Task Force 256

Foreword

I have often been unsuccessful with my HP fics, for a variety of reasons. But with this story, I think I've managed to finally nail it down. For those of you who follow my other works, this HP fic will be in a similar vein of tacticoooooolness and a bit of Tom Clancy-esque elements as well. There will be a lot of Witcher references too. This fic is also inspired by Rorschach's Blot's Old Soldiers Never Die.

Now as far as I have planned this story, there will be no real character bashing. I don't have it in me, not to mention I believe it would detract away from my main vision of the story. This means I will try to make Ron Weasley a more likeable character instead, thereby potentially making him a bit OOC.

The story will be set in the modern-day, I won't give the exact year because it can make the story feel a bit more dated.

...

"Welcome to Task Force 256, Lieutenant Potter. The best-handpicked warriors on the planet to combat paranormal and supernatural threats."
-Charles Whittaker

…

Monte Kuoya

Camp Armadillo, Monte Kuoya, Bolivia
Operation Athena's Bow

The moment the bay doors opened, Second Lieutenant Harry Potter felt the warm tropical air hit his face. He disembarked the C-130 Hercules, following the rest of the team as they jogged off the runway and onto the assembly grounds. They placed their bags along the walls, before entering the briefings tent. There'd be time to settle in later.

Harry filed in after the men in front of him and sat somewhere near the middle.

At the front of the room were half a dozen support staff and operators. Some wore their nation's combat fatigues, others wore casual outdoor clothing. Front and centre of them was a man who would not look out of place at a family barbeque if it weren't for his grim expression.

"Welcome to Camp Armadillo," he announced. "I'm Warren Miles, your honcho for the ride."

He pressed a button on the remote, bringing up the map of the valley to be displayed on the projector.

"Monte Kuoya valley is home to some fifty thousand farmers. Over the past month, people have gone missing. Our investigation confirms the involvement of a vampire cult."

The atmosphere in the room dropped below zero. This was Harry's first op, but for everyone else in this room, they were veterans. Vampire cults were amongst the worst because it involved normal fanatical humans hoping to become vampires. Of course, nothing in life with that easy. Being turned into a vampire was like rolling a dice. Often, the hopefuls would be killed. It was probably nature's way of keeping the vampire population low.

The slideshow presented images of Santa Muerte, the White Lady of Death. A folk saint associated with safety, protection and healing. Her image had been hijacked by the cult, the skeleton of the White Lady had long fangs and claws, and surrounding her were swarms of bats.

"They call themselves Renacimiento de vampiros, or Vampire Rebirth. Recruitment is open to anyone. You've just got to pass the initiations to advance. Get up high enough, and you might have a shot at becoming a vampire."

The next slide showed a field of bodies, strewn in a warehouse. All of them were male, with horrific neck wounds. Their bodies were covered in claws marks belonging to small hands. Bloodied footprints stained the floors, judging by the size and shape, they belonged to a woman.

"We're dealing with Bruxas – sorry, Bruxae."

"Shit," Harry heard someone muttered.

Bruxae were a breed of vampire. One of the very few that were unharmed by sunlight, and resistant to silver. They often took the form of beautiful young women to seduced their prey before killing them. It was for this reason they were often confused with succubi. Why bruxae needed to seduce their prey was anyone's guess. Some believe it's to get the blood pumping to make feeding easier. Others believe it was a way to attract more prey.

"So far," Miles continued. "The locals have lost two dozen people already, and local authorities have lost five."

"That's a lotta bodies for one cult," Cohle commented.

"Our man on the ground believes they're gonna use a Philosopher's Stone with blood magic to turn themselves into Higher Vampires."

Higher Vampires were the zenith of being a vampire. They didn't need blood to survive. They were effectively immortal, immune to sunlight, superhuman strength and speed. Of course, like all other vampires, they could not perform conventional magic.

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Philosopher's Stone? The Philosopher's Stone?"

"We're not one-hundred per cent sure, but we don't think it's Nicolas Flamel's Stone," Miles answered.

"Would that even work?" Mike asked, his voice incredulous.

"There've been no recorded instances of Higher Vampires being made," Miles said with a shrug.

The slide changed again, showing a picture of a Jason Chen and Timothy Kaven. They were US student dentists doing volunteer work in the valley until they went missing from their billets. Three days later, their quartered bodies had been found. Their deaths had dominated the international headlines for days.

"Make no mistake gentlemen. We're not here to just clean up. We're here on a revenge mission. I point, you shoot. Got it?"

Miles received a few nods as he looked around the room.

"Until we get more actionable intel, we're gonna shake the tree. See what falls out. You will be deployed in the following locations…"

The slideshow returned to the map, but this time with red dots marking key points.

"… there you will watch and observe, and engage any cultists. They come in the night, armed, and looking for a fight. The valley has lost twelve officers already."

…

Outpost Baker Ponchu
Two weeks later

"Rise and shine, Scar, you're up," said Michael "Mike" Brandtner, Abel Three's team leader.

Harry blinked the sleepiness from his eyes, yawned, and got up from his cot – if it could be called that.

He stretched out his arms and walked over to the firing position where an M110A1 Sniper Rifle had been set up.

Folcroft, who was manning the rifle, released it from his grip. Getting up from his chair, he craned his neck left and right, breathing a sigh of relief as his joints popped.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "She's all yours. Want some grub?"

"Grub's good right about now," Mike nodded.

As Folcroft left, Harry took his place. Easing himself into the firing position, he quickly pinched the bridge of his eyes before pulling the buttstock into his shoulder and peering down the sights. It was still dark outside.

"Quiet night tonight?" Harry asked.

"Same ole same ole."

In all honesty, Harry was hoping for some balls to the walls raiding. But reality was often disappointing. There was nothing to do but camp out and wait.

With all the intense training had undergone in the Army, and the duelling tutelage he had gotten from Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, he had half expected to be thrown into the fire.

Instead, here he was, in a Bolivian Military Outpost, that overlooked the surrounding villages. Harry was bored out of his mind. He had been staring at the same damn tree with his team for the past two weeks.

Okay, not one tree.

Harry knew virtually everyone in the town. He knew their habits. Their general timetable. What time they went out to work in the fields, what time they had dinner. And since it was night, he knew who should be in bed and who wasn't.

There were the usual teenagers staying out late when they weren't supposed to. They had been given plenty of warnings, but these kids the rough and tumble sort who would feel invincible.

Aside from knowing what the locals were up to in their day to day lives. Harry got to know some of his fellow TF256 Members.

Mike was USAF 24th STS, they were the lesser-known outfit of the US SOCOM's Tier One Units. He was one of five children. His dad was German, and his mother was an American. The two had met during their PhD in biology, at Stanford. Mike held an MBA, unlike his siblings who had decided to go down the STEM route.

Carlyle "Moose" Miller was a Canadian JTF. Half Native American, half French Canadian. Arguably one of the bigger guys in TF256. He was a father of two despite his young age.

Then there was Matthew Cohle a US Delta Force Member – or CAG as it was now called. He grew up in Texas. Studied Law in college. He was one of the older ones in TF256.

Geoffrey Folcroft was SAS like Harry. They'd both attended Hogwarts, though Folcroft was in the year above. The two had attended selection together.

"I was having this weird dream last night," Mike began, out of the blue. It was how most of their conversations started. Anything that came to mind they would say to stave off boredom.

"Was it that horror movie one?" Harry asked.

"No… I was in a butterbeer brewery… what does that mean?"

"It means you should drink it."

"No. God no," Mike shook his head. "Nice cold fruity cider or root beer for me not butterbeer."

"You can have butterbeer cold."

"You have it hot?" Mike asked, disgusted.

Harry could almost feel Mike's face grimace.

"Well yeah. Hot, cold, whichever you like."

"Hot butterbeer… god… that sounds bad."

"Mate, don't knock it till you've tried it."

Another silence descended on the duo as they scanned the road for the fiftieth time.

"What's the difference between root beer and sarsaparilla?" Harry asked.

"Uh, sarsaparilla is just made from sarsaparilla root, and root beer has sarsaparilla, cinnamon, vanilla and a few other roots. They taste about the same. You really can't go wrong with either one."

"Alright, if you could have one drink in the world for the rest of your life, what would that drink be?"

"Mountain Dew," Mike answered immediately.

"Huh, I thought you'd say sarsaparilla or root beer."

"They're good, but you get sick of 'em after a while. They're for nursing, not chugging. Mountain Dew on the other hand… that's the good stuff. You?"

"Pumpkin juice."

Mike turned to look at Harry for a brief second and then returned to his scope.

"You're fuckin' with me aren'tcha?"

"It's great. You should try it."

"Rather not, man," Mike grimaced.

"I should…"

"Hold up, I think I got something," Mike interrupted, his tone turning serious once more. "Near the red barn, north side of the village."

Harry shifted his sights to where Mike was looking.

There was a truck, that looked too new to have belonged to anyone in the village. It had pulled over and four were getting out.

"I see lots of tats and black and white robes. Could be the cult."

Mike picked up his PC tablet and linked it to his spotter scope. The recognition software immediately set to work identifying the tats.

"It's them," Mike said as he put down the tablet.

They were armed with MAC-10 submachine guns and machetes.

"Clear to engage."

Harry flicked off the rifle's safety.

"Targets five hundred meters out," Mike called. "One of them's breakin' off to take a leak."

Harry controlled his breathing, gently shifting his crosshairs towards the cultist who had strayed away from his group. Easy pickings.

"Wind moving from east to west, half value. On scope."

He adjusted for windage and elevation, bringing his crosshairs to rest on a tree trunk to his target's left.

"On target," Harry said coolly, stuffing down the giddiness in his stomach.

"Fire."

He squeezed the trigger. The ballistic crack filled his ears as the rifle kicked back into his shoulder.

A split second later, the cultist's dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes into his own piss. The bullet struck centre mass, pulverising the man's sternum and shredding his heart.

"Good aim."

Harry felt his lips curl into a satisfied grin. He pulled his sights back to the main group and watched the cultists reacting to the ballistic crack. Immediately, they dropped to their knees and started scanning around them. One of them was calling for their comrade that Harry had just killed.

"One down. Next target armed with a MAC-Ten. You got him?"

"Got it."

The rifle kicked into Harry's shoulder. A split second later, the bullet entered the cultist's nasal cavity. The back of his head exploded in a cloud of bone and brain.

"Two down. Third target with the machete, running west."

Harry adjusted, reducing the lead he had on the running cultist.

"On target."

"Send it."

The suppressor hissed again, and another cultist was hit. The bullet entered his abdomen and punched through the liver. The man fell face forward, blood soaking onto the dirt road.

"Nice," Mike complimented. "Last target, five hundred meters. Running north back to the truck."

"Got it."

Harry fired again, sending a bullet straight into the cultists hip. The sheer momentum threw the man off the road and into a ditch.

Flicking the safeties off, Harry exhaled but remained on his weapon.

"Good job," Mike complimented, patting Harry on the shoulder.

A moment later, Cohle arrived.

"Heard the shots, anything good?" he asked.

Mike got up from his seat and gestured for Cohle to look through the spotter scope.

"Goddamn, that's some good shooting, man," he whispered. Then he spotted movement in. "Oh wait. One's not dead yet. He's still moving."

Harry looked down his scope again and found the wounded cultist slowly crawling towards a fallen tree.

"Should've stayed in the ditch. Teach that dude the difference between cover and concealment," said Cohle.

Seeing that it was a large tree trunk the cultist was hiding behind, Harry pushed aside M110A1 30. Calibre weapon and hauled the Barret 50. Cal onto the firing position.

He chambered in a Raufoss round, perfect for tackling someone behind cover. Though probably overkill in this case. Guesstimating where the target would be, Harry lined up his shot, adjusting for elevation, windage and the round he was using.

He took in a deep breath and as he exhaled, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked into his shoulder, he felt his entire body move with the weapon as the blast wave washed over him.

A split second later, the bullet's incendiary warhead ignited against the timber, and the tungsten penetrator dart within ran straight through. Blood splattered onto the shrubs behind the tree like a fine morning mist.

"Fuckin' A," Cohle grinned.

As the Delta got up from his seat, he gave Harry a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving the firing post.

"Alright, let's see if their friends come lookin'," said Mike.

The team rotated through the night, waiting to see if anyone else would come. But none did until noon the following day when Harry was awoken by the shots.

"Keep chillin', Scar," it was Cohle. "We're just mopping up the last of 'em."

…

Camp Armadillo
Two Months Later

The briefing only had squad leaders in attendance. Highly sensitive briefings were given to squad leaders and officers first before, a generalised briefing was given to everyone else. Bolivian Rangers were also in attendance, as well as a few local and federal law enforcement officers.

"Good news and bad news," Miles said, skipping the formalities. "Good news, we have possible fixes on the stone. Bad news, our asset has been compromised. We need to move fast on this one."

"Chief, is he still alive?" Mike asked.

"He's a Higher Vampire. He'll be alive," Miles assured, ignoring the operators shifting uncomfortably.

Miles changed the slide to show a picture of their inside man. He had light olive skin, brown eyes, neatly cut black hair peppered by flecks of grey, and a bit of scruff on his jaw. Combined with the business casual clothes he wore, he looked like an accountant.

"Our man's name is Alejandro Reyes. Two possible locations where he's being held, Victoria Villa, and the abandoned Ezon Coffee factory. We believe the stone could be at those locations as well."

The slides changed again to the mission plan.

"Abel Three will search the Villa. Able Two and Abel One, with support of Bolivian Rangers will search the factory. All strike teams will get to the staging area by cars, and approach the sites on foot. We will have two helicopters to move into orbit at exactly oh-two hundred hours."

Harry looked down at his watch, that was only three hours away.

"Rules of engagement, Chief?" Harry asked.

"No rules. Get your teams ready, we move in an hour."

…

Victoria Villa

The approach to the villa went smoothly. Harry and a team of thirty men, had been driven to the staging site, which was at the base of a mountain covered in a luscious jungle. From there, they made the trek up to the villa undetected. There were a few cultists stationed along the road up to the estate, but they were easily dispatched. Their security was shockingly lax.

There was some kind of music playing in the villa. It sounded like religious chanting.

Amateurs, Harry thought.

It wasn't until they closed in on the villa's bone-white walls, did Harry feel his nerves jitter. The adrenaline was flooding his body in anticipation.

Folcroft, the man in front of Harry, pulled out a telescoping ladder from his pack, and set it up. Even with the silencing charms on, Folcroft still placed the ladder against the lip of the wall with extreme care.

"Abel Three, be advised, we are detecting eight signatures in the back yard, and four out front. How copy, over?"

"Solid copy, Air," Mike replied on COMs.

Harry was the first on the ladder. Cresting over the wall, he made a quick sweep of the expansive garden. Just like the drone operator said, there were eight cultists in the backyard. Two stood by the pool. Another two were patrolling the hedgerows, and the rest were spread out near the walls.

Landing softly on the grass, Harry quickly moved into the cover of a statue as the rest of his team poured silently onto the villa's grounds.

He took aim at the nearest cultist. His infrared laser clearly designating his target for the rest of his team to see through their night vision. One by one, lasers were painted onto the guards. Harry flicked his safeties off and waited for the mark.

"Execute!" Mike ordered.

Phhht.

In a split second, twelve bodies dropped.

The hiss of the suppressors was barely audible when combined with a silencing charm, and specialised bullets with runic engravings. They were expensive as hell to make but quieter than a whisper. No one would hear the bullets fly through the air, and tear into flesh.

Combined with the loud music, Harry doubted anyone inside the villa heard anything.

The assault team quickly moved towards the impressive Spanish mansion. Like a well-oiled machine, the team broke into smaller groups and headed towards their designated points of entry.

Mike was the first to stack at the back door, with Harry and Cohle right behind him.

"Cut power on my command," Mike whispered into COMs.

"Copy that. Standing by."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest, threatening to pulverise his ribs. His was magic coursing through his body, enhancing strength and speed. He would need every advantage he got.

He steadied his breath and swapped out his magazine. They were about to go loud. Subsonic silenced bullets would be pointless. He would need the firepower of the standard silver ammunition. They had more "generalised" runic engravings, that allowed them to be enchanted on the fly, though bludgeoning hexes came as standard.

Mike stepped away from the walls and faced the door. He raised a closed fist and tapped the front of his helmet twice with his knuckles.

Breacher up, he signalled.

Cohle drew a power hammer from his back and moved to the door.

"Execute!" Mike ordered.

Cohle torqued his body back and swung. The hammerhead smashed into the door, its power capacitors emitting a thunderous boom. The timber panel shattered into a million pieces, just as the power went out.

Folcroft tossed in a specialised UV flashbang grenade, as soon as it went off, the team rushed through.

Harry was the second in. He cleared the doors and wheeled to his left. A vampire was in his sector, male, and screaming in pain. The burns from the UV flashbang had left his skin a red blistering mess.

The SAS trooper didn't hesitate. His rifle's suppressor coughed, three rounds were slotted into the chest and one into the head. The bewitched silver bullets pulverised and tore through the vampire's body, carving out chunks of flesh and spilling dark blood onto the marble floors. Harry sidestepped around a broken coffee table and doubled tapped the dead vampire again.

"Clear!" He called.

Raising his sights back up to shoulder height, Harry moved forward, careful not to step onto the hollowed-out skull.

He took up a position by the stairwell and peeked out from the corner.

Clear.

Indistinct chatter, muffled by the walls, came from the rooms upstairs.

Moose, the Canadian operator, tapped him on the shoulder, signalling he had Harry's six.

"Abel Three-Two, moving to the first floor," Harry whispered into his COMs.

He climbed the stairwell, careful not to stray too close or too far away from the walls. Too close, and he could be hit by enemy peekers who shot close to the walls, and too far, meant he had no cover.

His head broke past the line of the first floor, his rifle sweeping across the expanse. He could hear the timber creak in one of the rooms.

"Come mierda y muere, hijo de puta!" a woman screamed.

Gunfire erupted from the room down at the end of the hall, shredding the wooden door. Harry to ducked behind the stairs as bullets flew over his head.

He brought his rifle over the lip of the stairs and fired into the splintered door. With his night vision, he caught the silhouette of a woman toppling over and falling out of sight.

Moving onto the door, Harry kept his weapon trained on the blown-out sections. He could see no movement on the inside. Moose was on his six, followed by Folcroft.

"Ay ay, don't come any closer, puta!" a male voice snarled from within. "I'll blow his fuckin' brains out!"

"Surrender while you still can," said another voice.

"Shut the fuck up, pendejo!"

"Sounds like Reyes," Moose said quietly.

The three stacked up on either side of the doors, while the other operators moved further down the hall to clear out the rooms.

Moose let his rifle hang on his sling, he grabbed a flashbang grenade with one hand and hovered his other hand over the door. In one swift motion, the door was pushed open with wandless magic, and the flashbang tossed inside.

The grenade went off, washing the room in burning white light that spilt into the dark hallway.

Harry burst into the room and saw the stunned cultist, squirming on the ground. His skin was not sloughing off of him. Beside him, was Alejandro Reyes. Seeing that there were no other threats in the room, Harry flicked his wrist and his wand flew out of his wrist holster and into his hand.

"Stupefy!" he cast.

The spell slammed into the cultist, freezing him in place. Harry quickly bound the cultist's arms and legs together with zip ties, while Folcroft hanged back with his rifle at the ready.

"This is Able Three-Four," Moose COM'd. "We've found the VIP."

The Canadian knelt beside Reyes, patting him down to make sure he wasn't harmed or if he was rigged.

"No vest. Reyes? You good?"

The man nodded. There were a few cuts and bruises on him, and his clothes looked like they'd seen better days. But overall, he looked okay.

"What's his status?" Warren Miles asked over the radio.

"He can walk," Moose answered.

"Cover got blown by damn bruxae," Reyes grumbled.

Grabbing the prisoner and the VIP, Harry and Moose made their way back out of the villa and to the waiting vehicles.

Reyes was given the dignity of easing himself into the leather seats of an SUV, while the prisoner was dumped unceremoniously into the back of a truck.

"Guesthouse clear. No sign of the bruxae or the stone here."

"Garage clear. No bruxae. Negative on the stone."

"Basement clear. Negative on bruxae and stone."

The team members reported in. The bruxae and the stone were nowhere to be found.

Abel Three regrouped back at the vehicles, letting the local authorities move through and clean up the homestead.

"They're in for a fucked-up night," Cohle commented casually, looking at a forensic team passing through.

Harry glanced at the specialist personnel. Some of them were carrying wands.

Mike walked up to the Reyes, knocking lightly on the glass. The man opened the doors, allowing Harry to see the undrained potions bottle in his hand.

"No sign of 'em here," Mike said. "Any ideas?"

"The factory," Reyes said. "If they're not here, then they should be there."

"How many?" Mike asked.

"Three. I don't know how many converted."

Mike gave a wearied nod and flicked on the COMs.

"Air, you get that?"

"Solid copy, Abel Three-Actual. We'll let Abel One and Two you're coming to assist."

"Alright, everyone gather 'round!" Mike shouted. "New mission!"

Abel Three formed a school circle around him.

"We're moving to assist the raid on Factory. Check your gear and take another dose. We move in two mikes."

Harry moved to the back of the SUV and popped the trunk open. Reaching for the icebox in the back, he fished out a few vials containing a black liquid and handed out to a few of his team members.

"Cheers, guys," Moose grimaced.

"Cheers," the others replied with similar enthusiasm.

Harry pulled down the shemagh that covered his face and opened the bottle. The potion was Black Blood. As the name implied, it smelled and tasted like blood, which all things considered wasn't too bad. What made it so reviled, was how toxic it was.

Tipping the contents down his throat, Harry braced himself. It felt like ice rippling from his chest, coursing through his blood vessels. Ice so cold it was like razor blades. If anyone was watching, they could see all the operators' veins darken like a spiderweb rippling below the skin.

Harry clenched his teeth together, bearing with the pain. He leaned over, bracing himself against the SUV, as he felt a cough built up in his throat. His chest contracted, and droplets blood as black as night leapt from his nose and throat.

They splattered onto the grass, and sizzled, turning the emerald stalks to black. Harry looked around and found his team in various stages of recovery. Some were spitting out the residue blood that lingered, while others were already moving back into the vehicles.

Once mixed with blood, the Black Blood potion became incredibly toxic to virtually anything with organic matter, especially vampires. Only mages with specific training could channel their magic to counter the worst of the potion.

Once in the backseat of the SUV, Harry pulled his camelback nozzle to his mouth and took a few gulp fulls of pepper-up potion mixed with lime cordial.

"All Victors, move out," Mike commanded.

The vehicles roared to life, dirt kicked out from underneath them as the team sped away into the night.

When they got back onto the highway, they were joined by a police escort. The flashing lights of red and blue allowed them to carve a clear path towards their target.

Looking at the heavily armed officers riding in the back of the police trucks, Harry wondered if these men were part of Bolivia's Magical Law Enforcement, or if they were just regular officers who were given a cover story. There were simply too many people involved for them all to be in the know.

"Abel Three, be advised. Abel Two and One are unable to contain the bruxa. It's made a breakthrough to the South. We'll try to track her with the drone."

"Any casualties, Air?" Mike asked.

"Two Bolivian Rangers, and one from Abel Two."

Harry swore inwardly. Bruxas were dangerous for a reason. They had all the advantages of being a vampire, dialled up to eleven. On top of that, they were resistant to fire and silver, and completely immune to sunlight.

"Abel Three, Bruxa was last seen heading towards your current pos. Dismount and engage."

"Copy that, Air. All Abel Three Victors, halt, halt, halt."

Feeling the SUV come to a stop, Harry readied himself.

"Gents be advised we have an incoming bruxa," Mike warned. "Abel Two and One are herding it our way. Check your fire."

Pushing the doors open, Harry climbed out of the vehicle and then vaulted over the railing that separated the highway from the forest. They had stopped along the mountains, where grounds alternated between gentle slopes and straight drop-offs.

This was the worst place to take a bruxa. Too many angles for it to attack from, and too many avenues for it to escape.

Abel Three fanned out, though remained close enough to have interlocking fields of fire. Engaging their night vision, the men descended from the road, and into the jungle.

The moment the thirty-man team broke past the tree line and were away from prying eyes, they set to reapplying their silencing and disillusionment charm, before wordlessly continuing with their intercept course.

"Abel Three, we're tracking the bruxa, five hundred meters north of your pos, over."

"Copy that, Air. Stay frosty, gents."

Harry adjust his grip, flexing his fingers before resting them back on his weapon again. He kept his head on a swivel, gently panning across the jungle scape.

The continued for another fifty meters when Mike gave the command for them to hunker down and wait.

Harry lay prone, taking cover behind rocks that had been overcome by moss. He was at the westernmost point of his team, near a rocky drop off into a ravine. He could hear the distant howl of cars in the distance, and the breeze filtering through the canopy, but beyond that, everything was quiet.

No one dared breathe a word, for fear of giving away their position.

Then, someone spotted movement. All eyes locked onto the flash of the infrared laser, marking a flickering silver haze.

A heartbeat later, reflective dust in the shape of a humanoid figure burst into the clearing. It was the brux. The men of Abel Three opened fire, flooding the air with a cacophony of suppressed and unsuppressed weapons.

Augmented bullets shattered against the bruxa, forcing it to duck and weave. Enchanted projectiles whistled by the bruxa, and shredded their way into the undergrowth. Dirt was kicked up in plumes, and timber splintered. The vampire made a beeline for Mike. The American quickly dove out of the way, leaving a proximity mine in his wake.

A plume of white smoke exploded, covering the vampire in fine dust. It was garlic. Unable to kill a vampire, it was still one hell of an irritant.

She screeched in anger. Powerful shockwaves ripped through the undergrowth like gale-force winds. Small trees were broken, and bushes were stripped of their leaves. Thankfully no one was near enough to be hurt.

The bruxa leapt towards Folcroft. Her grey vampiric form clear for all to see. Her fangs bared, and her claws extended. The operator quickly drew his wand, and threw up a shield, stopping the bruxa in her track. She bashed at the shields, forcing the man to step back against the flurry of blows.

She unleashed a sonic attack, her piercing scream ripped through the air and tossed Folcroft like a rag doll. The man came to a crashing halt in the bushes. A little dazed, he shook himself out of it and brought his rifle back up and fired.

The bullets chipped away at the vampire's flesh, forcing her to find shelter behind a tree.

Like water, the team quickly reformed to contain the bruxa. Bruxae were smart, even in the throes of a blood frenzy, they would not be so blind to a losing fight.

The tree's refuge was short, and soon, the bruxa found herself under another hail of accurate gunfire. She recloaked herself, fading from view. A whispery bolt, where she once stood, leapt up from the ground and into the canopy.

"She's in the trees!" Moose warned.

Some of Abel Three operators drew their wands and cast blasting hexes into the canopy. Branches shattered, showering the grounds with timber and leaves.

Everywhere the bruxa ran to, she would always head into another field of interlocking fire. The silver bullets were taking a toll on her body. She was becoming more desperate. Her powerful screams became more haggard, but they still ripped through the undergrowth.

From his position, Harry had a clear line of sight on the vampire's left. He emptied out his weapon, scoring a half dozen hits, before retreating to cover and slapping in a fresh magazine.

"Aard," Harry whispered.

He felt the rune-covered power capacitors in his rifle pulse. Rising back out of cover, Harry brought his sights on the vampire's centre mass and opened fire. The weapon kicked into his shoulder, the suppressors coughed. The first three bullets were augmented a telekinetic blast. They found their mark centre mass. The bullets hit like sledgehammers, knocking the vampire back.

She turned and glared at Harry.

"Oh shit."

The bruxa's outline disappeared into a hazy bolt. She zig-zagged towards him, and at the last moment, her invisibility dropped. Harry's eyes widened in horror as he took in her vampiric form up close.

He quickly pushed out an open palm, casting a Quen shield. A golden dome encased him at the last second. The bruxa's claws slashed against the barrier sending ripples along its amber surface. She let another sonic attack. Her piercing cries shattered the shield and slammed into Harry like a bull.

Dazed, Harry shook his head, only to find the Vampire almost on top of him. He quickly scrambled to his feet, raising his rifle to parry a blow from up high. But that left him open. With a free hand, the bruxa slashed low.

Harry grunted as fiery lances of pain spread from his left hip.

Willing his magic through his muscles, Harry torqued his body, shifting the bruxa's attack. In one clean move, he swept aside the vampire's claw and brought the butt of his rifle into her face. He kicked back, hoping to put some distance between them. But before he could fire, the bruxa closed the gap.

She struck from all directions, forcing Harry on the backfoot as he desperately attempted to block as many of her attacks as he possibly could.

He let his rifle drop onto its sling and he brought up both arms to parry. He channelled his magic to reinforce his limbs. He wouldn't last long against a bruxa, he just needed to hold out long enough until his team move into position.

The bruxa struck from the left and then the right. Harry, in turn, responded in tempo.

If the bruxa was surprised to see her claws be stopped by forearms instead of breaking through, she didn't show it. She just renewed her attack with greater intensity.

In turn, Harry had to channel more magic to keep up. He could feel his muscles burning. His sweat was almost boiling off him.

He sidestepped to his left, causing the Bruxa to overcommit to her attack. He locked her left arm and ruthlessly brought his knee up into her ribcage, repeatedly. It sounded like a sledgehammer slamming against sandbag. Had she been human, her chest would've been pulverised into mincemeat.

With her free arm, she quickly found Harry's exposed right side. Her claws dug in deep, virtually freezing Harry into place. His grip slackened, and she wrenched herself free.

It had only been seconds since she charged Harry, but that was all the time Abel needed to reposition to reengage.

The bruxa took the only possible course of action. She tackled Harry.

It was like being hit by a car. The wind left Harry's lungs, and he met with nothing but air on the way down into the ravine.

Harry back exploded in pain. If it weren't for the cushioning runes on his rigging, and the stream of water, his back would've shattered in a dozen places.

"The blood of one mage is always better than the blood of a hundred mortals," the bruxa whispered seductively.

She had turned back into her nude gorgeous human form.

He felt her soft fingers brush his cheeks as she pulled off his shemagh.

Harry's mind screamed in horror, realising she was going to kiss him. He knew, what she was. What her real form was. But his lizard brain didn't care. She was by far the most beautiful thing he had seen.

Then she removed his helmet, and her aura crashed into him like a tidal wave. He could smell her, feel the cloudy haze of desire wrapping his unprotected mind.

He felt her straddle him. Felt the blood rush south as her incredibly soft thighs rested on his. She smelt amazing. Like lilac and lavender. His body was relaxing, any traitorous thoughts of resisting were being drowned out by a sea of lust.

The bruxa pressed her lips onto his, enrapturing him with pleasure like no other. His heartbeat boomed in his ears. Blood pulsed through his body, and all he could do was just sit there and take her all in.

When she broke off the kiss, he was on cloud nine. He had lost all sense of time and place. What had felt like a blissful lifetime to him, was only just mere seconds. He didn't even resist when she pulled his head aside to expose his neck.

He felt her fangs pierce his skin, and yet he felt no pain. It was a gentle numbness. But soon, his mind began to clear. He feebly attempted to push her off him.

Then he heard her screech in pain, pulling away from him.

She stumbled back, her eyes filled with fear. Half her face looked like it had been pressed against a fiery grille. Harry could see hand his handprints burned into her rosy porcelain flesh. Wasting no time, his hand flew to his sidearm. The weapon barely cleared his holster before he fired two rounds from the hip. The .45 ACP ripped into her stomach and spilt blood.

Harry quickly brought his sidearm up to deliver the killing shots, but she was already on the move, attempting to escape. He tried to chase after her, but his body would not respond.

The moment she was out of sight, Harry's arm dropped. He could feel the adrenaline waining as the world began to fade away. He heard the distant gunshots, but none of it registered in his mind.

"Bruxa is down, I repeat, bruxa is down," Moose COM'd.

Abel Three quickly joined Harry at the bottom of the ravine. They were already in defensive positions as Cohle and another medic, Galantine, set to stabilising Harry's condition. Bandages were placed onto the wound, and Harry's limbs were secured in place.

"Air, we need medevac on our position. One casualty on our end. Abel Three-Three's been bit."

"Copy that, Abel Three-Actual. Quarantine is on standby."

Cohle used his helmet as a makeshift bucket, dumping water onto Harry. If he was concerned about seeing the water steam off of Harry, he didn't show it. Satisfied that Harry was completely drenched, Cohle and Galantine conjured up ice and buried Harry under it.

"How you feelin'?" Cohle asked.

Harry slurred something they couldn't understand.

"Hey, hey, hey, stay with us, kid," Cohle said, jolting Harry lightly.

A Bolivian medevac helicopter soon arrived on the scene. The specialists on board quickly fast roped out of the helicopter and whisked Harry back to Camp Armadillo.

…

Harry was kept in isolation for a week while the medical teams ran tests on him just to be safe. While in recovery, he had given his report on what had happened. Black Blood severely weakens vampires, making them highly vulnerable to conventional weaponry. What it doesn't do, is burn them like fire. The autopsy done on the first bruxa showed burns.

The handprints Harry had left on her could've been explained as reactionary magic, but Harry had been too fatigued at the time to accomplish a feat like that. It, unfortunately, brought up more questions than it answered.

A day after Harry had been released from the infirmary, the task force managed to eliminate another bruxa. Unfortunately, two operators had been injured. Moose had his arm broken, and Dietz almost died from having his windpipes crushed.

Bruxae were feared for a reason. Harry felt like he got off easy.

Rubbing his right shoulder, Harry left his quarters and headed for the kitchen. He checked his watch, the teams should be back soon and probably hungry.

He opened up the fridge and pulled out the ribeye steak marinated in a chimichurri sauce he had made.

"Smells wonderful," a voice said. It was Reyes, dressed in a casual suit.

He had his hair cut short, and there was a bit of scruff along his jaws.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Last night I'm here. Thought I'd do something for the lads."

"Need any help?" Reyes offered.

"That be great. I could use some help with the salad."

Reyes took off his jacket, draping it over a stool, before rolling up his sleeves. He turned on the Bluetooth speakers, letting the music flood the kitchen before retrieving the knives. With the precision of a Michelin trained Chef, Alejandro Reyes began to chop up the vegetables.

Harry began to work on the mash potatoes. He brought a bag of spuds to boil, remembering to add the salt. When the potatoes were drained and ready to be mashed, he placed them into a food mill.

"Allow me," Alejandro said, noticing Harry rubbing his shoulder.

"Thanks."

The wizard handed the food mill over to the vampire. They worked in companionable silence, listening to Vatican hymns that Reyes enjoyed.

"I was there when Mozart first listened to this song," Alejandro reminisced. "I remember looking out at the audience and seeing this fourteen-year-old listen to this piece with such intensity I had never seen in anyone else."

Reyes looked up to see a slightly confused Harry.

"Miserere was held tightly by the Sistine Chapel," Alejandro explained. "You could say that Mozart was our earliest music pirate."

Reyes chuckled at that last part, causing Harry to smile.

"You were part of the Vatican?"

"My name back then was Alessandro Rossetti," Reyes said wistfully, whilst still milling the potatoes.

Harry decided to give Reyes a few moments in thought before asking his next question.

"So Holy Water…"

"Only affects the converted when on hallowed grounds."

The two resumed working in silence.

There was something awfully nice about cooking the mundane way with some who was essentially immortal. Harry placed the blocks of butter next to Reyes so he could stir it in the mixture until it was creamy.

"You want to ask me, don't you?" Alejandro asked, breaking the quiet.

Placing a bottle of skim milk next to Reyes, Harry pondered whether he should.

"I always thought vampires couldn't enjoy regular food," he finally said.

"Most can't. But Higher Vampires can," Reyes clarified, as he whisked the milk into the mixture.

"Alright, so why are you helping us, instead off…" Harry trailed off, not knowing if he should say what he wanted to say.

"Instead of taking over the world?" Reyes asked, bemused.

Harry nodded.

"When you're immortal… there's not much else that really interests you. You could become a king, but you outlive all your subjects. People start asking questions. You could become a god-king, but then you have to micromanage everything. There's no peace in that."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes. I was a provincial governor.

He poured the potato puree into a warm serving tray and repeated the same process with a new batch.

"Being immortal changes your perspective. Power becomes almost meaningless, and all you want to do is just see where everything goes."

"So why help us?"

"Do you know how many times humanity has been driven to near extinction by vampires?" Reyes asked gravely. "The other breeds cannot control themselves. The hunger that possesses them overrides all rational thought. They consume until there's nothing left. Then they would die. All that would be left would be us Higher Vampires, and there's not enough to maintain civilisation. We'd all be sent back to the middle ages."

"You say this like it's happened before."

"It almost had," Reyes answered gravely. "It was during the earlier centuries of Mesopotamia when Vampires descended on them. They would've wiped out human life if we had not fought back."

"So you help us because you like the company?" Harry said, upbeat.

Alejandro gave a small smile, and nodded.

"That, and I have a few descendants around. Call me sentimental but I want them safe, even if they don't know who I am."

"I thought Higher Vampires couldn't… reproduce," Harry frowned at how the term felt inadequate in the conversation.

"We can," Alejandro explained. "It's just our offspring are just mortal. And we can't convert humans into vampires. Nature's way of balancing things, I suppose."

Another silenced drifted over them as they refocused back in preparing the meal. Harry was at the stove, creating his signature mushroom sauce.

"Do you think these bruxae could've… crippled us?" he asked.

"No," Reyes said, shaking his head. "But they would kill many more before they were stopped."

Reyes looked down at his watch.

"You should start the grill. They're on their way back."

With years of practised perfection, Harry set to work on grilling the steaks. Unlike many who chose to cook on a grille, Harry actually used thermometers. To him, cooking was a labour of love. It was both an art and a science.

The teams slowly filtered back in after their shift had finished. It made it easier for Reyes, Harry and a few other volunteer cooks to keep up.

"Thanks, Scar!"

"Looks delicious, Harry!"

"Harry James Potter, will you marry me?"

Those were just some of the praise that was thrown his way.

…

On the morning Harry was to leave, Dr Catherine Willow gave Harry a few things to help him with the Bruxa bite.

"Oxycodone, take only as needed," Willow warned.

"Can't I have a potion, Doc?"

"Potions draw on your own magical core, and you've had a bruxa drain you."

"So it would kill me."

Dr Willow shook her head.

"Nothing so dramatic," she said. "It would just prolong recovery."

Shoving the medication into his bag, Harry slung his backpack onto his left shoulder and bid the doctor farewell.

…

Author's Notes

Sniper talk was watered down a lot. I looked it up and it is super dry and technical. Did not make for good reading.

…

For the life of me, I can't seem to find this story anymore. I can't even remember it's title. But the basic premise is that Harry has a twin brother and said twin brother is believed to be the boy who lived. Harry is unloved by his parents (and by extension the marauders). Harry's animagus form is a Basilisk. And it's a HHr fic. I believe the author was Megan something. If someone could point me in the right direction, I would greatly appreciate it.

Then there's another disappeared story by I think Rachel A Prongs (I've checked the author's account already – it's not there) where Harry leaves Hogwarts early, graduates elsewhere, then comes back to teach defence at Hogwarts but under a different name. I can't remember what the title of that story is. I remember in this story that Harry has a superhero cover that is called The Golden Mask or something like that.

…

Anyway, I'll leave my ramblings there. If you enjoyed this or not, leave a review and let me know.