Azrael Thames

…

"The mage, scholars, and warriors of immense power. Each wand gives its wielder great strength. To make the finest wand takes months. The core, the wood, everything must be in harmony not just with one another, but with its wielder. It is an incredible task. Mastering the wand requires a lifetime of dedication to learn not just the movements and the incantation, but the will to drive it. Together, the mage and the wand can break mountains."

…

Hereford
Operation Azrael Thames

Like everyone else on the team, Harry was always 15 minutes early. No one wanted to be the failure who missed something important in the meeting. The briefing wouldn't start until 11 PM exactly, and so Harry had to busy himself with idle chit chat with his other team members. Milton and Royce were discussing which watch brand they would have – if they had the money. Rolex wasn't mentioned at all, instead, it was something about the Holy Trinity.

At 10:55 PM, Major McMillan took to the front of the briefing room and set up his PowerPoint.

"Gentlemen," Mac began, waiting for the men to quieten down. "The National Crimes Agency has discovered a major pipeline for magic blue. We're going in to shut it down."

Harry looked at the map on the projector. At the bottom right of the slideshow was a large dock in the Port of London, occupied by a cargo freighter.

"Target is the Gernsback. Ship arrived yesterday, we're hoping to catch the buyers. Romeo is already on-site to provide cover. Recon says that there are two to four sentries dockside, with another four on the main deck. Unknown number on the ship."

Mac's slideshow presented images of the sentries standing guard. Presumably, they had placed up muggle repelling wards as they were dressed shabbily. Not even one of them bothered to look like a dock worker in high visibility clothing. Their arrogance would make them easier to identify.

The slideshow changed to another image, one of an old Lorry from the 1950s, parked at the base of the boarding ramp where cargo was being loaded onboard."

"At oh-one-thirty this morning, this truck arrived to collect over a dozen barrels," Mac explained. "We don't know if they'll show up again tonight, but if they do, try to take them alive. Alpha will approach the stern, Bravo the aft. Charlie will be in the water, and Delta's in reserve on the docks. NCA and Specialist Ops will be puling security for us."

"Will the Aurors be there?" Harry asked.

"No," Mac answered. "Ministry has been notified of the op. There will be no Aurors. Anyone else claiming to be, we have full authority to execute. Mission starts at oh-one-hundred hours. Remember to dress in black."

Black wasn't the colour for stealth. It was the colour that the commandos wore to intimidate their targets into surrendering.

…

Thames, London

With such a small window of opportunity, there hadn't been time for a mock raid in Hangar M. Right after the briefing, the team had pulled on their gear and used the floo network to get to London. Once they were at an undisclosed barracks, the Commandos apparated into staging areas around the docks and waited for the go.

Harry checked his watch. Five minutes until mission go. Charlie Team should be in the waters, setting up demolition charges to cripple the ship if need be.

Taking in a deep breath, Harry suppressed the jitters he had in his hand.

"Alpha, let's move out," Captain Thom Delton ordered.

The commandos quickly applied their disillusionment charms before leaving the commercial truck. Harry jumped out onto the parking lot. His boots slammed onto the ground almost soundlessly as his knees absorbed the shock. He walked round to the front of the truck and swept the area with his rifle.

No guards. No cars. Just them.

He looked down at his hands, seeing the translucent outline of his arms. It was like looking at active camouflage from the video games he had played.

Bringing a hand up to his helmet, he activated his panoramic optics. The night sky was replaced by diamond-studded violet. The dark clouds that reflected the lights of London became greyish white, and the moon shone almost as brightly as the sun.

He panned his gaze over his teammates, checking to see if anyone's kit had too much leakage – i.e. magical signature. Some whispers of light emanated from their rifles and from underneath the chest plates, but nothing to be worried about. If someone was close enough to see magical auras, the mission had already gone pear-shaped.

The team formed up around the gates that separated the car park from the docks. Harry waited behind Milton as the older commando ran a set of diagnostic spells.

"No wards," he said.

Milton then grabbed the gates and pulled it slightly ajar for Alpha team to slip through.

Advancing further in, the team split up into two lines that would advance parallel with each other through the stacks of containers.

Harry cycled through the filters on his optics, trying to see if he could get a lock on the magical signatures. But with all the metal crates in the area, the magical signatures were being echoed.

Still, he could make out the red tell-tale signs of heating enchantments used on clothes.

He willed his optics to peer into the crates but could only see the contents of the outermost shipping containers. Steel was a good conductor of magical energy, which meant that a magical pulse from Harry's optics, to see through objects, would be bounced, giving him a disjointed image.

"Two targets at the ramp. Three more on deck," Romeo 1 radioed.

"Copy that, Romeo," said Delton. "We'll take them alive."

Harry moved to cover the two Commandos that closed in on smugglers, like sharks circling an unsuspecting prey. The two SAS troopers cast a silencing charm and struck. Their arms wrapped around the necks of the smugglers, choking them out cold, and dragged them out of sight.

The rest of Alpha advanced up the ramp, only pausing for the lead commando to neutralise the guards on the deck.

Harry didn't hear anything. Just the squawk on radios by Milton.

"Three tangos down."

Lieutenant Potter saw a dead body in the corner of his eyes as he moved off the ramp and onto the main deck. He stayed close to the crates that were stacked on the ship and kept his weapon trained forward.

It was his turn to take point.

He moved down the front of the ship, and towards the mast house. Harry made another passive sweep of the deck with his optics. He could see the magical signatures of four targets in the command bridge, and at least a half dozen more in the decks below. It was hard to tell with all the interference from the steel.

Harry led the team into the lower decks. He stepped heel to toe to keep his rifle steady. Sweeping his sights back and forth the stark white hall. Holding a closed fist, he told his team to halt, before gesturing for them to split up and clear the rooms.

The Lieutenant stayed close to the left side of the hallway, approaching the timber door of a billet. The privacy wards were up, he couldn't see inside.

Stacking up next to the door, Harry motioned for the breacher to come up.

Kramer, a towering mountain of a man, jogged up to the doors and pulled out the black tactical power hammer from his back. Harry gave the man and a nod, and the man went to town. The hammer swung forth with savage energy waiting to burst open contact. The metal block bored into the door. A wave of energy shot through the timber frame and the privacy ward and shattered it like glass.

A spell sailed through the doors from within, narrowly missing Kramer's retreating head, and splashed harmlessly into the metal hull. The magical filters of Harry's optics immediately kicked in, blocking out that ethereal world from Harry's eyes.

Quickly recovering, Harry readied a flashbang and tossed it through the hatch. The grenade detonated, washing the room with light, and stunning those inside.

Graves was the first through the door, his suppressor coughing just as he passed the threshold.

Harry was the second through the door. He turned left and saw a smuggler with his wand out. Two the chest, and one to the head was all it took to smear the bed in brain and blood.

"Clear!" Harry called.

He pulled a small chemstick from the dispenser on his belt, broke and tossed it on the floor to mark the room as cleared.

His rifle materialised back into view, the black polymer of the weapon could be seen as clear as day. Someone had cast anti-disillusionment wards, but it was too little too late.

Moving back out of the billets, Harry was once again the point man for Alpha Team as they headed towards the lower cargo hold. Slowly and smoothly, they closed in on the door that was located at the corner end of the hall, it would lead into the cargo hold.

The commandos glided through without incident, entering the lower hallways, painted white and lined with pipes. Harry kept his weapon trained on the hatch that would open into the first cargo bay.

The team stacked up behind the Lieutenant at the doors. Harry grasped the lever and pulled, but it did not give. Not even with his magically enhanced strength, but it would not budge.

He used his optics to peer into the cargo hold. The room was humming with magical energy from the privacy wards, it was impossible to see what was on the other side. He could see faint signatures of warming charms, but with the steel bouncing the signals, he couldn't get an exact number.

Harry motioned for Milton to move up and breach the locking charms.

"Five seconds," the man said coolly. "And we're in."

Milton unsealed the hatch with a resounding screech, then all hell broke loose. An explosive curse crashed into the metal door. The blast swung the door violently into Milton, slamming the commando against the wall. The shockwave washed over the rest of Alpha team, knocking Harry into the trooper behind him. He could feel flecks of burning steel bore its way through his sleeves.

Ignoring the pain, he tried to peer into the cargo hold again, only to find his picture blocked by the stacked shipping containers.

The commando behind Harry pulled a stun grenade from Harry's upper back pouch and tossed it into the hold. The flashbang detonated, Harry was the first to enter.

He stepped out onto the metal grate catwalk which gave a commanding view of the cargo hold. Harry immediately spun to face the lower level, whilst sidestepping to let the other commandos through. He brought his sights down onto the landing below, where two stunned wizards, writhed in disoriented pain.

Harry hesitated for the briefest moment, then blasting curses flew at him from the other side of the hold, on a catwalk. He held up his free hand, willing a Quen shield into existence. A golden dome encased his position in time to absorb the explosive shockwaves.

The commando next to him immediately targeted the new threat. His weapon hissed, slinging bullets at the smugglers. The full metal jacket found their mark, and the criminal wizards fell in a heap.

Harry dropped his shield and looked down on the other wizards that had been stunned by the flashbang. Blood seeped from chest wounds. Who had killed them, was Harry's best guess.

Ignoring the pang of annoyance, he felt – if it could be called that – Harry made his way to end of the catwalk to another set of stairs and moved down onto the lower level.

He did another active sweep with his optics. The magical pulse penetrating through the objects to let him see what was on the other side. He peered into the shipping container and felt his blood run cold.

"Get the containers open!" he ordered.

One of the commandos unwrapped the long iron chain around the container and wrenched the handle. Gently, he pulled the doors ajar, revealing a dozen children huddled at the back.

Harry's torchlight washed over them, causing them to flinch under the intense beams.

"Search the rest of the ship," Delton ordered Harry. "We'll take keep an eye on things here."

Harry motioned for four commandos to follow him into the next cargo hold.

"Farber, Graves and Kramer, bottom deck. Royce, with me."

Three would breach from the bottom deck – the deck that they were currently standing on. Harry and the other commando would breach from the catwalk.

Getting into position, Harry pressed his microphone to his throat.

"Wait for the flash, on my go."

Harry motioned for the commando behind him to toss in the stun grenade. The cylindrical device bounced against the hull, and down into the bay. A half-second later, Harry felt it detonate.

"Execute!"

The SAS troopers moved in, sweeping rifles over their sectors.

"Clear up."

"Clear down."

There were no smugglers left, and yet, Harry couldn't help but feel a coldness unlike any other, in the air. There was an odd familiarity to it too, something he couldn't quite place.

He headed off the catwalk, down the stairs and onto the lower deck. Shipping crates were placed on either side of the hold like an honour guard for the last crate at the back.

Harry trained his weapon on that last container, feeling its pull on his mind. The other commandos followed his lead. He reached out and grasped the container's lever and wrenched the doors open.

The aura hit him like a gale-force wind. In an instant, the air felt bitterly cold.

"You alright, Scar?" Royce asked.

"Fine," Harry shivered.

He stepped into the container and looked at the single ornate chest that lay inside. It was made from rich mahogany wood and trimmed with gold. Whatever object it held, must be precious.

Letting his rifle drop in its sling and swinging it around him, Harry approached the chest carefully. He knelt just two feet in front of it and scanned it with his optics. Dark miasma leaked out of the chest before fading away. He could feel his scar throbbing, almost painfully so.

"Sunray, we have a possible on a dark object in the aft cargo hold, over," Harry COM'd.

"Copy that," Mac replied. "Wait one. All units be advised, our drones picked up something heading our way. Bravo, continue the search of the ship. Alpha and Charlie, I want you topside to cover Delta on the docks."

Harry joined the rest of his team near the billeting area, where Milton was being tended to by a medic.

Two more commandos remained behind to keep an eye on Milton, just in case there was someone on board that Alpha had missed in the initial sweep. The rest of the team made it back onto the main deck, joining Charlie team.

Harry rested his weapon on the ledge of the ship, constantly sweeping the docks. He could barely make out some of the faint magical signatures that emanated from the commandos on Delta. They were well hidden.

"All units be advised, we have a lorry approaching your position. It completely bypassed security."

The truck came into view. A 1950s old lorry, moving with such speed and unnatural – almost comical level of traction. It reminded him of the Knight Bus. Harry trained his sights into the vehicles crew cabin and kept his rifle steady. Over a dozen IR lasers were trained onto the vehicle.

Slowing down, the lorry came to a halt near the boarding ramp. Harry could see two people inside. One was dressed like how a wizard thought a muggle dressed or should be dressed, and the other was in fine black robes.

Harry saw a pulse ripple from the passenger seat. Its signature was almost like the P-Special Applications Optics the commandos used.

In that instant, Harry knew. Someone in that truck had a magic eye. And M Squadron had been made.

"Drop 'em!" Mac ordered.

A flurry of gunfire rippled from the commandos, instantly shredding into the cabin. The glass was shattered, the bonnet racked with bullets, and the wheels were shot out. Then it stopped as quickly as it began.

"So much for capturing them alive," Harry muttered.

He heard Delton give a huff of laughter next to him.

"I'm surprised they didn't turn tail," Delton commented, referring to the outer perimeter of NCA and Specialist Ops.

The commandos from Delta approached the truck carefully and hauled the two dead occupants out. The one in the black robes struck Harry as a Death Eater sort, and he wasn't the only one thinking that. Delta's leader reached for the robed man's left sleeve and pulled it up, revealing the iconography of a snake and a skull. The Dark Mark.

Harry swore inwardly.

"This is Bravo, ship is secured."

"Copy that. Bravo and Charlie are to commence SSE. Alpha, Delta and Romeo are to remain on standby for security."

…

Harry waited outside the ship, watching the EMT's load Milton onto an ambulance. He suffered two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a broken arm. Harry guessed the man would need about a week in the special infirmary before being cleared for active duty again.

Pacing around the lorry draped in white sheets, Harry looked at the people that needed to be processed. Most were children, trafficked from the backwaters of the world where no one in any kind of authority would miss them. A small part of him wondered how much these kids were sold for, or if their parents knew they were missing at all.

They were all well fed and in good health. That was to be expected if they were to be used in dark rituals. Sacrificial rituals always called for healthy bodies.

Pacing back and forth the huddled forms covered in thermal blankets, Harry wondered where they were going to go now.

Some of the children held large chemlights in their hands, given by the SAS Commandos to coax them out of the ship. He saw a small child looking at a wrapped lollipop inquisitively. She was no older than seven.

Harry knelt beside her, taking off his helmet and pulling down his neck gaiter so that she could see his face. He held out his hand and nodded to the candy, to which she placed it in his hand. He pulled off the packaging and handed it back to her.

"Try it," he said, pointing to the candy and then to her mouth.

She looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

"Eat it," Harry said carefully, motioning to the lollipop.

He watched her eyes widen in joy as she tasted the sweet sugary treat.

"It's good, isn't it? Raspberry flavour. My favourite," he continued.

She didn't understand him. But that didn't stop him from trying.

The cold winds picked up again, causing the girl to shiver. Harry tugged the thermal blanket around her a bit tighter, before fishing for a thermal pack out of his pouch. He crushed the packet in his hand before offering it to the girl.

Tentatively, she took it and held it close.

"That'll keep you warm for now," he said, wishing he allowed to cast a warming charm.

Giving her another smile, Harry pulled his gaiter back up, and his helmet back on.

…

Three Hours Later
Hereford

Normally, interrogations weren't handled by Commandos. That duty fell to the Interrogations Officer, usually some spook with a background in human psychology. But due to the secretive materials that M Squadron dealt with, and the lack of personnel in the know about the magical world, the M Commandos had to multi-task.

That was how Harry found himself in the tasked with interrogating the smuggler leader. She had been captured when Bravo Team came barrelling through the Captain's Quarters, and the other captured smugglers were quick to identify her.

Harry quickly flipped through the file he had in his hand, making sure he memorised the key details. Taking a deep breath, he opened the doors and stepped into the interrogations room. It was well lit, with the white fluorescent lights bouncing off the beige walls to create an unnerving pale-yellow tinge.

The woman was sat in a chair, her arms shackled to the metal table. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but because she was a witch, Harry knew she was at least a decade older.

"Kendra Killinger. Mother of three. Widowed. Eldest is a squib, currently studying at Grammar, your middle child is in second year, and your youngest will enter Hogwarts this year."

Harry turned the page.

"Your mother is a half-blood and your father is a pureblood. Your sister has a gambling problem, and you're doing extra work to help her pay off her debts to a loan shark."

"I want my lawyer," Killinger said immediately.

She didn't expect the DMLE to have a file on her, nor did she expect the commandos to have such easy access to them.

"You will have access to legal representation once we are sure that you are not a threat to national security," Harry explained carefully.

"They're just… they're not bombs!"

An innocuous line to most, but to Harry, it meant she had a decent understanding of the mundane world.

"Blue magic has the potential for chemical warfare. Additionally, we found a dark artefact on board the ship."

Killinger's face paled.

"So, you do know what's onboard? You know who I am, right?"

Killinger nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "You're Harry Potter."

"Good. Then you know you're not getting out of here any time soon," Harry said gravely. "You're not going back to your old life. You might leave this place one day when you're old and grey, but you're not going to have your old life back."

Harry's green eyes locked onto Killinger's ice-blue eyes that were filling with dread and heaviness. He let the gravity of it all settle in before continuing.

"So, let's make peace with that. Okay?" he said, leaning forward. "Do you want your kids educated? I'll make sure they get educated. I'll make sure they'll never go hungry. But you'll need to work with us. I want you to script for me your exit strategy for a situation that you are responsible for."

Killinger leaned back into her seat, raising her head almost in relief as there was light at the end of the tunnel.

"I'll talk," she said, accepting the deal.

…
Office Room 5

Killinger's account matched the Gernsback's travel log, both on board, and at international ports. The freighter had travelled all-over South-East Asia and Africa, picking up trafficked people, before stopping at the port city Dabera in the country of Gamberia. A cursory use of legimency helped confirmed the details that couldn't be verified independently.

"What do you think of this Death Eater?" Royce asked, standing at the pinboard.

Dozens of photos and post-it notes littered the wall, tying together all the information that had been gathered. Much to the annoyance of the commandos, they couldn't find a file or even a name on the Death Eater. It only proved that a large chunk of the Ministry was still in the pocket of blood supremacists.

Harry spun around in his chair to face Royce, whose brows were furrowed in deep thought.

"Source of income?" Harry suggested. "Maybe the man needed money."

Royce shook his head.

"That's what the analysts from NCA are thinking," Royce said quietly.

"But?"

"But it's not their modus operandi," Royce explained. "Death Eaters hate us. They hate you and me."

"So why would they sell to muggles?" Harry said, seeing what Royce was getting at.

"Exactly. Why do it?"

"Maybe they're bankrupt? Or they need the extra cash for something," Harry proposed.

"What I wouldn't give to have eyes and ears in Gringotts."

"Everyone wants to have eyes and ears inside Gringotts, mate."

Gringotts bank was like the Swiss Banks of the magical world. Sure, there were other banks that offered lowered interest rates or better exchange rates with muggle currency, but Gringotts's security was second to none, and more importantly, they only answered to Goblin Laws. Dirty money that went into that bank was essentially laundered since their books could not be seen by outsider eyes.

"Lab report says that there's gold in Magic Blue," Harry pondered, looking at the pinned note on the board.

"Not just any gold. Gold made from a sorcerer stone."

Gold that has been made from a sorcerer stone, compared to The Sorcerer Stone, was never pure. Both however contained trace magical signatures that were strong enough to disrupt small electrical charges such as those found in computer chips. These distinctive magical signatures were what prevented "counterfeit" gold from flooding the muggle market. Still, the gold had the same properties as regular gold when it came to magical uses.

"You think they got their hands on a sorcerer stone?"

"Or their gold supplier is someone who does."

Royce sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

"I have to go to London to present the report. Send yours through when you're done."

"Will do, mate."

With Royce out of the room, Harry was left alone to finish up the report. He got up from his desk and headed over to the kitchenette to pour himself a cup of black coffee. He had to learn how to enjoy black coffee during his first tour in the sandbox because field ration cream never seemed to taste right.

Nursing the mug of joe, he made his way to the couch and eased himself into the cushion. He still couldn't get the kids out of his head. Seeing them huddled together, afraid of the world, it still played on a loop.

Harry looked down at his watch. The sun was going to crest over the horizon shortly. They had been here all-night sifting through the information obtained from the manifest and the prisoners. Usually, this sort of work would be left to Intelligence, but since there weren't that many people privy to the magical world, the Commandos had to pitch in.

Downing the last of his coffee, Harry returned to the desk to read his report over one more time before hitting send.

He heard the doors opened and looked up. It was Mac.

"Potter," the Major greeted.

"Sir."

"How's the scar?" he asked, taking the seat opposite Harry's.

"Better sir."

"Well, the boffins want you checked out as soon as possible. They've managed to squeeze you in for an MRI, at Reyton Imaging in an hour."

"I should get going then," Harry said, getting up from his chair.

"Yeah, I'll walk with you."

He quickly placed his mug into the kitchenette sink before heading out, with Mac following close behind.

"Do we know what we found?"

Mac shook his head. "We're at a loss. It's dark, that's for sure. The thing felt foul. We've called in a contractor to lend a hand."

"What time are they getting here?"

"Probably after nine. Plenty of time."

"Want me to pick something up on the way back?" Harry offered.

"Well, where are you going?"

Harry's brow furrowed in deep thought.

"McDonald's?" he half answered, half suggested.

"Alright, get me a breakfast wrap with brown sauce and an Oreo McFlurry. Actually… what are you getting? I always seem to go for the wrong thing."

"Oh jeez, I haven't been to McDonald's in a while. Cheesy bacon flatbread and a jam bagel."

"That sounds good, get me the cheesy bacon."

"Bagel?"

"I'll pass on the bagel but get me the oats. Plain one."

"No problem, sir."

"Thanks, Potter. We'll be in Lab M."

With that, Mac turned around and headed back towards his office, while Harry continued to the car park.

…

Three Hours Later

Pocketing the flash drive that contained his MRI scan, Harry bid the receptionist goodbye and returned to his car. He made sure to pick up Mac's food on the way back, placing them under a stasis charm to stop the ice cream from melting, and the flatbread from turning soggy.

He made his way back onto the base, passing through the many security checkpoints before reaching Lab M. Inside was Mac and a few other Commandos milling about in the observation room.

"Here's your grub, sir," Harry said, placing the paper bag on the table next to Mac who was reading a report on his tablet.

Harry realised he was probably breaking a few OH&S rules by bringing food in here. Those rules had been hammered into him since his first days at Cambridge, studying medical science. He looked around the room, and no one seemed to care. Half the commandos were either drinking coffee or gnawing a bagel from the cafeteria.

"Thanks, Potter. You still feeling cold?"

Harry nodded, eying the chest in the containment room. It was placed within a Faraday cage, and still, he could feel the dark presence thrumming in his scar. The object was covered from multiple angles by numerous specialised cameras that projected their feed onto a dozen monitors in the observation room. The electronics had been hardened against ambient magical energy that disrupted electronics.

"When's the contractor getting here?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes, give or take. So, what the docs say?"

"The team at Reyton are at a loss," Harry answered. "I handed the scans over to medical. Maybe they'll come up with something."

Unwrapping his food, Harry began to tuck in.

"Hey, where's mine?" It was Royce, entering the door with Charles Whittaker following close behind.

"Thought you were in London," Harry shrugged.

Whittaker was a friend of Harry's grandfather. They had been in the Royal Air Force together, where Evans had been a trauma surgeon and Whittaker a search and rescue airmen. Despite it being ungodly early on a Saturday, Whittaker was dressed in a pinstriped charcoal suit.

"When Royce explained to me what had happened, I thought it be best if I were here," Whittaker explained.

"Could've saved our boy a trip," Mac chuckled. "Maybe save the taxpayer a few cents on floo powder."

"Meeting ended early," Whittaker said curtly.

"Well make yourself comfortable, we're waiting on our contacts."

The contacts turned out to be none other than Bill Weasley.

"Bill good to see you," Harry greeted.

"You too, Harry," said Weasley, masking his surprise. "So what did you want me to look at?"

Harry pointed Bill to the dark artefact that lay beyond the ballistic glass that separated the containment room from the observation room.

"May I?" Bill asked.

"Go right ahead," Mac gestured.

Bill donned on protective dragonhide clothing before he entered through the doors and into the containment room. He cast several diagnostic charms, some of which Harry recognised, others he didn't. A warm flash of blue indicated an all clear, and Bill approached the chest.

Because the lock had already been undone by the commandos – more like smashed open with a hammer – Bill just wandlessly waved his hand to remove the Faraday cage and open the chest. In it lay an ornate diadem.

Harry felt the foul coldness increase tenfold.

"You alright?" Mac asked.

"Peachy," Harry gritted.

Once again, Bill cast numerous diagnostics spells of a more advanced nature that Harry was unfamiliar with. But Harry didn't need to be a master Curse-Breaker to know that the results weren't good.

Bill soon returned to the observation room with a heavy grimness.

"It's a Horcrux," he said gravely.

"What's that?" Whittaker asked.

Bill walked over to the table to take a seat. His brows were furrowed, disturbed and concerned.

"It's a soul fragment container. To make one requires a dark ritual," he said slowly. "The whole point of them is to create… anchors to this world. So, if the creator dies, they don't move on. They stay here."

"The body dies, and the soul remains, right?" asked Whittaker.

Bill nodded. Harry felt his stomach churn. Royce placed a warm cup of coffee in front of the Curse-Breaker, who in turn gave a silent nod of thanks.

"How is a Horcrux made?"

"It requires murder," Bill answered. "But not just any kind of murder. You need to genuinely want to make a Horcrux, and that means you need a pathological fear of death amongst other things."

"Hmmm, thought it be worse," Mac muttered.

Harry noted the brief flash of surprise on Bill's face before the Curse-Breaker schooled his expression back to normal. One body for a Horcrux seemed low compared to what Mac had seen his long career.

"How do you know about this?" Whittaker frowned. "Our records have nothing on Horcruxes."

"Gringotts has a library, it only has one book on Horcruxes."

Bill frowned again, his hands cupping the coffee.

"There's something else about it. I can't quite describe it. It's… it's like the soul fragment is… jagged. Meaning whoever made this just didn't make one or two."

"How many?"

"I'm not sure. Five maybe? More even."

A cold unease seeped into Harry's gut, snaking its way to his heart. The heat pooled at the back of his neck. His scar throbbed whenever he was near that thing, even if there was a Faraday cage separating him from the diadem.

"I'm not an expert on Horcruxes, but what I do know is that they're dark magic of the foulest kind."

"How do we destroy it?"

"A fiendfyre, Basilisk Venom, or powerfully enchanted weapon."

"Hmm, maybe the boffins can come up with something."

"You need to destroy it," Bill warned. "Horcruxes have the will of whoever made them. They can bend your mind without you even knowing it."

"Will do. Royce, grab a power hammer and see what you can do," Mac ordered.

"Sir."

Royce left the room and returned two minutes later with a power hammer in hand. The concept of such a weapon could be traced back to the 16th Century, but now, it was used as a breaching tool against wards or physical structures. It was also effective at destroying enchanted objects.

Once Royce had passed through the doors into the containment room, everyone else huddled around the monitor displays.

"Alright, monumental moment time," Royce said quietly, but just loud enough for it to be picked up by the microphones.

"Better you than us, mate," Mac COM'd. "Whenever you're ready."

The moment Royce went into a ready stance with the hammer, the temperature dropped even further.

"I see into your heart Benjamin Royce," a voice hissed and growled.

A black cloud rose from the diadem and coalesced into vanta-black from which light did not escape.

"I know your desires… your fears."

From the cloud emerged the image of a woman. She was Arabic. Pleading in her native tongue, holding her hand, completely terrified. A baby was crying in the background.

"Bloody hell, Royce! Snap out of it!" Mac barked.

The commando burst into action. He torqued his body and violently brought the hammer down. The blunt weapon smashed into the diadem with crushing force, caving into the chest.

"GARHHHH!" Harry gurgled.

Pain shot through his head, a burning kinetic pain like no other that overtook all his senses.

Royce smashed the diadem again, eliciting a primal roar of pain that turned Harry's voice raw.

"Royce! Stop! Stop! Stop!" Mac shouted into the PA system.

He dropped to the floor, clutching his scar as he groaned in pain.

"Get a stretcher!"

Sensing as if the threat was gone, the black cloud withdrew back into the chipped artefact.

Harry's breathing was ragged. Sweat beaded down his forehead, as he looked around the room. Bill's face was almost devoid of blood. His eyes were as wide as saucers, seemingly having made a horrifying conclusion. The same one that Harry would soon make.

…

After the onsite medical team was sure Harry wasn't going to have an aneurysm, he was rushed back to Reyton Imaging. When the MRI scans were done, he returned to the dressing room where his uniform had been replaced by the casual clothes, he had brought with him. It was a not so subtle message that he was to go home and rest.

He pulled on the patterned sky blue business shirt and tucked it black chinos. He then pulled on a charcoal V-neck sweater and was halfway through putting on business leather boots when he heard someone knock at the door.

"You alright in there?" Mac asked.

"Sir, you're like a hen mother," Harry replied.

"Good to see your cheek's back," the Major said gruffly.

Once Harry was done, he left the dressing room and exited into the main hall where Mac, Royce and Kramer were waiting for him.

"How are you holding, mate?" Royce asked.

Kramer handed Harry a bottle of water.

"Thanks. I feel kinda… I dunno how to explain it."

The sound of heels clicking against the floors turned Harry's attention to a specialist. She was a lean woman who looked to be in her early fifties or later forties. Her greying blonde hair was cut to shoulder length, and she wore square frame glasses that gave her ice blue eyes an air of relaxed professionalism.

"Mr Potter, I'm Dr Sandra Caldwell, please follow me."

"We'll wait for you outside," Kramer said.

He and Royce left the foyer, while Caldwell led Harry and Mac to her office.

"Johnathan, do you really need to be here?" Dr Caldwell asked as she closed the doors behind them.

"I'm his Commanding Officer. The closest thing to a mum he has right now."

"High opinion of yourself there, sir?" Harry said, sitting down.

"Are you fine with him here?"

"He's going to read the report anyway," Harry shrugged. "Might as well."

Mac took a seat next to Harry.

"Well, how is he, Sandra?"

"We're honestly at a loss," Dr Caldwell answered.

Tapping a few commands into her computer, she brought up Harry's scans onto the main display for them to see.

She then turned to Harry.

"This blemish is on your frontal lobe. I don't think it's affecting any of your cognitive abilities, I believe that this… whatever it is, is interfering with the MRI. We'll need to do some tests to be sure."

Caldwell pointed to the dull area at the front of his brain.

"We'll have to run some fMRI tests to make sure everything is fine, but for now, take it easy."

"I -uh- I have a deployment coming up…"

"If you score green across the board, I'll let you go," Mac assured. "If something's wrong, you're benched."

"Understood, sir."

"I don't think that's ideal," Caldwell said worriedly.

"Thank you for your time, Sandra," Mac cut her off.

"Jonathan… we don't know what this is," Caldwell raised her voice.

"We'll handle it. Don't you worry. Have a good day, Sandra. Give my regards to Kim."

When they got back to the car, Mac finally spoke his mind.

"Voldemort, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "It has to be his."

Mac sighed and took a sip of his drink.

"Shit."

…

Merchant Square, London

It was about midday on a Saturday when Harry had returned to the apartment. He hanged his overcoat on the hangar, before heading into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

He was tempted to go to sleep but knowing that it would throw off his sleep cycle, he settled for some pepper-up potion and a calming draught. Mixing the concoction into his juice, Harry took a sip which took the edge off his exhaustion.

"Harry, do we have any juice left?" Hermione called. She was still in her room.

He reopened the fridge and peered back inside.

"Yes. A quarter of a bottle."

"Thanks, Harry, I'll be out in a bit."

"Do you want me to pour you want?"

"Not yet. I can do it."

Easing himself into the soft leather of the couch, Harry turned his gaze outwards across London skyline.

…

Hermione opened the fridge to get the carton of orange juice. As she reached for the carton, her eyes glanced over the container of calming draught. It was missing a phial.

Hermione frowned inwardly.

With a glass of juice in hand, she walked into the living room and sat down next to Harry.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, just a long night."

"Talk to me," Hermione offered, clearly not buying Harry's excuse. "As long as you don't get in trouble that is."

"I'm okay," he reassured. He then turned to face her. "Do you want to go out and get lunch?"

"Sure, just let me get changed first."

…

The café was just a quick walk from their apartment. They went to their usual table, a back corner close to the exit and with a commanding view of the establishment. Harry's mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Harry… I've been thinking of going to Gamberia."

That got his attention.

"Why?" he asked.

"I've always wanted to do charity work abroad for a bit," Hermione answered.

"Gamberia's a dangerous place."

"You don't think I should go, do you?"

"It's a dangerous failed state," Harry repeated.

"I'll be fine. One of the doctors I work with, she and her fiancée did their residency there."

"In the UN safe zone, right?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Well as long as you're safe," Harry said, placing his glass onto the coaster on the coffee table.

"I'll be fine," Hermione reassured him, tapping her wrist-mounted wand holster.

"What made you want to go?" Harry asked, his tone laced with worry.

Hermione pursed her lips, leaning on her elbows.

"It's always something I wanted to do ever since I got into medicine."

"Well. As long as you're safe. Do you have any paperwork to fill out?"

"It's still sitting on my desk. I'll submit it on Monday."

"When would you be leaving?"

"Five months if everything goes through."

"That soon?" Harry asked, surprised.

"They're really shorthanded. Anyway, onto cheerier things, Granger New Year's Party coming up."

"I thought you said cheerier things, Hermione," Harry frowned.

"Prat," she slapped his arm lightly.

"Ow," he grimaced, pretending to be hurt.

"Oh, walk it off, you big baby. I need a plus one."

"Straight to the point, huh? I would've said yes if you didn't call me a prat. Hurts my feelings."

Hermione instantly changed tactic gave him the softest look she would reserve for a puppy or a kitten.

"Please be my plus one," she begged.

"Are you… are you giving me puppy eyes?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe."

"You can say yes," Hermione suggested, keeping up her puppy eyes.

"Yes."

She broke out into a victorious grin. Harry didn't know whether to be upset or not for falling for a potentially insincere use of puppy dog eyes.

"Last time we went, Cheryl made you cry."

"Last time we went, we were fifteen."

"Wow, that's a while ago."

"And that was the last time I went too. No skipping out on this one."

"Alright, you owe me."

"Really?" Hermione asked, a little incredulous. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight."

"Ouch, that actually hurt."

"If it makes you feel better, I know you were going to say yes in the end."

"You cruel, cruel woman," Harry sighed.

Hermione smirked.

"So when and where is it?"

"New Years, and near my parents' place."

"Are we gonna drive to your parents' place?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "They might have people staying over."

Harry nodded understandingly. Most of Hermione's family were unaware that she was a witch, which mean that they couldn't just apparate in and out as they pleased since it would raise questions. Harry's grandfather, on the other hand, had a huge garage and car collection, that Harry could come and go whenever he wanted without raising suspicion.

…

Two Weeks Later
Merchant Square, London

Harry was already packed and ready to go. He was sitting on the couch, half paying attention to a documentary on factories when a news bulletin interrupted the programming.

"Breaking news, a train outside of Norfolk has been derailed, killing thirty-four passengers, and injuring a hundred more…"

"Oh my holy God," Harry whispered.

It was retaliation. He knew in his gut that this was no accident. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he fished out his encrypted phone and called Mac.

"I take it you've seen the news then?" Mac answered, immediately cutting to the chase.

"And?"

Harry heard Mac sigh audibly.

"Forensics on the ground have found evidence of magical tampering."

"Shit."

"We knew something like this was going to happen," Mac said softly.

It was easy to forget how dangerous mages could be. Just like how the commandos could strike anywhere without warning, so too could the Death Eaters.

"How'd your tests go?" Mac asked, changing the subject.

"I thought you'd 've read them by now."

"I haven't actually."

"Caldwell thinks I'm good to go."

"Alright. I'll give you the green light."

"Thanks, sir."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter. Task Force is sending you to Gamberia."

"Oh."

"Listen, we're going to try and destroy the Horcrux again when you're out of the country. Maybe the distance won't kill you."

"Sir… is this a good idea? What if I die?"

"We talked about it. If a Horcrux dies and you die as well, it defeats the purpose of making one. Higher-ups want it destroyed."

"Roger that, sir," Harry said heavily.

…

Grangers' House, Oxfordshire

Hermione had described the Grangers' New Year's Party as a "peacock bonanza" back when they were teenagers. It was the perfect opportunity where the vainer elements of Andrew Granger's massive family would use to haughtily broadcast their wealth. Thus, the dress code was cocktail, where everyone could gussy up and add a bit of flair to their outfit.

For party events, Harry chose a bespoke midnight blue suit. It was single-breasted, two-button, and double vented as all good suits should be.

He donned on the suit with a crisp white shirt, tied his navy tie in an elegant Windsor knot, and placed a white pocket square into his top pocket. Slipping the silver cufflinks and tie clip into place, Harry then pulled on a pair of black Wholecut Oxfords. It was a timeless and subtle style that Harry's grandfather had taught him. Wild colours were in vogue one year and dated the next. But a strong contrast in neutral and dark colours was a classic.

Harry gave himself a quick check in the mirror to see if anything was out of place. His time in the military gave him an eye for extreme detail.

Satisfied everything was in place, he headed over to his luggage bag and retrieved a velvet box. Within was a dress watch that belonged to his father. It had a silver case, white face, and black leather straps with the subtlest tinge of royal blue. Slipping it onto his wrist, Harry took the time to admire its craftsmanship, before heading back out into the guest lounge.

"Hermione are you ready?"

"Give me a minute," she replied.

The sound of an opening door caught Harry's attention. He turned towards Hermione's room and saw her step out with a level of effort grace and elegance unfound in most. She chose a navy-blue dress that ended at her knees, paired with silver heels that added just enough height to bring her to Harry's eye level. It was a modest and youthful look.

"You're looking lovely," Harry complimented.

Hermione flashed him a beautiful smile. He felt his heart skip a beat.

"You too," she said.

The two of them headed downstairs where Helen and Andrew Granger were already waiting for them. Helen was wearing a deep maroon dress, while her husband wore a charcoal suit paired with a white shirt and a red tie.

"My, don't you look handsome, Harry," said Helen with a warm smile.

"Thank, Helen. You look lovely, too."

The Granger matriarch then looked at her daughter.

"And you, look beautiful as always."

"Mum," Hermione whined bashfully with a smile, as her mother gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Well, everyone's looking dapper, let's go."

"Do we have to?" Andrew whinged.

"Love, if we don't go, we'll never hear the end of it."

Harry and Hermione followed her parents out the front door to the waiting metallic grey Range Rover.

The conversation was light, with Hermione retelling funny stories from work. Harry's stories weren't for the faint of heart. When they reached the Country Club, Andrew picked a parking spot near the entrance.

"Do we really have to do this?" Andrew repeated.

"Dad, we're here, they've seen us."

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic, Andy," Helen chided.

The group alighted the car and headed inside where they were ushered in by a doorman.

Like most country clubs, this one had a neoclassical inspired interior design, although with a more modern touch. The warm tones and the ornate furniture created a classy and relaxing atmosphere with understated opulence.

"Hello, hello!" a male voice greeted them.

"Hey, Cam!" Hermione smiled.

Cameron Granger was Hermione's cousin once or twice removed, Harry didn't remember which. He liked to keep things simple by referring those in the same generation as cousins, the upper generation as uncles and aunties, and so on, much like South-East Asian cultures.

"Harry, Hermione, you look well. Auntie Helen and Uncle Andy, how are you?"

"We're fine, thank you," Helen answered with a smile. "How's Evelyn and Tim?"

"Evelyn's abroad, so it's just me and Tim, tonight," Cameron answered. He then turned to Hermione. "Timmy's been dying to see you."

Hermione beamed at the mere mention of her nephew, and Harry could help but smile when he remembered how she had held baby Timmy for an entire day that her arms cramped for a week.

"Anyway, just have a look at the list to see where you are. We've got more people arriving."

"So, you're the maître d' tonight?" Andy grinned.

"At your service," Cam played along with faux haughtiness.

The family went through the lobby and into the main auditorium that the Grangers had booked.

Helen and Andrew were arranged to be sat with on the "grown-ups" table, while Harry and Hermione were at one of the "kids" tables, even though the youngest person at that table was 23.

Ever the gentlemen, Harry pulled out Hermione's seat for her, an act that did not go by unnoticed for the more perceptive Granger cousins. Cheryl was there with her boyfriend, though she seemed more subdued compared to when Harry last met her. The conversations between her and Hermione were civil, they largely focused on one picking the other's brains about their respective jobs.

Cheryl was currently interning at PWC, and all her stories revolved around corporate law. He had no idea that corporate law could have such good storytelling material, or maybe Cheryl was just a good storyteller.

Maybe it runs in the family, he thought.

Cheryl then turned to Harry.

"So, what are you up to?" she asked.

"I'm in the Army. I work in signals," Harry answered.

Saying sanitations would be far too obvious for anyone with a modicum of military knowledge. What had started as a dark morbid joke, had become far too mainstream to be used in public conversation. And if anyone was to do any digging on Harry's file, they would find that his MOS was indeed signals.

The first course was served soon enough, and Harry was just content to listen in on the conversation. He kept his back straight and would occasionally pan his eyes back and forth around his surroundings.

Hermione's relatives came by often enough to greet her as well as Harry.

When the main course arrived, Hermione received the steak dinner, while Harry got the salmon fillet.

"Swap you halfway through?" Hermione suggested.

"Sure," Harry smiled.

Conversations shifted back and forth, with Harry just listening in rather than being the centre of attention. Despite rarely going into the Wizarding World during his free time, Harry still found joy in just simply existing in the background.

"I'm going to grab a drink; do you want anything?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Rekorderlig."

"Strawberry and lime?"

"Please and thank you."

Harry excused himself and got up from the table. He took the long way around the partygoers to get to the bar.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Two strawberry lime ciders, please."

"Certainly."

Thanking the barman, Harry picked up both glasses and was about to head back when Hermione came up to his right.

"Cheryl bothering you again?" he asked, handing her a drink.

"Huh? No," Hermione shook her head. "Her mum's just… doing the rounds."

"Cut and run before she gets to you?"

"Yes, something like that. Thanks."

Hermione took a sip of her drink, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy its flavour. The band began to play livelier music, an unspoken invitation for people to take to the dance floor.

Finding their own quiet little corner to finish their drinks, Hermione gave Harry a brief summary of family drama or gossip. They were occasionally interrupted by other family members who wanted a quick chat. Harry was just astounded at how large Andrew Granger's extended family was. Due to the incredible number of Grangers here, they virtually came from all walks of life. Sadly, the ostentatious event was intimidating to those who weren't as well off.

"Is it just me, or are more people coming to us?" Harry commented.

Hermione had an inkling why so many of the Grangers had taken an interest in Harry, despite having met him before. She wasn't brave enough to tell him the full truth, just half of it.

"They see your watch. Vacheron Constantin," she said.

"What about it?"

"Their cheapest watches cost thirty thousand."

"I'm wearing a thirty-grand watch?" Harry's eyes bulged.

"Only you, Harry. You are definitely ancient money," Hermione teased. "That watch is worth more than fifty thousand these days."

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry baulked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out," Hermione shrugged cheekily.

Harry looked torn between wanting to take the wristwatch off and shove it in his pocket or continue wearing it.

"Harry, it'll be fine," Hermione reassured him. "Not many people know about Vacheron Constantin, anyway. They think it's just another fancy watch."

Harry's right hand cupped his watch protectively.

"It was your dad's," she reminded.

Harry decided to keep the watch on.

The music changed to a softer tune, a moment for couples to just dance slowly with one another.

"Care to dance?" Hermione asked.

Harry smiled, he'd never refuse a chance to dance with her.

Heading into the middle of the dance floor, the two held each other as they gently swayed to the music. It reminded him of a more innocent time when they danced together at the Yule Ball in Seventh Year.

As the song continued, Hermione looked up at Harry, only to see a far distant look in his emerald eyes. Feeling her chocolate orbs on his, Harry looked back at her.

Hermione gave him a gentle concerned look. He wasn't too sure when it happened, but at some point, in their friendship, the two of them could sometimes communicate without talking.

"They're shipping me out again," he answered her unasked question.

"It's been four months already…" she trailed off.

"I know. Four months flew by, didn't it?"

The band took a brief pause and the duo stopped, turning their attention to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to begin the countdown, so let's head outside and get ready for the fireworks!" the MC announced enthusiastically.

The party-goers grabbed their coats and moved out onto the main deck. Hermione's arm remained looped through Harry's as they navigated their way through the crowd to find a spot to spectate.

The countdown began, and Harry joined in. The New Year was heralded with a beautiful fireworks display, and as Harry's eyes took in the brilliant display of lights, his mind drifted back to his first tour.

…

Granger House, Oxfordshire

The party had been a rousing success in that there were only two young adults who had too much to drink. Hermione, being a trained medical professional had to watch over them like a hawk until she was sure they were okay.

Even when Harry had returned to the cousins' Airbnb after dropping off her parents at home, Hermione kept her vigil for another half hour. Though it was easier since Harry was trained in battlefield medicine. The two mainly stuck around that much longer to allay the concerns of the parents who had found out that the genius lightweights had shared a bottle of whiskey.

Once all the panic had died down, Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes and headed for home.

"Wow, it's three in the morning," Hermione said, looking at the time.

"Definitely past your bedtime."

"I might miss mummy dearest's storytime," Hermione said in a childly high voice, rolling with Harry's teasing.

"Wanna drive, or should I?"

"You drive, Harry. My feet are killing me."

Without bothering to tell Harry to stop. She placed a hand onto Harry's arm for stability and quickly took off her heels.

"Hermione, it's snowing," Harry frowned.

Hermione just shrugged.

"I've been barefoot in worse places."

Summoning her wand into her hand, she silently cast a warming charm.

"Of course," Harry commented.

He opened the passenger side door for her to get in, before getting on the driver side.

She really needed to stretch out. Then a mischievous thought entered Hermione's head as Harry started the engines.

Oh, why not? She thought.

Curling her toes, she pressed them up against the footwell. Her joints popped like bubble wrap, causing Harry's head to spin to her.

Then she rolled her ankles.

Crack, crack, crack.

Harry's eyes widened.

"That's disgusting, Hermione," his face lightly scrunched.

"Hang on, some more left."

Harry grimaced as Hermione went through the motions of stretching her back, craning her neck, and pulling her fingers. A blissful expression crossed her features when she popped the last of her joints and relaxed into the rich leather chair.

"That was horrifying."

"It feels great, Harry," Hermione grinned, activating the massage function in her seat.

"People 've had strokes doing that."

"Only if you wrench your head violently enough to burst a vessel," Hermione repeated for the nth time.

Harry just shook his head lightly and reversed the SUV out of the Airbnb driveway.

They returned to Hermione's childhood home just after three, and by then, she was feeling the cost of staying awake for just over 20hrs. Harry, on the other hand, seemed fine. As Harry brought the SUV to a stop at the apex of the U-shaped driveway, in front of the doors, the lights automatically turned on.

"Carry me," Hermione demanded in a half groan as Harry turned off the engines.

He turned to her with a slightly bemused look.

"You were pretty gung-ho a few seconds earlier."

"Yeah, well I'm not. Carry me."

"Why?"

"I gave you a massage last time."

"That wasn't out of the goodness of your heart, Granger?"

"Correct, Potter. I want to collect."

"The things I do for you," Harry sighed. His smile gave him away though.

Much to Hermione's delight, Harry walked around to her side, opened the door and scooped her into his arms. Lifting her out of the car, he took a step back to let her close the door.

"What about your shoes?" he asked.

"I'll get them tomorrow."

Carrying her up to the doors, Harry held angled his hold on her so she could unlock the doors. She didn't bother with the keys, and instead, drew her wand from the hidden wrist holster.

"Alohomora!"

"Hermione!" Harry almost chided.

"What?"

"You are too liberal with a wand."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and the two moved inside.

The lights were still on.

"You're out late," Hermione heard her mother's voice.

Helen was standing in the kitchen with a warm drink in hand.

Realising the unconventional position, they were both in, Hermione fought down a blush. Harry remained dignified but had the decency to look a bit bashful, as he carried Hermione to the beige L-shaped leather couch in the lounge and placed her down gently.

"I'll be right back, need to go to the toilet."

As Harry's back disappeared behind the hallway, Helen sat down next to Hermione, who had stretched comfortably over a section of the loveseat.

"How's Davis and Mark?" Helen asked, bemused.

"They're fine. Their parents are surprisingly calm, I honestly thought Auntie Kate was going to throw a fit. But they're all fine now. Cheryl and her boyfriend will keep an eye on them."

"That's good, dear."

"Where's Crooks?"

Another smile crossed Helen's features.

"He's sleeping with us now," she answered.

Hermione couldn't stop the grin splitting her face.

"That's adorable."

"Your dad's come a long way. But enough about us… you and Harry."

Hermione's expression softened.

"What about us?"

Helen took a sip of her drink.

"Lots of people were asking me if you two are together."

"Oh… that. We're just friends," she answered, almost disappointed.

"Well you two looked awfully comfortable for friends," Helen teased.

"He's my best friend," Hermione said, almost defensively.

"And your dad is mine."

"What are you saying, mum?"

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"He's about to be shipped out. This sort of thing could distract him."

"There's never an ideal time," Helen said carefully. "But say something soon, otherwise, you might regret it, alright?"

"Why are you so interested in my love life, mum?"

"Men like Harry are rare to come by, and he's absolutely smitten with you. Watching you two dancing at the party… I don't want you to regret anything."

"You make it sound like a Disney romance."

Hermione heard the toilet flush.

"Just think about it, okay?" Helen said gently, patting her daughter's knee.

Getting up from her seat, the older Granger woman headed out into the hallway and upstairs.

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Helen."

Harry returned.

"You okay?" He asked, noticing a pensive look on her face.

"Hmm? Yeah. Fine."

Harry sat down next to her, looking at her with his green eyes. She couldn't help but smile when she saw his genuine compassion.

"Wild family you have," he commented.

"First time a drunk man said he loved you?" Hermione smirked, remembering how Harry had to carry Davis.

Harry gave a short huff of laughter.

"No," he shook his head. "First time someone said that to me while I was sober."

"Oh my!"

"Get your head out of the gutter, Granger."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

Hermione tried to move, but instantly winced. She was not used to wearing heels. Suddenly the price of beauty didn't seem worth it.

"Still sore?"

Hermione nodded.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She poked her toes into Harry's side. He looked down at her feet with exaggerated disgust. Though remembering his rant on people with foot fetishes, Hermione wasn't entirely sure that he was faking his disdain.

"Could you please give me a foot rub?" she asked sweetly.

Harry's eyes narrowed on hers.

"Pretty please? I mean you asked."

"Are you begging?"

"Pleeeeease," Hermione repeated, pressing her feet against him in a staccato rhythm.

Harry shook his head with a sigh, and grabbed her left ankle, placing it into his lap.

"The things I do for you."

"Oh no, you don't, Potter. I'm just collecting on a debt."

With a flick of the wrist, Harry's wand appeared in his hand. He silently cast a scouring charm on her feet, before holstering his wand.

"Really?" she drawled.

"You walked barefoot through the snow."

"Well, hurry up. Feet's aching."

Hermione leaned back into the backrest and undid her hair bun. A low purr of ecstasy rumbled form her throat as Harry worked on her ankles, before running his thumbs along the arch of her foot.

"Are you purring?"

She barely registered his voice.

"Keep going," was all she managed.

When he began to work on her right foot, the rush of dopamine wasn't as strong, probably because she was desensitised to it at this point. That didn't mean she didn't want Harry to stop. However, the moment of clarity allowed her to see that faraway look in Harry's eyes as he was starring off out into the back yard.

Pulling back her legs, she tucked them in under her as she scooted next to him on the couch. He gave her a questioning look.

"Harry, you've been a bit… distracted… is something wrong?" she asked.

Harry gave her a weak smile. Her heart clenched with dread. She could see that look in his eyes. The sheer terror that lurked beneath the verdant green. She had only seen that once before, during the Triwizard Tournament.

"Do you know what Horcruxes are?"

"Never heard of them," Hermione frowned. "What are they?"

"A Horcrux is a container for a soul fragment," Harry answered. "The fragment is an anchor."

"Ritualistic murder for immortality," Hermione quickly concluded.

"Yes," he confirmed.

A paused drifted between him as Harry steeled himself.

"We found a Horcrux…"

"Are you allowed to tell me this?" Hermione interrupted.

"It affects me personally, and I need you to know," Harry explained.

Hermione felt her heart sink as bile rose to her throat. She didn't say anything. A flurry of emotions crossed Harry's features.

"My scar began to hurt when I was near it," he uttered.

Her brown orbs widened as her eyes locked in on the scar. He felt her finger gently trace the skin around the cursed mark, and leaned into her touch.

"It's…"

"It's a Horcrux as well," she finished. "Voldemort's Horcrux."

"Nothing gets past you, huh?"

Hermione felt her eyes sting with tears. She quickly threw her arms around him, bringing him into her crushing embrace.

"Oh Harry," she whispered.

They stayed there in what felt like hours, but when they pulled away, it still didn't feel like it was enough.

"Have you… talked to Dumbledore about this?" Hermione asked.

Harry shot her a confused look.

"What does he have to do with this?"

"He's one of the wisest wizards in Britain, if not the world. Hogwarts is the largest source of magical texts in all of Europe, except for maybe the Department of Mysteries. He might know something."

"He's just a Headmaster."

"Things are different in that world than this."

Harry remained silent in deep thought. He didn't miss the obvious language Hermione used.

"The Brass wants to keep this quiet."

"So, what happens next?" she asked. "Are they going to hold you here?"

Harry shook his head.

"It hasn't affected me before, and we're shorthanded. They're not benching me for something like this."

Hermione frowned, clearly disagreeing with Harry's superiors' opinion.

"You shouldn't go. You should be here."

"Something big has come up."

"Promise me you'll be safe, okay?"

"Aren't I always?"

…

"The sniper is an elite warrior trained to use high-precision rifles to acquire and eliminate enemy targets from long distances. The manufacturing tolerances on their rifles and their ammunition is slim. Everything has been optimised for precision and accuracy. With the right equipment, a lone sniper can cripple enemy advances."

…

A/N:

It got a little fluffy there in the end, but that's probably the last bit of fluff in this story for a while.

Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know. Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated.