Power Play, Chapter 1: Inside Job
Title: Power Play
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers/Warnings: DH, no epilogue. Strong language.
Ships: Eventually Dean/Katie.
Summary: Dean and Harry go undercover to investigate suspected dark wizard activity. Little do they know, Katie is one of those suspected, and she's in way over her head.
Length/Completion: 2713 words, incomplete
Notes: Chapter 1 of ?. Prompt set 100.4 @ 100quills, 93. Shadow.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I just get to play with them for a little while.
Chapter One
Inside Job
At one time Katie thought that getting traded to the Falmouth Falcons had been some sort of fucking miracle. She still remembered how she’d watched with envy as the Falcons won game after game, playoff after playoff…and her own team had sunk farther and farther into the rankings. It seemed like the team would only take the best of the best, and their highly particular choosing had done them a world of good. She’d been more than elated when she found out she was being traded.
Now she wasn’t so sure if maybe she was just sloppy seconds. They’d tried for Oliver, but he’d been too content in his role as Team Captain for Puddlemere United to move to lowly second string for the Falcons. Ginny had almost accepted, but then she’d gotten pregnant and thrown the whole plan out of whack. Hell, even Gwenog Jones had been scouted, but her contract with the Harpies had held her fast where she was. Katie figured that even if she hadn’t been the first choice, she was at least in the top five. Still, when it came to the actual team, she was definitely on the bottom rung of the career ladder.
She didn’t care at first. Hell, she was still riding high on the fact that she’d gotten into professional Quidditch to begin with. It had almost been a fluke, something born out of her mixed up post-war fantasies that had actually come to fruition. There were several people who had a hand in driving her that direction, making her believe in herself, but ultimately she could at least take credit for getting her own arse into the proper shape and doing well at tryouts.
Which also meant that, ultimately, Katie had to take credit for her current predicament.
There were only a few lights in the room, but she could tell it was big. Fucking huge, even, and the few torches that did line the walls made all sorts of strange shadows dance around on the ceiling. In a way, it reminded her of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, except without the large piles of food and the comfortable charm. She was really glad to not be alone in that place, though the looks of familiarity on the faces of her team-mates did make her feel at odds with her own feelings--if this was a place that should have been warm and cosy, as they made it seem, why did she feel so damned uneasy?
“And the best part is the focus,” continued April Thornton, the team’s Captain and initiator of the little trip.
Time to show the “new girl” all the team’s haunts, she’d said. Katie thought that five months as a starting Chaser was a bit long to still be the “new girl,” but she definitely didn’t disagree with April’s description of the place--“haunt” was accurate in more ways than one, she’d wager.
“Ancient lines of wizards used this area for meditation,” April continued, and several of the others nodded along with her. She gestured to a large circular area at one end of the room. In the low light, it looked almost as if it was covered in sand. “Don’t get too close, though,” she warned, walking the perimeter of one side, stopping before she actually crossed the imaginary halfway point. She turned back to the group. “Really powerful stuff, that. Don’t want to be foolin’ with it too much.”
A few of the team chuckled at that comment, and Katie let out a little half-laugh herself, not wanting to seem uninterested. And she wasn’t…just bloody flabbergasted at the reverence her team-mates seemed to have for this place. It probably didn’t even have a loo, and they were treating it as if it was a bleeding church. So what if the magical energies housed there were some super-conduit for concentration and focus? She was there to play Quidditch, not learn new meditation techniques.
“You coming, Bell?”
Katie’s head jerked up, suddenly aware that everyone was staring at her. She tried to look as though she was fascinated by the place and simply too entranced to pay close attention to the discussion. “Yeah, right.”
April only shook her head, laughing, and Katie slowly breathed out and stepped up behind her captain. Creepiness factor aside, as soon as she got within a few metres of the little circle of meditation--which was covered in sand, she could see--she could actually feel the thrum of power in the place. She felt strange in a way that she hadn’t felt since the first time she drank enough firewhiskey to be completely pissed, yet she also had this strange sensation that, unlike with the alcohol, things were actually getting clearer. The dark didn’t seem quite so pressing, the shadows not nearly as ominous.
“’S bloody brilliant,” Katie whispered, though she hadn’t really meant to say anything out loud.
She felt some of the others move up behind her, and felt it in a way that did not depend on any of her five senses. It was almost as if she was touching each one of them--she knew that Edward was directly behind her, mimicking her look of awe, and that Missy had not only dropped to her knees, but she was crying. Jac had his wand gripped tightly in his fist, but almost as if he was going to hand it to someone, rather than being ready for a fight. April herself seemed least affected, but maybe that was only because she and Katie had locked eyes, concentrating only on the depths of one another’s souls. Katie registered all this in the space of a blink.
Then she blinked again and everything went black.
***
As he settled into his seat on the train, Dean once again vaguely wondered why he’d chosen this life over one of a starving artist. The pay wasn’t much different, and now that the war was several years over, the daily rush of the hunt had died down to only a murmur. Seamus hadn’t made it as an Auror--had lasted only a year, slightly less than--but even when the dark wizards had become more scarce (or maybe just smart enough to avoid detection), Dean found that there was something he liked about the job that he couldn’t express. Some little rush of satisfaction in doing what he did. His best mate still shook his head, saying he’d never understand what Dean saw in it, and Dean would have to say that he really didn’t either, but it was there.
And then he would get a shitty seat on some shitty train on the way to some shitty assignment, and he’d wonder.
“Dunno, mate,” said Harry from beside him, already settling in for the long ride. “Guess you’re barmy. Good thing you’re not alone.”
Dean jumped just a little at the sound of his partner’s voice, not realizing he’d voiced his question aloud. Then again, knowing Harry he might just have recognized the look Dean had on his face when entering the compartment. They’d been working together almost exclusively for the last five years, and chasing down the last remnants of the Death Eaters had been nasty business--best to know one’s partner’s tiniest facial expression shifts.
“How many does this make now?” Dean asked, trying to imitate the other’s appearance of ease. They had the compartment to themselves, at least--requirement of the job more than in the interest of the inhabitants’ comfort--but that didn’t help a jot with the smell. Smelled like the bloody Tube station near his flat, except without the benefit of fresh air breezing down the staircase.
“Four, at least,” replied Harry with a little sigh. It would likely be the closest he got to actually complaining about the assignment, but it was enough. Enough to keep Dean from wanting to throttle him regularly. “Vassar’s got a stiffie for this one. I’m beginning to wonder if he likes sending us on dead end missions more than he likes shagging Carter from DMT.”
Dean laughed, waving his hand emphatically at Harry. “No, no, don’t remind me. I’ve not gotten the image out of my head since.”
“’S what you get for not knocking,” the other replied, chuckling.
“Besides, Vassar didn’t even show up for the briefing. He can’t think it’s that important.”
Harry just shrugged.
That sat in silence for a few minutes, and Dean watched out the window as night fell quietly around them. It should have been peaceful, considering the hectic day they’d had in the office, but there was an ominous quality to everything that he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the way the lines of the trees seemed stretched and fuzzy, or the moon didn’t quite appear from behind the dark clouds that had settled in the sky earlier that day. Either way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just a little off about the night.
No, what was ‘off’ was having to ride the train at all, he thought, turning away from the view. Bloody budget cuts. One would think that war clean-up would increase the funding of the Magical Law Enforcement division, but even Kingsley’s insistence on the matter hadn’t helped when the latest budget had gone through the Wizengamot. No more individual offices, no more food allowances, no more portkeys. Even their uniforms had taken a beating from it. Dean couldn’t remember how many times he’d had to repair holes in the (faded) black robes that were required attire for all Aurors.
Funding wasn’t the only thing that had suffered in the years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Death Eater activity had died down, but so had the number of new initiates to the ranks of the Aurors. Many, like Seamus, had stayed only long enough for the last big hurrah of exciting missions. Now the force was smaller than it had been before Voldemort came onto the scene. He supposed the department went through cycles like all the rest--Hermione had done some research that suggested the pre-Voldemort numbers were the result of a similar post-Grindelwald slump--he just hoped it didn’t last as long this time around. Upper management didn’t seem to have the same feeling of dread that was shared amongst most of the field workers: something was coming.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), this mission was not “something.” It probably wouldn’t even be any more interesting than some spooky trees and a stinky train compartment.
“You want in or out this time?” asked Harry.
Dean looked at his friend and then rubbed a hand over his face, thinking. “In,” he said finally. “If it’s as ‘bad’ as Vassar thinks, then maybe it’ll actually be mildly interesting. And if not, well, at least it’ll give him less of a reason to think badly of me.”
“Good. I’m not sure I can stand inside again after last time. And he doesn’t think badly of you. You’re just…the type to think creatively.”
“Yeah, tell that to my year-end review,” Dean said, laughing. “I believe he said something along the lines of ‘needs to mind his own damn business and let me do my job.’ Except the bastard doesn’t do his job, does he? Can’t even read a fucking field report without me standing over his shoulder explaining it to him. I dunno why they didn’t just give you the department like Kingsley wanted.”
Harry shook his head. “You know I can’t let my reputation win me the promotion.”
“That’s bollocks,” replied Dean, glaring at his partner. “You know damn well that it wasn’t based on any ruddy ‘Chosen One’ bullshit. If you had that much weight based on reputation alone, we wouldn’t be stuck heading into Cornwall in the middle of the week for ‘suspected dark wizard activity’ that will turn out to be another tot in his mum’s broom shed trying to make poison out of mud and Skiving Snackboxes.”
“So you’re in then?” Harry repeated, humour dancing across his face.
“Yeah, I’m in. Give me the bloody potion. Never too late to get into character, yeah?”
Digging into his bag, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment and a potion vial and handed them both to Dean. Without even looking at the papers, he pulled the cork from the little bottle and chugged the whole thing in one shot. He coughed once, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Blimey, those things taste worse every time. Well, who’d I get this time?”
“No one I recognize.”
Dean sighed, looking down at his hands. They were lighter, stubbier, covered in a light dusting of freckles. “Won’t be able to draw a damn thing with these hands.” He pulled out his wand and tested his grip. “Good thing I won’t be needing to do much defensive casting, otherwise I’d be sloppy at best.”
Harry grinned. “You’re always sloppy at best.”
Dean started to throw the roll of parchment at him, but then thought better of it. He broke the seal and scanned the first page. Name, age, family details, cover story…his mouth gaped open. “Why the bloody hell does this say I’m the newest member of the Falmouth Falcons?”
“What?” Harry grabbed the paper from him before he could really react. The dark-haired Auror skimmed the same section and then looked up. “No one said anything about this in briefing.”
“I know. What the hell is Vassar playing at?”
“He was awfully insistent we be pulled for this job,” Harry said hesitantly.
Dean nodded. “I thought he just liked jerking us around, but maybe….”
“He knew we were the only ones on the team who could pull off undercover as a professional Quidditch player?” Harry finished.
Taking the parchment back, Dean scanned further down the page, trying to find some logical reason for the omission in their briefing. It wasn’t like either of them would have turned down an opportunity to pose as a Quidditch player. Hell, Harry was already practically salivating where he sat, waiting to see if Dean would relinquish the inside role after all. Then a tiny addendum at the bottom caught his eye.
“Fuck,” he said suddenly, looking up. “That incompetent arsehole.”
“What?” asked Harry, confused.
Dean held out the parchment, the slightly curled edge facing his partner. “The bloody scroll was Crypto-Sealed.”
“Bloody hell.” Harry snatched the parchment again, this time showing the first bit of real vexation Dean had seen from him in a long time. After examining the seal for himself, Harry quietly handed it back, a shadow falling across his face. “This is top level security clearance. Kingsley had to have signed off on it himself.”
“We’re in deep shite this time, mate. It’s not things that might happen--it’s things that are already happening. Fuck, we’ve been warning them about this.”
“Go in quiet and hard. Stop it before it can begin.” Harry’s words might as have been quoted directly from their manual. It was drilled into their heads on a daily basis, but that didn’t make them any less applicable. He smiled weakly. “Well, at least you get to play Quidditch.”
Dean nodded but didn’t really feel the positive aspect of the mission over the discovered intensity. “I think I’d offer to trade, but seeing as I opened the scroll, we’re a bit stuck. I can’t believe Vassar didn’t brief us himself. We live through this, and I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth shut this time.”
“What happened to getting on his good side?”
“Fuck his good side. The only side of him I want to see is the one exiting the building when Kingsley forces his arse to resign.” Sighing, Dean leaned back in his seat but could no longer even fake comfort. “Sorry you won’t get a chance on the only decent inside assignment we’ve gotten lately.”
“No, it‘s all right, mate. I get to play in Gin’s exhibition games all the time. It’s like being professional, only I don’t get paid.”
Dean gave him a hard look. “Yeah, but did you take a closer look at Mr. Monroe?” He held up the dossier and pointed to a spot near the center. “I can’t bloody play Seeker!”
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers/Warnings: DH, no epilogue. Strong language.
Ships: Eventually Dean/Katie.
Summary: Dean and Harry go undercover to investigate suspected dark wizard activity. Little do they know, Katie is one of those suspected, and she's in way over her head.
Length/Completion: 2713 words, incomplete
Notes: Chapter 1 of ?. Prompt set 100.4 @ 100quills, 93. Shadow.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I just get to play with them for a little while.
Chapter One
Inside Job
At one time Katie thought that getting traded to the Falmouth Falcons had been some sort of fucking miracle. She still remembered how she’d watched with envy as the Falcons won game after game, playoff after playoff…and her own team had sunk farther and farther into the rankings. It seemed like the team would only take the best of the best, and their highly particular choosing had done them a world of good. She’d been more than elated when she found out she was being traded.
Now she wasn’t so sure if maybe she was just sloppy seconds. They’d tried for Oliver, but he’d been too content in his role as Team Captain for Puddlemere United to move to lowly second string for the Falcons. Ginny had almost accepted, but then she’d gotten pregnant and thrown the whole plan out of whack. Hell, even Gwenog Jones had been scouted, but her contract with the Harpies had held her fast where she was. Katie figured that even if she hadn’t been the first choice, she was at least in the top five. Still, when it came to the actual team, she was definitely on the bottom rung of the career ladder.
She didn’t care at first. Hell, she was still riding high on the fact that she’d gotten into professional Quidditch to begin with. It had almost been a fluke, something born out of her mixed up post-war fantasies that had actually come to fruition. There were several people who had a hand in driving her that direction, making her believe in herself, but ultimately she could at least take credit for getting her own arse into the proper shape and doing well at tryouts.
Which also meant that, ultimately, Katie had to take credit for her current predicament.
There were only a few lights in the room, but she could tell it was big. Fucking huge, even, and the few torches that did line the walls made all sorts of strange shadows dance around on the ceiling. In a way, it reminded her of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, except without the large piles of food and the comfortable charm. She was really glad to not be alone in that place, though the looks of familiarity on the faces of her team-mates did make her feel at odds with her own feelings--if this was a place that should have been warm and cosy, as they made it seem, why did she feel so damned uneasy?
“And the best part is the focus,” continued April Thornton, the team’s Captain and initiator of the little trip.
Time to show the “new girl” all the team’s haunts, she’d said. Katie thought that five months as a starting Chaser was a bit long to still be the “new girl,” but she definitely didn’t disagree with April’s description of the place--“haunt” was accurate in more ways than one, she’d wager.
“Ancient lines of wizards used this area for meditation,” April continued, and several of the others nodded along with her. She gestured to a large circular area at one end of the room. In the low light, it looked almost as if it was covered in sand. “Don’t get too close, though,” she warned, walking the perimeter of one side, stopping before she actually crossed the imaginary halfway point. She turned back to the group. “Really powerful stuff, that. Don’t want to be foolin’ with it too much.”
A few of the team chuckled at that comment, and Katie let out a little half-laugh herself, not wanting to seem uninterested. And she wasn’t…just bloody flabbergasted at the reverence her team-mates seemed to have for this place. It probably didn’t even have a loo, and they were treating it as if it was a bleeding church. So what if the magical energies housed there were some super-conduit for concentration and focus? She was there to play Quidditch, not learn new meditation techniques.
“You coming, Bell?”
Katie’s head jerked up, suddenly aware that everyone was staring at her. She tried to look as though she was fascinated by the place and simply too entranced to pay close attention to the discussion. “Yeah, right.”
April only shook her head, laughing, and Katie slowly breathed out and stepped up behind her captain. Creepiness factor aside, as soon as she got within a few metres of the little circle of meditation--which was covered in sand, she could see--she could actually feel the thrum of power in the place. She felt strange in a way that she hadn’t felt since the first time she drank enough firewhiskey to be completely pissed, yet she also had this strange sensation that, unlike with the alcohol, things were actually getting clearer. The dark didn’t seem quite so pressing, the shadows not nearly as ominous.
“’S bloody brilliant,” Katie whispered, though she hadn’t really meant to say anything out loud.
She felt some of the others move up behind her, and felt it in a way that did not depend on any of her five senses. It was almost as if she was touching each one of them--she knew that Edward was directly behind her, mimicking her look of awe, and that Missy had not only dropped to her knees, but she was crying. Jac had his wand gripped tightly in his fist, but almost as if he was going to hand it to someone, rather than being ready for a fight. April herself seemed least affected, but maybe that was only because she and Katie had locked eyes, concentrating only on the depths of one another’s souls. Katie registered all this in the space of a blink.
Then she blinked again and everything went black.
***
As he settled into his seat on the train, Dean once again vaguely wondered why he’d chosen this life over one of a starving artist. The pay wasn’t much different, and now that the war was several years over, the daily rush of the hunt had died down to only a murmur. Seamus hadn’t made it as an Auror--had lasted only a year, slightly less than--but even when the dark wizards had become more scarce (or maybe just smart enough to avoid detection), Dean found that there was something he liked about the job that he couldn’t express. Some little rush of satisfaction in doing what he did. His best mate still shook his head, saying he’d never understand what Dean saw in it, and Dean would have to say that he really didn’t either, but it was there.
And then he would get a shitty seat on some shitty train on the way to some shitty assignment, and he’d wonder.
“Dunno, mate,” said Harry from beside him, already settling in for the long ride. “Guess you’re barmy. Good thing you’re not alone.”
Dean jumped just a little at the sound of his partner’s voice, not realizing he’d voiced his question aloud. Then again, knowing Harry he might just have recognized the look Dean had on his face when entering the compartment. They’d been working together almost exclusively for the last five years, and chasing down the last remnants of the Death Eaters had been nasty business--best to know one’s partner’s tiniest facial expression shifts.
“How many does this make now?” Dean asked, trying to imitate the other’s appearance of ease. They had the compartment to themselves, at least--requirement of the job more than in the interest of the inhabitants’ comfort--but that didn’t help a jot with the smell. Smelled like the bloody Tube station near his flat, except without the benefit of fresh air breezing down the staircase.
“Four, at least,” replied Harry with a little sigh. It would likely be the closest he got to actually complaining about the assignment, but it was enough. Enough to keep Dean from wanting to throttle him regularly. “Vassar’s got a stiffie for this one. I’m beginning to wonder if he likes sending us on dead end missions more than he likes shagging Carter from DMT.”
Dean laughed, waving his hand emphatically at Harry. “No, no, don’t remind me. I’ve not gotten the image out of my head since.”
“’S what you get for not knocking,” the other replied, chuckling.
“Besides, Vassar didn’t even show up for the briefing. He can’t think it’s that important.”
Harry just shrugged.
That sat in silence for a few minutes, and Dean watched out the window as night fell quietly around them. It should have been peaceful, considering the hectic day they’d had in the office, but there was an ominous quality to everything that he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the way the lines of the trees seemed stretched and fuzzy, or the moon didn’t quite appear from behind the dark clouds that had settled in the sky earlier that day. Either way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just a little off about the night.
No, what was ‘off’ was having to ride the train at all, he thought, turning away from the view. Bloody budget cuts. One would think that war clean-up would increase the funding of the Magical Law Enforcement division, but even Kingsley’s insistence on the matter hadn’t helped when the latest budget had gone through the Wizengamot. No more individual offices, no more food allowances, no more portkeys. Even their uniforms had taken a beating from it. Dean couldn’t remember how many times he’d had to repair holes in the (faded) black robes that were required attire for all Aurors.
Funding wasn’t the only thing that had suffered in the years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Death Eater activity had died down, but so had the number of new initiates to the ranks of the Aurors. Many, like Seamus, had stayed only long enough for the last big hurrah of exciting missions. Now the force was smaller than it had been before Voldemort came onto the scene. He supposed the department went through cycles like all the rest--Hermione had done some research that suggested the pre-Voldemort numbers were the result of a similar post-Grindelwald slump--he just hoped it didn’t last as long this time around. Upper management didn’t seem to have the same feeling of dread that was shared amongst most of the field workers: something was coming.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), this mission was not “something.” It probably wouldn’t even be any more interesting than some spooky trees and a stinky train compartment.
“You want in or out this time?” asked Harry.
Dean looked at his friend and then rubbed a hand over his face, thinking. “In,” he said finally. “If it’s as ‘bad’ as Vassar thinks, then maybe it’ll actually be mildly interesting. And if not, well, at least it’ll give him less of a reason to think badly of me.”
“Good. I’m not sure I can stand inside again after last time. And he doesn’t think badly of you. You’re just…the type to think creatively.”
“Yeah, tell that to my year-end review,” Dean said, laughing. “I believe he said something along the lines of ‘needs to mind his own damn business and let me do my job.’ Except the bastard doesn’t do his job, does he? Can’t even read a fucking field report without me standing over his shoulder explaining it to him. I dunno why they didn’t just give you the department like Kingsley wanted.”
Harry shook his head. “You know I can’t let my reputation win me the promotion.”
“That’s bollocks,” replied Dean, glaring at his partner. “You know damn well that it wasn’t based on any ruddy ‘Chosen One’ bullshit. If you had that much weight based on reputation alone, we wouldn’t be stuck heading into Cornwall in the middle of the week for ‘suspected dark wizard activity’ that will turn out to be another tot in his mum’s broom shed trying to make poison out of mud and Skiving Snackboxes.”
“So you’re in then?” Harry repeated, humour dancing across his face.
“Yeah, I’m in. Give me the bloody potion. Never too late to get into character, yeah?”
Digging into his bag, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment and a potion vial and handed them both to Dean. Without even looking at the papers, he pulled the cork from the little bottle and chugged the whole thing in one shot. He coughed once, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Blimey, those things taste worse every time. Well, who’d I get this time?”
“No one I recognize.”
Dean sighed, looking down at his hands. They were lighter, stubbier, covered in a light dusting of freckles. “Won’t be able to draw a damn thing with these hands.” He pulled out his wand and tested his grip. “Good thing I won’t be needing to do much defensive casting, otherwise I’d be sloppy at best.”
Harry grinned. “You’re always sloppy at best.”
Dean started to throw the roll of parchment at him, but then thought better of it. He broke the seal and scanned the first page. Name, age, family details, cover story…his mouth gaped open. “Why the bloody hell does this say I’m the newest member of the Falmouth Falcons?”
“What?” Harry grabbed the paper from him before he could really react. The dark-haired Auror skimmed the same section and then looked up. “No one said anything about this in briefing.”
“I know. What the hell is Vassar playing at?”
“He was awfully insistent we be pulled for this job,” Harry said hesitantly.
Dean nodded. “I thought he just liked jerking us around, but maybe….”
“He knew we were the only ones on the team who could pull off undercover as a professional Quidditch player?” Harry finished.
Taking the parchment back, Dean scanned further down the page, trying to find some logical reason for the omission in their briefing. It wasn’t like either of them would have turned down an opportunity to pose as a Quidditch player. Hell, Harry was already practically salivating where he sat, waiting to see if Dean would relinquish the inside role after all. Then a tiny addendum at the bottom caught his eye.
“Fuck,” he said suddenly, looking up. “That incompetent arsehole.”
“What?” asked Harry, confused.
Dean held out the parchment, the slightly curled edge facing his partner. “The bloody scroll was Crypto-Sealed.”
“Bloody hell.” Harry snatched the parchment again, this time showing the first bit of real vexation Dean had seen from him in a long time. After examining the seal for himself, Harry quietly handed it back, a shadow falling across his face. “This is top level security clearance. Kingsley had to have signed off on it himself.”
“We’re in deep shite this time, mate. It’s not things that might happen--it’s things that are already happening. Fuck, we’ve been warning them about this.”
“Go in quiet and hard. Stop it before it can begin.” Harry’s words might as have been quoted directly from their manual. It was drilled into their heads on a daily basis, but that didn’t make them any less applicable. He smiled weakly. “Well, at least you get to play Quidditch.”
Dean nodded but didn’t really feel the positive aspect of the mission over the discovered intensity. “I think I’d offer to trade, but seeing as I opened the scroll, we’re a bit stuck. I can’t believe Vassar didn’t brief us himself. We live through this, and I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth shut this time.”
“What happened to getting on his good side?”
“Fuck his good side. The only side of him I want to see is the one exiting the building when Kingsley forces his arse to resign.” Sighing, Dean leaned back in his seat but could no longer even fake comfort. “Sorry you won’t get a chance on the only decent inside assignment we’ve gotten lately.”
“No, it‘s all right, mate. I get to play in Gin’s exhibition games all the time. It’s like being professional, only I don’t get paid.”
Dean gave him a hard look. “Yeah, but did you take a closer look at Mr. Monroe?” He held up the dossier and pointed to a spot near the center. “I can’t bloody play Seeker!”