Chapter Three

At Heart Everyone's a Killer

Six Years Previous

300 Miles West of Hafar Al Batin, Saudi Arabia

0300 Hours

Under the cover of darkness a Blackhawk moved across the desert. There was no moon and the stars seemed dull in the sky above. In the chopper sat a team of six. They came from all different walks of life, from all different places. But they were closer than family, each of them working as one and watching their brothers in the line of fire.

There were three Americans. One from New Jersey, another from Louisiana, and the last from Alaska. Each of them never knew the other until the unit came together, but now they couldn't imagine a life without the other. The truth was, though each had their own talents and skills, everyone shared one common trait. They sat closest near the cockpit playing a jumbled game of poker. Cigarettes scattered as the chopper hit air-pockets, but they kept playing.

The tallest of them said, "Line 'em up boys, I got a full house!"

One of them groaned and both threw their cigarettes at him. The tallest of the three, they called him Moose, was the one from Alaska. He had a full beard and a hearty laugh. His father had been a lumberjack and his mother had been a housewife. But the family fell apart after a hard winter, where it snowed so hard and the wind blew so fierce that the house had caved in. And that was when Moose found his true self.

Next in line was a fidgety young man from New Jersey. He had large brown eyes that almost looked black. The thin corners of light flashed quickly in the dim red light they sat in. He gnawed on his fingernails with his large front teeth. Though the smallest of the group he was quick and he was lucky. Once he had taken a bullet in the back but it happened to hit the laptop he carried with him and stopped just short of his spine. He had lived in the slums and acquired a talent for scaling telephone poles and trees, scampering across the lines and branches. They called him Squirrel.

The third man was a man, who looked no different from anyone in a crowd, thrummed his knee pads and licked his lips, waiting for his next smoke. He had normal eyes and a normal physique. He hailed from the Deep South, the muggiest and thickest atmosphere you could find in the States. His grandpa had been a gator wrangler. And his father had been a gator hunter. And he in fact had tried to be a gator wrestler at the tender age of nine. But one slip up with a six footer had found him with a gaping hole in his neck and his head in the gator's mouth. And he'd wound up in the hospital being told there was no chance for him to ever talk again. And when Gator's whole world crashed around him, he was given a second chance by a man he'd never met. And now he sat with people just like him.

The chopper pilot flicked on his headset, "Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing shortly at delightful town of bum-fuck-nowhere, so if you'll please turn off all electronic devices, put your trays in the up position, and strap in it would be much appreciated. Once again we'd like to thank you for flying Griffin Airlines and wish you a safe stay!"

The broad-shouldered African threw a peanut at him and the pilot laughed. He flicked on the radio above the windshield.

I'm gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John
he said he had the misery but he got a lot of fun
Oh, baby, yeah now baby
Woo-oo-oo baby, some fun tonight, yeah

They called the African Mbembe, after the creature said to live in the Congo. He was built like a tank, with shoulders like mountains and legs like tree trunks. He was the tallest of them all, with a bald head and sunken eyes that watched like a hawk. He lived on the land, trained in the ways of the traveling tribes. With no, one family, but many families, with many mothers and many fathers and too many siblings to count. The nomadic tribes lived from the Earth and listened to it. Harnessing its power to give them strength and comfort and their way of life. His voice shook the teeth of any he spoke to and his hands were as large as dinner plates. Mbembe was a walking mountain. And he sat eating his bag of peanuts as he always did. One after the other after the other.

Then there was the woman from Russia. She was the woman who broke hearts with her golden locks and her blue eyes, with skin like ice and lips like fire. She'd hardened over time, beating off advancing men with a stick that grew heavier with each blow. There was a sadness in those eyes that spoke volumes but their words were just out of reach, hidden behind a veil of shadow. Time after time she would check her weapon, one that looked as if merely holding it would topple her petite form. But she wielded it like a samurai and his sword. One entity, flowing like water through the rocks and fire through a field. Sphinx snapped a bubble of gum and glanced at the final member of their team. The leader. The Brit.

Everyone knew who he was long before they'd ever met him. Fame was a silly thing like that, a double edged sword. It's a blessing and lust for some, a curse and pain for others. And for this Scar, it was more than a curse. It had been the reason he'd chosen the life of a warrior, spending his time in the terror and comfort of war. And even though he was the most experienced out of them all, he was still the most nervous. He held his canteen in one hand and a bag for vomit in the other. No matter how many times he went on wet-work missions, he still didn't lose the shakes.

He took two breaths to try and calm the voices in his head and to soothe his stomach, but it didn't help. Scar shut his eyes tightly. The music was so loud.

Well, I saw Uncle John with bald head Sally
He saw Aunt Mary comin' and he ducked back in the alley

Oh baby, yes, baby
Ooh baby, havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

Someone keyed him over the comm. and he looked up. It was Sphinx. He put a finger to his ear.

"Go ahead."

"You don't look so hot, Major. I got some Midol in my bag." She smirked across the small cabin.

Moose laughed and Gator smiled. He signed something at Squirrel. Squirrel keyed his mic.

"Gator says he'll buy you some ice cream when we get back."

Now Mbembe's laugh thundered over Little Richard. Sphinx giggled into the headset and Moose threw out another full house.

"Gold Leader come in, this is Alpha One how copy, over?"

Scar switched to the private channel. "Gold Leader here, little static but good copy, over."

The pilot switched the light from read to yellow and the crew started checking their gear. The cards went away and the peanuts were shoved under the bucket seat. Sphinx slapped a cartridge into the chamber and got ready for her drop. She'd go first, keeping far away from the LZ providing recon and support from two clicks out. She opened the door and a quick rush of bitter air blew in. The bag of peanuts swept across the floor and out into the sand below. Mbembe cursed and Sphinx promised to buy him more later.

"We have confirmation on HVTs in the area. Personal security is on patrol near the south entrance. The Death Eater camp is situated south east. Over."

The helicopter slowed down, lowered, and hovered. Scar switched channels and gave Sphinx the thumbs up. "Good huntin' Nat."

"Any hunt's a good hunt, Potter!" The rotors roared in the night sky and she shouted over them. She smirked and turned to the rest of her boys. "Smell ya later," and she jumped. Her landing was soft and easy, rolling in the dune. The helicopter moved on, the radio silenced.

Scar switched back channels. "Solid copy Alpha One, heading to LZ now. Any intel on possible hostages, over?"

There was a pop and hiss of interference before the headset crackled with a voice. "Uh, that's a negative Gold Leader, assume any and all targets hostile. Good luck, Major. Over and out."

He put his canteen back and stuffed the bag into the mesh pouch beside him. Scar made his way towards the cockpit, crouched, and switched to an open frequency so Sphinx could hear in.

"Alright guys, here's the run-down once more. We've got a group of sandies in a makeshift camp down there dealing with some remaining Death Eaters. Among them are some HVTs so if identifiable do not shoot to kill. We need at least one of the bastards alive."

Sphinx clicked in, "Any word on friendlies?"

"That's a negative Corporal. Assume all targets hostile and shoot to kill. Besides one of the Death Eaters. Also, no intel on any mythies as of now, but not to say there's a manticore or two lying on the perimeter. I want this quick and I want it clean. Understood?"

Five 'Roger's came at once and Scar nodded. "Good to hear. One more thing, Death Eater HQ is on the south east perimeter. Wards are sure to be up so be on your guard. Hit from afar if applicable. Good hunting people."

"ETA one minute and counting!" The pilot descended again.

Everyone checked their ammo and flipped safety's off. The helicopter stopped and they gently rocked. The light went green and the door opened again. Scar took out a photo from his vest and ran his thumb across it. The girl in the picture smiled back at him, blinking occasionally. He put it back. Then he followed his men and signaled the chopper to move out. The pilot saluted and took off to the retreat distance to await the pickup orders.

The silencing charm Sphinx had thrown on the bird as it left had worked. He couldn't hear a single thing as it disappeared into the black sky.

They rushed quickly; Scar signaled to stop and pulled out his night vision goggles. Small lanterns shone brightly in the green and black lens. Four men shouldering AK-74's walked around the edge of the camp. Inside he saw many people sleeping and a few were talking away from the main tent. He quickly moved the goggles towards the east and saw the largest tent of them all in the corner. Outside the flap stood two, tall and stoic men. Wands in their hands, they scanned the camp and the darkness beyond. One looked directly into his own eyes, though there was no way the man could see him.

He opened his comm. for constant, unassisted communication and signaled his team to do the rest.

"Sphinx, what are you seeing?"

There was a pause before she spoke. "I count seven awake and only four with rifles. The two guarding that main tent have got to be Death Eaters. I'd bet my rations on it."

"That's what I'm seeing too. Anything else you see?"

"That's a negative, Major. I'm only picking up them on the thermal."

"Roger that, we are moving in." He tilted his hand forward twice and they moved again, like ghosts across the moor. "Silencers on, no verbal spells if you can help it. We go loud only if the jig is up."

They all twisted the extended and bulbous barrels onto their weapons. Only Mbembe didn't for his M60 wasn't compatible. But he waved his hand over it as his lips moved in silent incantations. The silencing charm may or may not have worked. They would only find out during the first firefight.

Scar moved first, reaching the outer most tent and peaked around the corner. One man rose from a mat and grabbed a rifle. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and walked to the edge of the camp, pulling himself from under a robe and relieving himself into the sand. Scar let his weapon hang on his strap and he pulled out his knife. It was lightning fast as his gloved hand clasped over the man's mouth. The sandy muffled a gasp in surprise as the knife was shoved deep into his lower back. The man writhed for a few seconds before his body kicked once more and then fell still. Scar laid him in the sand and moved forward.

He sent Squirrel and Gator around the far edge of the camp to head off the patrol. Mbembe and Moose moved in sync behind him.

Supposedly there was a cache of weapons around the area. Moose pulled out his wand and moved it slowly in the air. It snapped in one direction and he followed it. Scar motion for Mbembe to follow him. He was alone.

"Sphinx, just me here, watch my back."

"Don't I always?" She reminded him of her. And a pang of sorrow stabbed at his heart. He shook it off, there'd be more time for that later.

He came close to the target area and threw himself into the sand. Two men in black robes moved out of the front flap and past the guards. They parted for them and then fell back into their spots.

"I have two on the thermal moving away from the main camp, permission to drop them?"

"Wait on it Sphinx, I don't wanna be caught out here with my dick in my hand."

"Squirrel here, took down three sandies, all quiet and no mess. Circling to the HVT area now."

"Roger that. Moose? How copy on that weapons cache?"

A heavy breath let out over the comm. "You ain't gonna believe this, Major. They got some high grade tech here. Not just military, this is fuckin' World War Three shit. Plus we found a few crates of illegal wand imports and some merfolk armor. It's like a goddamn Christmas party in here."

"Roger."

He snaked his way forward through the sand, crawling his way towards the tent. He was close and then even closer. That's when he heard the snap of a rifle bolt behind him and shouting in sandy. He rolled over but before either of them could pull off a shot, the sandy's chest erupted from the back and blew chunks of flesh and bone all over him. Then the crack of the sniper rifle swept through the air.

That's when things went from clean and quick to FUBAR.

"Loud! Go loud!" He shouted into his headset. The thwump, thwump, thwump, of Mbembe's M60 woke the entire camp up.

Scar pushed himself up and ran at the tent; He dodged two green swooshes of light that exploded in the sand behind him. He popped off a few rounds in both Death Eaters. Three in the chest, two in the head. Their bodies dropped to the ground like slabs of beef. Four sandies tore from the tent and tried to flee into the night. He dropped three and the other ones head exploded, quickly followed by the crack of Sphinx's rifle.

A grenade exploded from across the camp and a few people were screaming.

"Everyone, sit rep!"

"Squirrel here," he paused as his submachine gun clinked and Gator's shotgun thumped in the background. "Encountering heavy resistance in the north east. They have crummy aim thou- Son of a bitch! What a shot, Gator!" His transmission dropped out.

"Sphinx here, everything fine on this end." Another shot rang out and she grunted. "I dropped those two Death Eaters from before. Out."

"Alright Moose, talk to me."

"We're doin' fine over here. Right there Mbembe! Take em at the knees!" The M60 chugged along.

"Good, keep on that supply cache. I'm moving in on the HVTs."

Quickly, he rushed the front flap. He peppered entrance with a few rounds from his M4 and ducked in. There were only five in the tent. He took four out quickly. Each of them were literally caught with their pants around their ankles. The last one he popped in the knee cap. The Death Eater screamed out and dropped his wand, grasping the open wound.

Scar stepped on the wand breaking it in two. The fighting was dying down outside. The sniper rang out twice more in quick succession. Scar moved towards the Death Eater. He looked familiar. Long blonde hair fell across the sand. He knew who it was.

"Lucious."

The Death Eater looked up in terror. "You!"

"Scarhead!"

Scar turned around with his finger on the trigger. A younger, blonde man was swooshing his wand through the air. "Avada Ked-" before he could finish his body jerked as bullets passed through flesh and meat. The body collapsed in a heap.

"Draco!" Lucious screamed out in horror. "You!" He glared into Scar's eyes. "You're dead, Potter! I swear you and that mudblood bit-"

Scar brought his boot across his face. He heard the crunch of bone and the man's head lolled to the side. Not dead but out of commission.

"HVT in possession, bring that bird back around. Hot LZ."

"Roger that Gold Leader."

"All teams, report."

Everyone responded fine. Someone even laughed. He allowed himself to smile. He sat on a cot and pulled out the picture again, tracing the lines of her face and smelling vanilla. She silently giggled.

He stood as his team entered the tent.

"Pick up in thirty."

Scar spat and wiped his mouth. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Moose picked up Malfoy and carried the limp figure over his shoulder. They all headed out the flap but Scar stopped. He looked back at the dead pile of filth that was his childhood nemesis. He walked over calmly and put his rifle down on the mattress. He had time for one last thing.

He pulled his leg back and swung it forward with all the force he had. But the body rolled over, wand in hand, and shouted, "Sectumsempra!"

He felt a horrible pain and his stomach dropped. The head on the blonde boy dropped back and he heard a missile screeching overhead. But when he looked over to where the pain was, he realized it wasn't a missile. It was his screaming he heard.

She shook him out of his macabre reverie. His screaming and its roaring were not that much different.

"Harry… what is that?" She looked fearful. His insides felt like she looked.

It was as if his ears were filling with blood. The roar was so loud the dogs cowered in fear. They fled into their individual kennels, whimpering as they went.

He snapped himself back into his body and moved across the floor to the lights. He killed the breaker and everything devolved into darkness. He switched on the flashlight of his shotgun and made his way back towards the door.

"Wait here, Hermione." It felt wonderful and horrible at the same time to say her name again. The void he'd felt for so long was filled, but the dread that came with his past shot through his veins like heroin. He felt warm and then very cold. His bones ached and his stump throbbed.

"Will you please tell me what's going on?" He kept walking. "Hey!" The door was close now. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" She spun him around to face her. Even though he saw very little with the light pointed at the floor he could see the anger in her face. The snarl in her perfect mouth between the nicest lips he'd ever seen and the glare of almond eyes that went on forever.

He sighed. "It's back and I have to take care of it," he said simply shrugging his shoulders. It was as if she should have known. He didn't feel like explaining. He was scared shitless but it had to be done.

"What, is back, Harry?" He hated hearing that name. He left it behind for a reason. But if she said it there wasn't much he could do. Only she could take him back without too much of the pain seeping in.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you." He turned to leave again but she spun him back again.

"Try me."

The tension all but crackled through the air. He stared her down in the dark, and she him.

"I don't have time for this; I have to go before it takes another ox." He walked towards the door and shrugged off her hand as she tried yet again to turn him.

"Let me come with you then. I can help."

He shook his head, though he knew she couldn't see it in the dark. "Can you shoot a gun?" He asked.

Slowly she spoke. "No… but I don't need to, I'm a witch, remember. You do remember magic, don't you?"

It was if she had slapped him across the face. She was getting pissed and so was he.

"Of course I do!" He spat. She recoiled in the dark. "There isn't a fucking day that goes by that I don't remember!" He turned to face her this time. "But that doesn't matter here. This fucking thing shrugs off spells like bugs against a windshield!"

"Harry," she said softer this time. "What thing?"

He stared into her eyes in the glisten of the flashlight. "Satchmo."