ahh, Onyx," he all but purred, apparently oblivious to the danger approaching him in the form of a livid Harry Potter. I'll kill him. I'll bloody kill him… "I never knew you had it in you. Such a lucky young lady, your Ginny." He shifted his voice into a higher pitch, despite the fact that Harry's baritone was lower than his own normal speaking voice. "'I need to feel you in my arms. I need to smell your hair and touch your skin and let myself just be. I can only do that when—'" Harry had reached his bedroll. He reached down, grabbed Cipher by the front of his robes, pulled him upward, and swung a right hook into his jaw. Cipher crashed back down to Harry's bed, dropping the letter. He looked up, his left hand cupping his chin. There was not a sound in the room, not even from Mercury, who stood about ten feet off to Harry's right, staring dumbstruck along with everyone else. "If I ever hear you mention her name again," Harry growled, "I'll bloody kill you. Now get your filthy hands off my belongings and get out of my sight." Cipher shook his head as if to clear it, glared up at Harry, and scrambled to his feet, charging at him. His shoulder took Harry in the gut and Harry fell backward, Cipher on top of him as the blonde swung an uppercut at the underside of Harry's own jaw. Hands grasped at them both, trying to separate them, but Harry fought them off, struggling toward Cipher. His vision had narrowed: all he wanted was to kill Cipher then and there, to take him apart with his bare hands if he could. Cipher had dared to lay hands on his one connection with Ginny. Cipher had potentially endangered her. "You bastard," he growled as he managed to get a punch through the tangle of interfering hands and into Cipher's solar plexus. The blonde bent forward, gasping for air. "You sodding bastard!" Arms wrapped around him and finally managed to drag the two of them apart, and a shimmer appeared in the air between them. "Hold!" a basso voice sounded, and Harry had a sudden, vague sense that he'd heard that word shouted several times already. He stopped struggling, and the arms pulling him backward loosened slightly, though they didn't let go. Cipher was still trying to get to him. "I said hold!" the voice said again, and Cipher finally stopped moving as well. He was being held by both Buzz and Gabriel, one of them on each of his arms. Harry looked down. There was only one set of arms wrapped around his, pinning his elbows to his sides, but the size of those arms meant— "Red Knight," he croaked. It hurt to breathe; Cipher had hit his diaphragm hard with his shoulder. "Let go of me." "Not on your life, mate," Ron growled quietly. "Not until this is sorted out. What the bloody hell were you thinking?" The owner of the basso voice appeared through the crowd. It was Slider, Elijah's partner and Second. "Let them go," he said. "There's a barrier up between them now." Ron released him, and Harry rubbed his arms where Ron had been pressing them against his sides. Ron didn't know his own strength; he was going to have bruises. It made him feel a little better, though, to see the hand-sized bruises beginning to rise on Cipher's bare biceps as well. Cipher glared at Harry and spat on the floor. The spittle was tinged with blood. I hope I broke his bloody jaw. "You two," Slider said with slow, deadly precision, "are going to come with me, and if either of you lay so much as a finger on the other, you will spend the next year on latrine patrol for every group of recruits we have. Am I understood?" "Yes, sir," Harry and Cipher said, still glowering at each other. Slider waved his wand, and the barrier disappeared. "As you were!" he barked at the milling crowd, which dispersed quickly. He shot a dark warning look at Harry and Cipher, and turned on his heel, striding toward the door. Without looking at Cipher again, Harry followed, Cipher by his side. Unsurprisingly, Elijah was waiting for them just outside the door. He held out a walking stick. "Take hold of it," he growled. They obeyed, and he snapped, "Reverto Oficio!" Harry felt the familiar, hated jerk behind his navel as the Portkey activated. They landed in an office about half the size of Umbra Nacht's, which was to say still fairly big. This was good, as both Harry and Cipher collapsed onto the floor as they landed, blown off-balance by the force of the Portkey; Elijah looked slightly windblown, but was still standing. He turned and walked around the huge, mahogany desk that sat at one end of the room, sitting down in a black office chair that should have dwarfed him, but somehow made him seem even bigger than he really was. Harry struggled to his feet, Cipher beside him. "Sit down," Elijah said, indicating the two upholstered wing chairs that sat in front of his desk. It was clearly an order, not an invitation. Walking gingerly, his side, gut, and face all hurting, Harry slowly moved the six or so feet to the chair and dropped down into it. Cipher looked to be in even worse shape than Harry, which would have given Harry a flush of pride if he hadn't been half-convinced that Cipher was doing it as much for show as anything else. Bleeding, whinging show-off. There was silence for a long moment after they were all seated. Harry was tempted to squirm, but he held himself in check. He would not give Cipher the satisfaction of seeing it. Elijah looked at both of them, but his eyes finally rested on Cipher before he leaned forward and started speaking. "On the day you arrived for training," he said in a quiet, deadly voice, "I told you something very important. I told you that you would need to learn to work as a team. To trust one another. To be able to watch the back of your fellow officers, and trust them to watch yours. To prepare for the worst bastards that walk the face of this earth and know that you are being kept safe by the others who are on your side." He shot to his feet, making both of them flinch backward. "And you, Cipher," he snarled, "have done everything you can to undermine all of that, not just with Onyx here, but with the entire camp!" Cipher blinked, obviously taken aback at being singled out. "Onyx threw the first punch, sir," he protested. "After you'd spent seven weeks goading him," Elijah snapped back. "Don't lie to me, boy. I've watched you, and Slider's watched you, and every recruit in camp has watched you. You're damned lucky Onyx can hold his temper, because you've been idiotic enough to get him angry enough to spit sparks." Cipher was getting angry now, too. "And what about him?" he spat. "He threw the first punch! What are you going to do to him?" Elijah held his hand out toward Cipher, who jerked forward as though caught by a Summoning Charm and was pulled halfway across the desk and into Elijah's waiting hand, which clenched on his robes just like Harry's had done earlier. "You will never," he said in a low voice, his face and voice livid, "ever speak to me like that again. You signed a contract, boy. I am your commanding officer. You are getting perilously close to insubordination, and I. Will. Not. Have. It. Are we clear on that?" Cipher nodded shakily, and Elijah let go. Harry watched, enjoying himself thoroughly, as Cipher sank back into his seat. It's about damn time he got taken down a notch or ten, he thought vindictively. "Onyx," Elijah said, sitting back in his chair, "what made you angry enough to hit Cipher this time, when you haven't for seven weeks?" Harry looked back at his OIC. The anger was still there in the older man's face, but it didn't appear to be aimed at him. He felt a rush of vindication. "He was reading a letter I was writing to my girlfriend, sir," he said as calmly as he could manage through his ire. "And when he saw me coming toward him, he quoted part of it at me. A particularly—personal part, meant for her eyes alone." He shot a glare at Cipher, who glared right back. "Reading someone else's letters?" Elijah raised his eyebrows and looked back at Cipher. "That's illegal." Cipher's eyes widened. "That's a Muggle law," he protested. This isn't going quite the way you thought, is it, you wanker? Harry thought with an internal grin. "And wizarding law as well. It's been around for nearly a thousand years. Owls being what they are, you know, sometimes the post goes astray—though not nearly as often as the Muggle post." Elijah leaned forward. "Do you deny that that's what you were doing? Reading Onyx's personal letters?" Harry watched Cipher carefully and could almost see the gears working in his mind. He couldn't really deny it; everyone who'd been in the room—which was at least six other people—had seen him and probably heard him. "No, sir," Cipher said finally, somehow, amazingly, managing a note of almost-defiance in his voice. "I don't." Elijah's face hardened still more, if that was possible. "Right," he said, his voice like steel. "In that case, I have no choice but to—" There was a sudden pop, making them all jump, and a cylinder appeared on Elijah's belt. He looked down at it in surprise, then pulled it off his belt and opened it. A piece of parchment slid out, and he unrolled it and began reading. His face drained of all colour, and, unbelievably, his hands began to shake. Just at that moment, Harry felt the odd, muddy-brown roiling begin in the pit of his stomach again, just as he had the day he'd signed on with the Ministry. Unthinking, he glanced at Cipher, who had put a hand to his abdomen as though he felt it too. He turned his attention back to Elijah, who still hadn't moved. "Sir?" Harry ventured. The OIC didn't respond, and Harry said again, more urgently, "Sir!" Elijah looked up. His eyes were haunted. "We'll have to put this discussion on hold," he said softly. He held up the parchment. "I might as well tell you; you'd find out in a minute with the others anyway. Two squads of Department officers—two separate squads, on separate missions—were attacked and killed this morning. Wiped out. Completely annihilated. Which means that we are in need of precisely twelve new officers to take their places." He put the parchment down and looked Harry and Cipher square in the face. "Congratulations, gentlemen," he said soberly. "You've finished training camp early. You are now full officers of the Department of Mysteries." Harry and Cipher stared at him. Harry's mind whirled with the suddenness of the news. Twelve officers? Annihilated in one morning? Elijah held out the walking stick Portkey again. "Come on," he said heavily. "We'd best get back. We need to inform the others, and you'll need to pack up your things. You'll be home tonight, and you'll report for duty at 0800 tomorrow morning." Harry and Cipher both grasped the Portkey. Just before Elijah spoke the spell to activate it, Cipher muttered something under his breath that Harry just barely heard. "And may God have mercy on us all." A/N: Ahmie, Noji8, Sherylyn, Fang-Face Dreamweaver, and Michele40 are angels in human form. They took it upon themselves to beta this 26-page chapter and the Interlude that follows. The Disney reference from the previous chapter was actually quite hard to find; when I wrote the scene where Fred & George set up the dishes to wash themselves assembly-line style, I was thinking of the scene from The Sword in the Stone. Sherylyn guessed it in an IM conversation. Way to go, Sher! A "First Footer" is part of the British (and especially Scottish) New Year's celebration, and refers to the first person to set foot in your door after the New Year strikes. According to custom, it is important that a dark-haired "stranger" be allowed into your house before a fair haired one. (The "stranger" is usually someone you know who's not part of your family.) The "stranger" may carry a lump of coal signifying warmth or heat, or a piece of cake signifying food, or Scotch signifying liquid. A good time is then had by all and sundry. No one is turned away at the door. Thanks to all my readers, every one of you. It's you all who make this worthwhile, even while I'm cursing and swearing at my word processor. There's more to come after Book 5 comes out, I promise. Please stick with me!
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