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Vicissitude

Harry had needed to move quickly when the call had come in alerting him to a possible Death Eater in Scotland, apparating to the location he’d been given via exact coordinates and then bouncing around just to follow the small group he’d targeted, locking onto them with his magic and then following that tracker to wherever they ended up, which could be draining if they moved to different countries, as this group had done.

It was too odd. Harry carefully reconsidered the information he’d been given, and what he’d found out through his personal observations, not willing to act or to do more than just follow them for the moment, until he was absolutely sure that his information was correct, but something about all of this, and how this group were behaving, felt…off. Really off.

He’d been led on a run around. The information on the penultimate group of Death Eaters had led him back to Scotland. Very close to Hogwarts, but it had seemingly been a misdirection. Likely done to attract his attention. As if he wasn’t fully wired into information on all of the remaining Death Eaters.

He had followed the small group, via his magical trackers and the information he was learning on the go, from Scotland all the way back to America, which had been draining on his magic. It appeared to him that this group of Death Eaters were trying to hunt him down, unaware that he was hunting them in return and watching them from afar.

The two conflicting bits of information had Harry on high alert. Were they trying to draw him in to them or were they trying to hunt him down in America? They were not in Virginia, so Harry was at least relieved that they hadn’t found where he was currently living or anything out about Spencer. They weren’t after his husband, they were in Wyoming, one of the least populated states, which was significant as there wasn’t an established magical community here, and that made Harry pause in getting closer to them as everything was beginning to feel more like a trap. As if he had been led here on purpose. Which would mean that the group were aware of him and were trying not to let on about it. Which meant that this had been a setup from the start and it was absolutely a trap for him.

He moved with caution, watched them from a greater distance than he usually did as he started memorising the people coming and going, checking them with his magic for any sign of a witch or wizard in disguise, but he had only found one, and he wasn’t in disguise either, and even that felt like it was to draw him in as he noted with rising anxiety that the ‘small group’ from Scotland had joined up with a much larger force of muggle guns who had been waiting here for them in Wyoming. It made the entire situation feel even more likely that this was a trap and he had to call it in. Just in case.

“Commander to Seven.” He said, speaking into what looked like a perfectly normal pound coin pinched between his thumb and the side of his index finger. Hermione’s legacy of the DA living on in their adult lives.

‘This is Seven listening in, go ahead Commander.’

“Information on the target group is genuine.” He reported, even as he watched the isolated, slightly dilapidated farmhouse. “Rodolphus Lestrange has been seen. He’s the only Death Eater in the group that I recognise, all others are assumed muggles. Numbers have inflated since my last report, location has changed from Scotland to Wyoming, America. There was a larger group of muggles waiting at this secondary location; a dilapidated farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Have you locked my new location?”

‘We can confirm that we have your current location locked, Commander.’ The Agent on the other side of the coin assured him after a brief pause.

“It seems that they used the location in Scotland to draw my attention.” Harry reported, his eyes still flicking over every slight movement down on the farmhouse through the bush he was lying in. “With the amount of unsubs in this group now, it feels purposeful. I feel I am being drawn into a trap and...”

‘Hold for orders.’

Harry rolled his eyes as he was cut off and he sighed. He hadn’t reported in because he wanted instructions. He’d only called in in case anything happened to him, so that someone could give Spencer some sort of closure. He knew his orders wouldn’t change, he wasn’t a ‘proper’ agent of MI-7, he was one of the terrorist assassins. A ghost. He didn’t exist. The Commander, and Harry Black, didn’t exist. He had to take out the Death Eaters no matter what, but, it was nice to know that the ‘real’ agents had emergency protocols they could fall back on when they needed it and, Harry assumed, that if he’d been a real agent then his new information would be reevaluated to find the best solution possible, probably some backup in the form of some other agents riding in to assist him. Harry didn’t have that luxury.

He eased his forbidden mobile phone from a secured pocket in his combat trousers and, with a last look at the farmhouse, Harry called the only number he ever called. Spencer’s.

‘Harry?’ Spencer answered on the second ring, sounding breathless, as if he’d dived for the phone as it started ringing. That made Harry smile. Could he love his cute husband any more? He could certainly try.

“Spencer.” He greeted. “How is your case going?”

‘We got the unsub and we’re just about to take off for Virginia.’

“You’re uninjured, I hope.” He said, smiling to himself.

‘I wasn’t injured.’ Spencer told him and Harry could almost hear the eye roll.

‘Hey, lover boy!’ A familiar voice called down the line.

‘Morgan!’ Spencer chastised.

“Tell Agent Morgan that he’s too close to you if I can hear him.” Harry teased.

Harry could hear laughter down the phone, which indicated that he’d been heard.

“Tell him that he’s definitely too close to you if he can hear me!” Harry added, smiling wider. Damn, how had this little group of people gotten under his skin so quickly? He’d only known them for a few weeks and he already liked them. Perhaps Spencer’s numerous stories of them had helped familiarise him with these people before he’d actually properly met them.

‘Dave, go and tell the pilot that we’re delaying take off for a few minutes.’ The stoical voice of the unit chief, Hotch, sounded down the line.

‘Will do.’ Came the easy reply.

Harry took a moment to inhale. To gather his thoughts. His coin still hadn’t heated up, no reply was imminent.

“Spencer, you can put me on speaker if you want.” He said, taking a leap of faith.

‘Are you sure?’

“Yes. Go ahead.”

Harry heard people sitting down, gathering around. Harry knew that the BAU had a private jet that they used to travel the country as quickly as possible to capture unsubs and save as many of the victims as they could. He hoped that that meant that this conversation would be as private as possible as they weren’t around members of the public. It was just them.

‘Are you still in recon?’ Spencer asked carefully. The quality of the call had changed. Harry would have known immediately that he had been put on speaker.

“Yeah, I’m staring right at my target and his hired guns from a nice, safe distance in a rather prickly bush.” Harry said quietly.

‘Harry, are you okay?’ Spencer asked worriedly. Of course his husband knew him too well and it was completely out of character for him to call Spencer like this while he was on a mission, even if he was only in the reconnaissance portion of his mission at the moment.

Harry licked his dry, bottom lip. “My initial information was misleading.” Harry confessed. Whatever else, Spencer was not a child and despite that Harry wanted to protect him and didn’t want him to worry, lying to him was not the answer. Harry would always tell Spencer the truth if he could. “My location has changed, I’m back in America. In Wyoming, and the smaller group I was following has met up with a larger force. My target is still just one man, but the amount of muscle he’s surrounded himself with is…” Harry trailed off and held in the sigh he wanted to emit by sheer force of will. “Spencer, this feels like a trap. It feels like I’ve been purposefully led here. For them to go to Scotland to attract my attention, to then lure me here… every single instinct I have is screaming that I’ve been led to a kill box.”

‘Can you get out?’ Morgan asked him seriously.

“Not an option. I’ve called it in, I’ve been told to hold for further orders, but they’re not going to pull me out when my target is confirmed as being here and if the group have lured me here purposefully, then there’s a big chance that they know I’m already here too; retreating now could give them my back and make it easier for them.”

‘Is this a goodbye?’ Spencer demanded then, angrily.

“No. Never.” Harry said with a smile, wishing that he could see Spencer’s affronted face. “I’ll be home, I’m just saying that it might take a little longer than expected due to the larger group I’ve been met with. I didn’t want you to worry if I went over the agreed return day.”

‘Seven to The Commander.’ A voice from the coin halted his phone conversation. It was a new, sterner voice than the one who had been listening for incoming calls from MI-7 agents. Harry pressed his thumb to the coin.

“This is The Commander, proceed, Seven.”

‘Your orders have not been rescinded.’ The new Agent said so tonelessly it was almost a chastisement. Harry was betting that he was very high up the agency hierarchy from how he was speaking. He must have dropped what he was doing to run to communications when he’d heard that The Commander had actually called in. ‘Your target must be eliminated by any means necessary, whatever the cost.’

The ‘cost’ being his life, he knew. He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t have wanted Spencer to hear how coldly and callously MI-7 spoke of him. Treating his life as nothing. They’d never met him. They didn’t know who he was and they never would. He wasn’t a ‘real’ person to them. If only they knew he was, in actual fact, the Harry Potter. Maybe then they’d have changed their attitudes towards him.

“Put emergency services on alert for my location, Seven. There are too many of them for me to contain.” He said blandly. “If this spills out to the general population, and it will, they will take out as many soft targets as possible.”

‘The Director has ordered deep ghost protocols.’ The Agent informed him.

Harry clenched his jaw and tried to keep his temper in check. So that was why it had taken so long to get back to him, a quick little catch-up with Director Brooks, that utter prick, first.

“You can’t order ghost protocols when they’re going to get out into the population and kill as many soft targets as they can. It’ll be a bloodbath. Tell the Director to alert the emergency services or I will!”

‘Commander, you do not have authorisation to…’

“I’ll do it anyway.” Harry interrupted. “There are too many for me to contain. Ghost protocols require me to confidently be able to wipe out the entire group by myself and I’m telling you that it’s not possible.”

‘The Director has ordered you to remove your target and scatter the others, taking out as many as possible before you extract. Ghost protocols remain in place, emergency services will not be forewarned to protect the mission. We cannot risk your target getting away.’

“How many lives are an acceptable loss for the Director?” Harry demanded. “There are at least forty in this group with assault weapons, you could be looking at casualties or fatalities in the hundreds.”

‘A necessary loss.’ He was told. Spoken like a true politician. A callous profession that whittled living, breathing people down to numbers and statistics so that they could call the loss of civilians ‘necessary’ or ‘acceptable’. It made Harry’s blood boil.

His temper was spilling over and he had to swallow it back down. Emotion in the field could get him seriously injured or killed. It wouldn’t serve him, he knew, but nothing got his back up more than people calling avoidable deaths as ‘a necessary loss’. They were talking about people. Innocent, normal people. Those that Harry would protect with his life.

“Is this decision made based on the knowledge that it’ll be American citizens being murdered, and not British ones?” Harry asked furiously.

‘Contain what you can, Commander, let the others spill into the general populace if need be, but your orders are to take out your target whatever the cost. The lives of civilians, even your life, is inconsequential. Everything comes second to your primary mission.’

“Alerting the emergency services to be ready won’t compromise the mission!” Harry snapped. “Put a barrier of law enforcement around my location to separate them from the general population.”

‘You have your orders. Your communication lines have been severed. All incoming calls to the emergency services in your location will be monitored and cut off.’

Harry looked quickly down at the phone in his hand, still active, still connected to his husband and his team. They’d cut his other lines of communication, likely including the emergency line he had to the Aurors at the Ministry, but not the phone. No one knew he carried a phone when they were strictly forbidden on missions. Harry had never been one to follow the rules, though. He’d spent most of his life breaking and bending every rule he’d ever been given. MI-7 should have really expected him to ignore that rule too.

“You piece of shit.” Harry cursed. “Have you even contacted the American government about this? I’d bet they’d feel differently about your plans for this mission if you had! It should be their decision to take such risks with the lives of their citizens. Tell Director Brooks that if he cared more about human life than he does bending over his desk for a little more power…”

‘The coming bloodbath will be on your head, Commander.’ The Agent said coldly. ‘Contain them…’

“There are forty of them!” Harry hissed. “I can’t contain and take out forty terrorists by myself. I can take out my target, but the others are for you to deal with, so alert the services that can deal with it! I refuse to take the blame for this when I’ve planned an alternative that would save more lives.”

There was no reply to his outburst. The coin was still warm, but everything was silent. The phone line to the BAU was also silent. He expected that the BAU team were tactful enough to realise he was giving them insider information on MI-7, so they knew better than to speak and give themselves, and him, away. Harry took a moment to check on the farmhouse to see it still bustling like an anthill. Lestrange was inside, likely cursing even more followers to his cause, which all seemed to be aimed at killing him. There were a lot of weapons in that farmhouse. A lot of potential for death and utter terror for the civilians in the nearest towns. Harry knew what they would do. He was one man and they would scatter in groups and head in different directions to different towns making it impossible for him to follow all of them. People were going to die if he didn’t get ground support. It was inevitable at this point.

‘Seven to The Commander.’ A voice came from the coin after a very lengthy several minutes of utter silence. Harry assumed the Agent had been plotting furiously with Director Brooks. He hoped that the Director was there, listening in as Harry cursed him out.

“Proceed, Seven.” Harry said, almost anticipating what was going to happen next. It had happened before, but that former Director was now behind bars. Harry hoped this one followed in his predecessor’s footsteps and made the same mistakes. Kingsley Shacklebolt was Minister for Magic still and he wouldn’t stand for Harry to be treated like this. He had been against Harry joining this specialised group of assassins. He’d been against Harry joining up with MI-7 to take out the remaining Death Eaters, but once Harry had joined, he had thrown him all the support and assistance he could possibly need. One call to Kingsley and Director Brooks would be in Azkaban and the egotistical fool didn’t even know it because he didn’t know that The Commander was Harry Potter.

‘Your orders have changed.’ The Agent relayed with an almost sadistic glee. Harry wondered if he could get him thrown into Azkaban too. Anyone who was that happy to give out orders that would lead to the certain death of other agents was clearly a sociopath.

Harry smirked to himself, though. He’d called it. They were going to try to get him killed in the field. It was too bad for them that he wasn’t that easy to kill.

“What are my new orders?” He asked casually, all but daring the higher-ups of MI-7 to try and take him out.

‘The area will be contained. You do not have permission to extract until all terrorist threats are dead.’

“It’s impossible to do safely.” Harry said, knowing that he, and MI-7, already knew that. It was why his orders had been changed from targeting just Lestrange to all of the terrorist thugs here. “You’re trying to get me killed here. The Carrows are still unaccounted for.”

‘The Carrows have not had a confirmed sighting in almost four years. There has been no activity. The Director has deemed Lestrange the last of the Death Eaters. This is your final mission, Commander.’

“The Director is a fool…then, that’s what you get when you put a clown in the highest position of power; a circus. Yaxley hadn’t been sighted in three years before he revealed himself and there had been no activity accredited to him in the years previous either. You know it means nothing and the Carrows are still out there. The Director can suck a dick, given that he’s so good at it, to keep his big mouth busy and I will carry on as I have been and do what I need to. You better hope that they do kill me here because if they don’t, I’m coming for both of you. ”

‘You do not…’

“I’ll do as I please and you’ll deal with the clean-up from the utter mess that’s going to be left behind. Commander out.”

Harry dropped the coin back into its little pouch in disgust, ignoring it immediately heating up as Seven tried to get back in contact with him. He shoved it back into one of his numerous pockets and took several deep, calming breaths until his heart stopped racing with anger and adrenaline and only then did he turn back to the phone in his hand. It was still connected…still silent on the other end but he knew the BAU team were still there, they were just waiting for him to indicate it was safe to speak.

“They’re going to try to kill me here, Spencer.”

‘We can be there in a few hours.’ Hotch told him immediately.

“It’s too dangerous, there are too many of them and there are already going to be casualties. I can’t contain all of them in this area and MI-7 know it. They know I don’t have enough resources to contain this by myself, it will spill out and they’re already blaming me for it. The location is perfectly chosen, in the middle of a plot of land with towns in every direction. They’ll form groups and head for every town and I’m one person, I can’t follow them all and that’s only if I can extract myself from this farmhouse given how many there are.”

‘Can’t you just take out your target and leave?’ Derek asked.

“That’s what I’m hoping for, even if I have to lay in wait for days or even weeks, but the civilian casualties will be so high if I abandon them to become targets of these terrorists. I’m not sure I can do it.”

‘You ignore the orders they gave you.’ Spencer told him, sounding tearful.

Harry chuckled. “You know I will, love. I don’t take orders from anyone but you. I’m taking out my target and I’m getting out. I know it’s a trap, so I can take more precautions. I’m being set up. If I find out that Seven knew about Lestrange and have set me up to die here…”

Harry trailed off and he inhaled deeply. It was beginning to feel like that was what was happening. That he was being thrown to Lestrange and this massively inflated group around him. The Commander would die in the field, leaving his mission unfinished with the Carrows still on the loose. It was unacceptable. Harry refused to allow it to happen.

‘What do you need?’ David Rossi asked him.

“They’ll block any attempt I make to get support on the ground before I infiltrate, which puts my life at risk, of course, that’s what they want.” Harry said, thinking. “I’ll need support once it’s over, as I’m trying to extract myself from the field. These thugs are going to go straight for soft targets if they can and I can’t contain them. There are at least five towns nearby, one is as close as several miles down the road and they have enough cars here that they can drive there if need be.”

He was hoping that some of the thugs were under the Imperius curse, in which case, once Lestrange was dead they could abandon the mission entirely. Or they could go down fighting and trying to take as many people with them as possible. He was going to need help.

“Once I do infiltrate, things can get messy and chaotic very quickly, but if I send you coordinates at that point, I need emergency services on alert in my location and in the surrounding towns. It might be too late to coordinate anything, but now they’ve cut my position off, it’s all I can do.”

‘We’ll be there, Harry.’ Spencer promised him.

“Lestrange will be dead at that point, I hope. I will only infiltrate when he emerges if given the choice. But…this group is heavily armed, Spen. I mean, I’ve seen less guns in active war zones. They are planning something big.”

‘Could it be that they’re doing all that just to draw you in?’ The voice of Emily Prentiss asked him seriously.

Harry thought about it. “It’s not likely.” He said after considering every angle he could think of. “My money is on them knowing I’ll sit and wait here until I get my shot at my target, so they’re planning something big to force me to act before then. They already know it’ll work. I’m not going to sit by and watch them set off a terrorist attack on civilians.”

‘You can’t!’ Spencer almost shouted at him down the line. ‘That’s what they want, Harry.’

“What’s the difference between me and the serial killers, Spencer?” Harry asked softly.

‘You care about the preservation of human life.’ Spencer answered. They’d done this before.

“If I stop caring about human lives, if I ever take a path that leads to the death of others, what am I then?” Harry asked.

‘Alive!’ Spencer said desperately.

“Maybe physically.” He conceded. “But I would have died on the inside, love. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself after that.”

‘It’s a setup.’ Morgan said firmly. ‘Even your Director seems in on it. It’s too dangerous for you to go in alone. We can help you.’

“I’ve seen out the Director’s predecessor. He’s in prison because of me and this one will follow if I will it. If I find out that he has set me up to die, he will beg for a prison cell before I’m done with him.” Harry promised. “Not even MI-7 know my real identity, they don’t know who The Commander is, so they won’t see me coming.”

‘What is your gut telling you?’ Rossi asked him, speaking up into the awful silence.

Harry considered the question fully before answering. “I’m being set up. They’ve already decided that the Carrows are dealt with because there’s been no sightings or activity, but I know better. I’ve seen that before and it means nothing, but to Seven, it makes Lestrange my final target. They can’t control me, they have no one who can take me out in turn. They’ve deemed Lestrange an easier monster to deal with than me now that he’s emerged from the hole he was hiding in. They have a lock on his location thanks to me tracking him down, so they’re making it impossible for me to survive this coming shitshow. Perhaps they’re hoping that we take out each other or, if I do take out Lestrange first, that the scum around him will deal with me. But…it feels like they’re paving the way for this group to get the upper hand on me. There are at least forty individuals that I’ve seen so far. It’s more than double any other group I’ve had to deal with and I know I can’t handle all of them by myself, it was why I called it in in the first place, before my orders changed and I realised that I was being set up by Seven.”

Harry took a breath and looked back to the bustling farmhouse.

“They know I’m here because Seven has leaked the information to Lestrange. He already knows I’m here. He’s going to force me to spring an attack by preparing a terrorist attack to take out soft targets and I won’t let it get that far. I’ve already lost the element of surprise. I’m outnumbered, and he’s going to play his hand when he’s ready and the only thing I can do at that moment is react to whatever he does. It’s not a position I want to be in.”

‘Let us help you.’ Rossi implored. ‘I understand you are protective and you don’t want to see others injured, but…’

‘You need to trust me.’ Spencer told him, interrupting Rossi. ‘You always ask me to trust you, and I do, Harry, but you need to do the same now that MI-7 are trying to kill you off too.’

It was different. How could it not be when magic was involved? Muggles had no protection against it, and the BAU team were woefully underprepared to enter into a fight of magic as, out of all of them, only Spencer knew about magic, and even then it had taken so much magical theory and practical demonstrations before his wonderful brain could even accept that true magic was real. Even then, Spencer had never seen the utter destruction, the death, that magic could bring. Harry had told him, of course, but hearing and seeing were two completely different things.

Harry took a giant leap of faith, hoping that none of them got killed because of this, as he robotically repeated his exact location via coordinates. “Alert the emergency services. Please. I fear this attack is actually imminent and I’ll be forced to go with the flow of whatever happens. Seven will be monitoring all calls, I’m afraid you may have to alert them in person and I can only hope that it isn’t too late by then.”

‘Sit pretty, we’re already on our way.’ Morgan told him.

Harry already knew that they weren’t going to get here soon enough to stop this attack from happening as he wrapped up the call and got back to his reconnaissance. Whatever attack Lestrange was planning with all of the muggle guns, they were almost ready to spring it, and Harry would be caught in the crossfire of all of them. His only option was to attack them first and he was not nearly as prepared for that as he’d like to be. He just had no other choice. He would have to spring his attack first and then hope for the best…and hope that he made it out alive.

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Harry considered his options as quickly as he could as he aimed at, and killed, another of the terrorist thugs who was separated and on his own. He had been picking off the stragglers for maybe half an hour, aiming only at those who were singled out and on their own so that he didn’t give away his position, even if he was moving after each curse he cast. If they hadn’t known he was here before, they certainly did now that they were finding bodies.

Things had quickly turned chaotic and Harry was the entire cause as he had sprung his attack before Lestrange could enact whatever he had planned, taking the control from him, but turning everything into a mess as he carefully moved around and picked off Lestrange’s thugs one by one.

He couldn’t have anticipated what happened next, there had been no prior indication of it as the farmhouse he was much too close to was ripped apart by an explosion, throwing him off his feet and into a solid structure. Several more, smaller, explosions shook the ground that he was lying on…the cars that had surrounded the farmhouse exploding too, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. He suddenly couldn’t make sense of anything and his head was killing him.

His ears were ringing, there was ash and soot in his mouth, and his vision was blurred. Had his contact lenses slipped?

Breathing heavily, controlling his sudden nausea, knowing how vulnerable he was here like this, he tried to get himself up. To move. Anything.

The buzzing in his ears disrupted his balance as he fought to get himself upright, finally managing to get himself to his knees with what felt like monumental effort. He couldn’t figure out what direction he had been going in or where he’d come from. He’d completely lost his bearings and he couldn’t figure out if he was seriously injured or not. There was blood on his hands, but was that from superficial wounds? Was he bleeding out? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t make sense of anything.

Gritting his teeth together, and tasting ash and blood as he did so, Harry forced himself up to his feet. He had to move. It wasn’t an option to stay here like a sitting duck, regardless of his current physical state. He had to move.

“Sectio!”

It was too late to do anything. Harry felt the spell impact his chest and he heard his own bones crunching as it felt like a clawed hand sank into his left side and just tore it clean away.

The pain was too great to scream. His breath had been knocked out of him and he couldn’t even inhale to scream. That didn’t stop the pain from rolling his eyes back into his head.

He blinked and he was slumped on his knees, gasping for breath. Lestrange was speaking, though his voice was too distorted to make out words, and Harry realised that the Death Eater was approaching him. It couldn’t have been that long that he’d lost awareness, but even still, no matter how short it had been, it was too long with Lestrange in a position of power over him.

The only thought in his own mind was of Spencer. The life they had planned together. He wasn’t going to allow Rodolphus Lestrange to take that away from them. The surge of adrenaline got him to his feet and, from there, Harry ran for his life, immediately ducking around the side of the burning farmhouse to get out of view of Lestrange. The area surrounding the farmhouse was covered in trees. Lightly wooded on the one side and then densely forested on the other. The best option for cover was the forest and he had to make it there. He had to lose Lestrange for long enough to create a hiding spot. The mission had already failed.

He still couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. His vision was blurred and kept jumping. His eyes were no longer aligned with his head movements and he ran into several trees just because he couldn’t see them.

He didn’t stop running, not even after a heavy collision with another tree knocked the breath out of him. He couldn’t afford to stay still and regardless of the noise he was making, he deemed it better to keep going. He needed a hiding spot so that he could stop, rest, and reassess.

He didn’t know how long it had been. It felt like several hours, but was likely less than a few minutes as he tried to keep a hold of his panic as he stumbled around the bushes and trees, likely leaving an easily followable blood trail. He needed to reassess as a priority.

He came to a stop in the very small clearing he had managed to spot and he calmed his ragged breathing enough to listen to the forest around him. He heard nothing over his ringing ears. He kept slumping to the side as his balance was off. His rapid, jumping eye movements made him nauseous, but he clenched his mouth closed to avoid leaving vomit anywhere.

A wandless, wordless spell confirmed that he was alone in the immediate vicinity, though there were more than a dozen heat signatures that his spell picked up a little further out. He didn’t have long. Another spell removed the blood trail for as far as he could push it. That would give him a bit of time and secure his hiding spot. A third spell, this time a bubble charm to protect the open wound in his chest, sent him to his knees with dizziness and he had to fight to keep the contents of his stomach in place. Everything around him had started spinning and his head moved with the sensation, his eyes jumping, his vision blurred. He certainly wasn’t in an ideal situation…or an ideal condition for that matter.

He crawled into the nearest bush, all dignity lost, but if it kept him alive, he didn’t mind leaving his dignity behind.

Harry hissed through his teeth as he made sure he was completely covered, pulling layers of leaves over the top of him to hide him from immediate view and then trying to lay still and silent in the underbrush. He was pretty sure that half of his insides were currently trailing in the dirt. It felt like it, at least. He had never encountered Lestrange’s curse before, nor a curse that could tear the left half of his ribcage away, so he didn’t know how to counter it, but the pain of it…Harry couldn’t think of that right now, so he pushed the agony down, trying to lock it away so that he could still do his job. So that he could exterminate this group and then extract himself safely. Or, at least quickly if not entirely safely given that he was already severely injured. He needed to get back to Spencer, so he kept that in mind. He couldn’t fail now that he was so close to retirement.

Resting and regaining himself, Harry cast wandless, wordless spells on himself to counter the damage done, fixing his vision after finding his contact lenses were still in place and healing his hearing as a priority. Most of the charms would be temporary and would, hopefully, last until he got to a magical hospital, but they would do for now while he still had a job to do.

“Where are you hiding, Potter?”

Fear. Harry tried to swallow it down. His charm had cleared his hearing and Lestrange was much too close to him and he was in no state to engage. He likely wouldn’t survive any sort of duel in his state, so he had to fight dirty, but he didn’t mind being underhanded when facing murderous Death Eaters. It’s not as if they ever had any mercy for others, so Harry refused to show them any in turn.

“I saw your face. I know it’s you.” Lestrange snapped as he stomped through the leaves looking for him. “How apt that the Ministry would send you to me. You, who killed my brother. You, who I have dreamt of killing with my bare hands.”

Harry hadn’t been the one to kill Rabastan. Harry hadn’t even seen Rabastan Lestrange during the final battle at Hogwarts. As far as he knew, it had been a member of the Order who had killed the younger Lestrange brother. But, as the so-called leader of the resistance, Harry understood that Rodolphus would blame him for his brother’s death, despite not being the one to kill him personally. He didn’t care. Rodolphus would join his brother very soon and Harry would be very glad that the both of them were dead.

“You have a debt to pay, Potter. I will have it from you.”

Harry remained silent and hidden. Not letting Rodolphus’ words rile him or force him to reveal himself. He wouldn’t make such a stupid a mistake. He knew better than that. He’d trained himself to be better than that and he listened to his husband when he spoke of the little tricks the unsubs he chased used to goad the BAU into making mistakes. He remained calm and still, ignoring the pain trying to take over and the urge to press a hand to his ruined side. It wouldn’t help.

“Revelio.”

Harry allowed himself a small, sardonic smile as he heard Rodolphus casting charms to try to find him.

“Aparecium.”

Harry wasn’t hiding under a charm or by any magical means. He was in a pile of leaves and forest debris. Of course the pureblood wouldn’t think of something so simple. Of course he had to be hiding by magical means.

“Where are you?!” Rodolphus yelled, getting frustrated which he showed through anger.

Harry forced his breathing to remain even and quiet, despite his pain. Lestrange was almost on top of him, just a few feet to the right. If he moved past where he was hiding then Harry would have an open shot at his back and, once Lestrange was dead, he could extract himself from this area and get to a hospital. Lestrange was the only true Death Eater, every other member of his group were muggles under the Imperius curse. Where Lestrange was dragging that amount of magic from was anyone’s guess. It was probably by pure spite, but, until Rodolphus was dead then Harry would have to watch out for all the muggle guns too. Those who were still alive, that was. That explosion would have taken quite a few of them out for him, for which he was grateful. It made him believe more fully that this had been a setup for him, that he was the target if Lestrange was so willing to kill his minions.

“You can’t hide forever.” Lestrange spat, sweeping through the trees with no thought to noise control.

Harry didn’t move for fear of making a noise at an inopportune moment, but he listened intently as he followed where Lestrange was from the sounds of him shoving through branches and crunching dead leaves. He swallowed, his throat dry and painful, but he’d dealt with worse. He could be patient. Endlessly patient. He’d done it before. He could, in fact, hide for at least another twelve hours, approximately, before he’d need to move to find something to drink. He didn’t think Lestrange could be as patient.

“I knew you were a coward, Potter.”

Harry managed another pained smile. He knew that trick from Spencer and his profiling teachings. Insult him and his valour until he made a stupid mistake to disprove the words levied against him. He wouldn’t fall for it. He had to be patient. He had to wait until Rodolphus’ back was to him. Harry had to take him out. There was no other option, Lestrange had to die here…before any of the muggle emergency services or the BAU arrived.

“Are you cowering in some filthy hole? Are you so frightened of me?”

Harry ignored the goading. He was scared, of course. But not of Rodolphus Lestrange. He was scared of not getting back to Spencer. He was scared of not being able to keep his promise of always getting himself home. He was scared of making Spencer a widow. A very real fear given that half of his left side, and ribcage, was currently missing.

Lestrange moved away from him without getting into the position that Harry wanted him to, and Harry closed his eyes and took a breath to control his own frustration. That had been a prime opportunity, if only Lestrange had moved in a different direction.

He heard a roar of frustration as Rodolphus moved on and lost control of his anger as Harry remained hidden. His chance was lost. He would have to use stealth to follow Lestrange and hope for another opportunity, without a direct confrontation. He had to hope that his healing charms, no matter how temporary they were, held until he had completed his mission. He had to take Lestrange out before the muggle law enforcement arrived on scene. That explosion would bring them running and he was surprised that they weren’t already here by now. It made him think that perhaps not as much time as he thought had passed. That was also a worry.

At least it was now confirmed that he was the target, so Harry wasn’t as worried about the unsubs running to the nearest towns to kill civilians, they had no need to draw him out when he’d thrown himself in feet first, but he was worried that the muggle law enforcement would become targets once they arrived on the scene. The BAU team would know what to do, Harry couldn’t split his focus and worry about the law enforcement when Lestrange was still alive. If the BAU were already on the ground then they would have immediately taken control, which would help keep casualties down, he knew. They knew how to deal with terrorists toting assault weapons. He just needed to keep his focus and do his job and take out Lestrange before they came looking for him. He couldn’t let this psychopath anywhere near the people he cared about.

As the sounds of noise eased away, Harry carefully rolled over onto his front, swallowing the pain and nausea from the wound in his side. It felt odd to have bones missing. To have flesh ripped away. He’d had a quick look before he’d darted his gaze away sharpish, and all he’d seen was a lot of red. He didn’t want to make sense of what he’d seen when he’d already convinced himself that he’d seen his own lung. He’d cast a bubble charm around the wound, just so he didn’t bleed out. He’d already lost too much blood as it was. It would also help to stave off infection and keep detritus out of his body, but it could still kill him if he didn’t get it seen to, which wasn’t an option while Lestrange was still running around.

Harry stood carefully, tensing his legs to keep himself upright in case the dizziness came back, but his temporary charms seemed to have helped his balance issues and his blurred vision, for now at least, and he followed the noises of the ‘rampaging rhino’ through the leaves and forest debris, stepping carefully so as to make as minimal noise as possible and, though it was doubtful that Lestrange would be able to hear anything over his own noise and shouting, Harry couldn’t ignore that he had cursed muggles at his beck and call who were scouring this forest for him also.

His knees were trembling with the effort to keep moving, his jaw ached where he was clenching his teeth together to keep the pain of his injuries and the urge to vomit suppressed. He just needed one opportunity to kill Lestrange. Just one.

He eased himself through the trees, keeping his body low and controlling his noise as he followed Lestrange. He was not so green behind the ears that he was wholly focused on his target either. He made sure to periodically stop, look around and listen to the movement of the forest for the muggle thugs, but he could only hear Lestrange ahead of him, still screaming out for him. If Harry wasn’t quick then the muggle law enforcement would get to him first and he couldn’t allow that to happen when he needed to kill Lestrange, not apprehend him. He didn’t think Lestrange would go quietly, either. He would try to take as many people as he could to the grave with him and obliterate the statute of secrecy too. Harry couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to take him out here and now…and he was now on a time limit.

“Potter!” Lestrange yelled out ahead of him, startling the birds in the trees. That would be a directional marker for anyone watching for it too.

Harry stopped moving as the forest fell silent. He hunched down beside a bush and then crawled into it on his stomach. It was agony with his wounds, but he gritted his teeth and just did it. He was no stranger to pain or the queasy, biting heat it brought.

Nearby rustling had his spine stiffening. The amount of discipline needed to control himself, his pain, his trembling limbs, was significant at that moment, but he managed.

It was, regretfully, not Lestrange, but the dress of the man had him aborting a heavy sigh. Familiar tactical gear, heavy boots, and an assault weapon. Director Brooks had sent a team to make sure that The Commander died in the field. They didn’t know what he looked like, but they’d know him for what he was immediately from his ‘uniform’, the same that they were wearing. He would need to reach his go bag and get into casual dress the moment he took out Lestrange. Failing that, he had to get out of this forest and to the normal law enforcement, preferably the BAU team and the arms of his husband, who wouldn’t believe any lies that he was the perpetrator behind this and wouldn’t let him be ‘arrested’ or apprehended, which Harry knew would end with him being taken behind a tree and shot in the head the moment he was out of view of the local law enforcement.

Harry blinked in shock when his head suddenly dropped and had to suppress a full-body shake. He’d zoned out. That could have been a death sentence, a fatal mistake. He needed to do better. He reached up to pinch his earlobe with his fingernail, tugging on it, letting the immediate bite of pain make him more alert. There were too many people who wanted to kill him in this forest for him to make such stupid mistakes. Spencer would never forgive him.

After silently berating himself, and carefully considering his position and the surrounding forest, Harry determined that no harm had been done and he was now alone. He found a stick and, without making much noise, he threw it away from him, into a pile of dry leaves, watching, waiting, tense for any sound or movement, but nothing happened.

He eased himself carefully out of his hiding place, grimacing through the sickening agony in his ruined side. Getting upright was more difficult and Harry had a moment of feeling dizzy…like he was going to collapse and throw up. He kept his mouth clenched shut, his knees locked, and his eyes wide open. He didn’t have time, or the luxury of safety, to indulge such bodily functions. He couldn’t acknowledge the pain he was in…not yet.

He moved off, controlling the noise his feet made as much as he could. He’d lost a bit of time because he could no longer hear Lestrange screaming. He hoped that the agent who was hunting him had run afoul of the deranged Death Eater. It was too much to hope, a little too optimistic to imagine that they had killed one another.

He listened carefully, looked for startled birds in flight, anything to give him a directional cue. It came suddenly with a hail of gunfire. Harry immediately hugged the tree he was using as cover, his heart racing, but he determined quickly that the shots weren’t aimed at him.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Ah. The MI-7 agent had run into Lestrange after all, or at least one of them had. He was a muggle, one of the few in the know about magic, or maybe even a squib, but he was non-magical nonetheless. Unless he had incredibly quick reflexes and a conveniently placed tree, then he was likely dead, but at least Harry knew now where his target was.

“You’re not Potter.” Harry heard Lestrange growl as he inched closer to where he heard the scuffle, trying not to crunch leaves or snap twigs underfoot.

The scene came into view. Lestrange was standing over the agent who had moved past Harry earlier. He was clearly dead, sprawled on the forest floor, his gun a few feet away.

Harry tried to get a decent angle. He eased himself to the other side of the tree he was hugging, crouched down to keep out of direct eyeline. Then he silently cursed when a small group of the cursed muggle thugs joined Lestrange.

Lestrange looked disgusted to have them near him. They were a means to an end for the Death Eater, but that didn’t mean he liked them, cared for them, or wanted to be near them.

“How difficult is it to find one boy?!” Lestrange screamed at them. “Bring him to me!”

Harry considered his options, reevaluating his position and Lestrange’s as the muggle thugs followed their orders and moved away. He couldn’t squander another chance. He no longer had time to chase Lestrange over days or even weeks. Muggle law enforcement would be here soon. He already expected them to be on the scene back at the farmhouse that Lestrange had blown to hell after Harry had killed a dozen of his muggle guns. It was now or never.

Still, he hesitated a moment. Harry narrowed his eyes and dropped further down, into a lower crouch. It hurt like hell, the position had his breath hitching as it put too much pressure on his exposed lung, but a moment later Lestrange’s gaze snapped to his direction, searching. He overlooked Harry completely and then he turned to give him his back. Harry smirked.

“Avada Kedavra!” He shouted, pouring all of his power and will for death into the curse.

Lestrange heard him. His back stiffened and he moved to swing around, or perhaps to dive out of the way of the curse, but it was too late and the magic washed over him and then dissipated. Lestrange was sprawled over the forest floor just like the MI-7 agent.

Harry tensed his legs and, with a monumental effort, he got himself standing again, ignoring the dizziness and the nausea that accompanied the sudden movement. He stalked over to Lestrange, overly aware of the forest around him, just in case, though the Imperius curse would have dropped the moment Lestrange died. Regardless, he couldn’t discount that these thugs would cause mayhem just for the sake of it and he couldn’t ignore that MI-7 had sent a team to take him out.

A touch to the grimy neck of Lestrange confirmed what he already knew. The man was dead. One less Death Eater in the world and Harry allowed himself a momentary celebration of that knowledge. He kicked Lestrange over to his back, took out his handgun from his thigh holster, and then shot him clean through the head. Just in case.

The noise of the gunshot was loud in the suddenly silent forest. Harry didn’t linger. His mission was complete, he could now extract himself and get his arse to a hospital. Preferably Saint Mungo’s where he could receive magical healing and protection from the Ministry of Magic while he set Kingsley onto MI-7, who had put a hit on him. He suspected that Director Brooks would be in prison by the end of the month.

More time had passed. He could hear more people in the forest, possibly muggle law enforcement, but he couldn’t trust that they weren’t the other agents of MI-7 or the muggle thugs who had decided to go down with a fight. The pain was getting to him now that his adrenaline was crashing. He’d been staving it off for too long and this extraction was going to be messy. If he could even manage it now given his state.

He needed help. He needed reinforcements and there was only one person he could trust with that. He already knew that Spencer would be here soon. His worried husband would get here as soon as humanly possible.

Harry eased his phone out of its special pocket and, though he knew it was dangerous and foolish, he recorded a message. Anyone nearby would be able to hear him. In these situations noise control was paramount, he knew that, but he also knew that he wouldn’t survive much longer. He was beginning to feel the overuse of his magic tugging at him. He was trying to constantly maintain the bubble charm, he’d cast several healing charms, and he’d always found the killing curse to be especially draining. But if the bubble charm around his ruined side failed then it wouldn’t take him long to bleed out. He needed help to extract himself. So he selected the voice recording and then he sent it to Spencer. His genius husband who would move heaven and earth to reach him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Spencer was frantic when he received the pre-recorded voice message from Harry and he did the only thing he could think to do. He took it to his team.

“I know that look, what happened?” Morgan asked him worriedly.

“Harry sent another message.” He said worriedly, his hands trembling.

“Play it, Reid.” Hotch said, surveying the area that was absolute carnage.

This was the exact place where Harry’s coordinates had led them. The flaming wreckage was all that was left of the old farmhouse that had once stood here. There were bodies littered all over. They didn’t know who had caused the explosion; Harry or Lestrange, but a lot of the forty thugs that Harry had reported about were dead on the floor, so their bet was on Harry trying to follow his orders from MI-7 and trying to protect innocent civilians, though the farmhouse was pretty remote and far removed it was, in fact, within walking distance of five towns, just as Harry had told them.

Spencer’s hands shook as he pressed the number for voicemail.

“If you can’t listen to it again, Reid, we can…”

Spencer shook his head at Morgan’s offer. He owed it to Harry to listen to the voice message.

‘Spen…’ The message started and he could hear the pain in his husband’s voice. ‘…shit went tits up way too quickly for me to control.’ Harry reported after taking several heaving breaths that sounded odd. Wrong. He didn’t want to examine it too closely or he was going to lose his head, yet, it was knowing Harry so intimately that was going to be what helped him to save his husband here. ‘There’s a small forest to the one side of the farmhouse.’

All of them turned to the side that had the denser trees. Officers were already sweeping the grounds around the burning farmhouse in all directions, but nothing, no disturbances, had been reported in yet.

‘I’m in the forest. Lestrange is dead. I took some injuries, but I’m still mobile for the most part. There are some survivors still hunting me down. I’ll take them if I can. Extraction is impossible with my injuries. I’m hoping to wait them out.’

Spencer trembled as he listened to that again. If Harry was too injured to Apparate…he knew that it had to be severe just from that.

‘MI-7 agents are also here.’ Harry told him, which is what had panicked Spencer the most. ‘They’ll kill me if they can find me, given their previous orders, and they’ll try to pass it off as a death from my injuries. I’m not far from Lestrange’s body…at least, I don’t believe I am.’

Harry sounded so disorientated that Spencer was terrified. He’d never heard Harry sound so lost or unsure. He was always so completely sure of himself, so self-assured that he just exuded confidence at all times. It hurt a part of him to hear Harry so at odds with himself.

‘I can’t trust that these people won’t kill me, Spen. It has to be you, my love. I’ll trust you. I’m in no state…I…this might be our goodbye, my love. I’m sorry.’

The message cut off there and Spencer’s fists clenched, even as JJ laid a gentle hand against his back for support.

“No one has approached claiming to be from MI-7.” Hotch said, before covertly looking around at all the emergency service personnel bustling around. None of them stood out. Which meant they were either hiding in plain sight, or they were all in the forest hunting for Harry who was too injured to get himself to safety.

“We have to get to him.” Spencer said desperately, feeling his anxiety climbing.

“We will.” Morgan immediately assured him. “We’ll need you for this, Reid. What patterns would he follow?”

“He’d keep to areas that offered him full body coverage and he’s so good at noise control that I never know where he is in the house. I’ve told him off for sneaking up on me so many times, but he always looks confused because he doesn’t know he’s doing it, he does it unconsciously.”

“We’re going to have to call out for him and hope he’s lucid enough to recognise our voices and that he’s conscious to reply.” Emily told them and Spencer didn’t want to hear such painful things.

“His go bag would be stashed here. Where he made the first phone call to us.” Spencer said, looking around. “He’d have made sure he was on the highest ground where he could still see the farmhouse.”

“There.” Rossi pointed out the hill behind them. “That is a fair distance, though.”

Spencer shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. He told us he was watching them from a safe distance. In a prickly bush.”

“Is his go bag that important?” Hotch asked seriously.

“Harry will try to go back for it.” Spencer insisted. “If he can, he’ll be making his way to the bag, especially as he’s injured and there are medical supplies inside it. If we know where that is, and we find Lestrange’s body…”

“We can work out a possible search area. Good thinking, Spence.” JJ said.

It was Hotch who called to check if Lestrange’s body had been found yet, as they headed towards the hill that had most likely been Harry’s lookout spot.

Spencer kept checking to see what would have been the best vantage point, but it was Rossi who found the go bag first.

“He was here, where he could see the farmhouse, but was out of direct view, but he could see and hear everything around him.” Rossi pointed out.

“Harry is also incredibly hard to sneak up on, he just gets a feeling that people are near him.” Spencer told them.

“Like he knew we were there when we tried to surprise you at home.” JJ nodded.

“Almost as soon as we were in the house.” Spencer said. “He just knew something was wrong.” That wasn’t magic, either. He’d asked before and that was just purely Harry and his instincts. The man that MI-7 had trained him to be.

“They’ve found Lestrange’s body.” Hotch reported as he strode over to them. “He was in a clearing with a man who is wearing a uniform very similar to what Black wears.”

Spencer’s stomach swooped and he had to force himself to remain upright.

“Reid, I asked for a description of him and this man is absolutely not Black.” Hotch assured him. “But he is an MI-7 agent. The officers who found the bodies insist it looks like they took each other out, but…there doesn’t seem to be any wounds on the agent.”

Spencer hadn’t expected there to be wounds on either of them if Harry had killed them both. He knew that the killing curse left no mark and no trace. Harry had already told them that he’d killed Lestrange, but had the agent interrupted? Had he injured Lestrange first and Harry had finished him off? Had Lestrange killed the other agent or had Harry killed them both?

“What are the coordinates for the bodies?” Spencer asked, already moving to Morgan, who had the map that Garcia had sent them on his phone.

Spencer took the phone and checked the coordinates for the bodies and triangulated them with the coordinates he had from where Harry’s go bag had been found.

“He’d stick to cover, so we can rule out all of this.” Spencer said, showing the others. “Even injured, he’d go the safest, least travelled path, even if it took him longer. I suspect he’d go this way.”

“We spread out, take a search team, and we’ll find him.” Hotch ordered.

“Keep within sight and earshot of one another.” Rossi told them. “MI-7 are in those trees too and we’re all looking for the same person. I don’t doubt that they’ll kill any of us to take him out too.”

“Morgan, take a team and start here.” Hotch said, pointing to a grid on the map. “Reid, here. JJ, here. Emily, here. Dave, you take this grid and I’ll be in this one.”

Spencer took one last look at the bush that Harry had been lying in when he’d called, before shouldering his husband’s incredibly bulky, awkward go bag (that had a weightless charm on it, which is why he wouldn’t let anyone else carry it) and heading to the grid he would be searching. Harry needed to be okay. He couldn’t live with any other alternative.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- X

Derek tried to keep himself focused on his task. It had surely been too long to find anyone alive. It had been a few hours and he knew that Black was seriously injured. They had been carefully combing each planned grid and they had found nothing. Not a single sign of Harry Black, or any lingering MI-7 operatives. Derek refused to accept that they were so well trained that no one could find a single trace of any of them, especially when Black was supposedly so seriously injured that he couldn’t move himself easily. But, his last confirmed location had been near the bodies of his target and the MI-7 agent, but he had clearly moved since then as no one had found him anywhere near that section of forest. Reid had staunchly insisted that Black would have come through this section of forest, but there was no sign of him here, either.

He had the thought that the MI-7 agents had already found Black and that was why they couldn’t find any of them. Because they had already been extracted from the area. He didn’t voice such an opinion knowing that Reid was on the line, however. Their genius was barely holding things together as it was. He would keep such thoughts to himself until every single grid had been searched and they had no other options.

“Harry!” Derek called out loudly, then stopped and listened carefully with the officers in his search team.

Nothing in the forest moved. No leaves rustled, no twigs snapped, it was silent.

They moved forward, checking the ground for any signs. Blood, kicked-up leaves, a dropped weapon, anything to give an indication that anyone had been here.

Some of the others had reported in that they had had to fire on some of the remaining unsubs who had been hired by Black’s target, but he and his group had met no one this far out from the farmhouse.

“Harry!” He called out again. Silence was his only answer.

‘Morgan, check in. Any sign?’ Hotch’s voice came from the radio in his other hand.

Derek pulled the radio up a little higher. “Nothing, Hotch.” He insisted. “It’s quiet in this grid. How’s things on your end?”

‘Reid and JJ finished their grids and are back at the farmhouse with their teams. Reid believes that Black might be more confused than anticipated and he wants to move the search further out, but I’ve gotten him to wait until all the grid searches are complete.’

“We’re about two metres from finishing our final grid.” Derek said, already looking ahead to the planned end of the search grid. “We’ve found nothing this far out. Nothing’s been disturbed.”

‘Aaron.’ Rossi’s voice interrupted.

‘Dave, did you find anything?’ Hotch answered quickly.

‘Only the two unsubs that were called in earlier.’ Rossi insisted. ‘We might need to bring in dogs to find him.’

Reid wouldn’t like that suggestion, Derek knew. It was like admitting that Black was so injured that he was either unconscious, or they needed the dogs to find his body.

‘He’s alive!’ Came the predictable outburst over the radio. ‘I’d know if he was dead. I’d know it!’

Derek didn’t want to voice that he thought that Reid was clinging to hope as that was all he had left. He would let Reid cling to hope until it was proven, with a body, that Black was dead. Then he would do anything and everything Reid needed to get him through his grief.

“Am alive, Spen.” Came a very weak, but very distinctly British accented voice.

Derek snapped his head to the left, where the voice had come from, along with four of the officers who were in his search group who had also heard the voice. He wasn’t hearing things, then. He had actually heard that voice.

“Harry? Harry, you gotta speak louder, okay?” Derek coaxed. “We’re all here, you’re safe. Where are you?”

Derek shut up then to give Harry a chance to reply. The reply came after agonising seconds, as if Black couldn’t catch his breath.

“Cluster of elm trees. Bushes with white flowers.”

Derek searched for what he was looking for and, the moment he caught sight of the elm trees, he ran for the white-flowered plants at their base and he fell to his knees. A bloody arm was thrown out and Derek clasped it and pulled Harry out from the bush.

It took a moment…and then someone retched and had to turn away to vomit.

Derek took a moment to breathe as he made sense of everything he could see, and smell, and feel.

The black uniform Harry was wearing was soaking wet, but it hadn’t rained in days, the ground under his feet was dry and the fallen leaves were crunchy underfoot. Where Derek had touched him was leaving smears of red. He could smell the iron in Black’s blood, he could almost taste it, it was that thick.

Worst of all was what he could see. It looked like something with massive jaws had taken a bite out of Harry’s side…the black shirt had torn away, along with the flesh and bone underneath and Derek could see the organs struggling underneath and a sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip when he convinced himself he saw something red pulsing, flickering, his mind convinced it was the heart.

“We found him.” Derek announced to the radio, pulling himself together. “Immediate medical intervention is needed at my location.” Derek rattled off the exact coordinates, shown to him by the white-faced officer on the paper map they had been using to check their grid.

‘How is he?’ Reid immediately demanded to know. ‘Morgan?!’

“Don’t let him see me like this.” Black begged him, one bloody hand shakily rising to clasp at his wrist. “Don’t let him…”

Black trailed off into breathlessness, struggling to keep breathing.

“This could be the last time…”

Black shook his head. “No. Get me to my go bag, to a hospital. I’ll live. But don’t let him see.”

“He has a right…”

Black shook his head again, harder and Derek immediately moved to support him better, holding him tighter to keep him still.

“He’ll never forget it. You know he’ll never get the image of it out of his head. He has an eidetic memory, you know he remembers everything he sees, even the things he doesn’t want to remember.”

‘Morgan?!’ Reid screamed over the radio. ‘Derek, please.’

“To me.” Black said, reaching up with bloodied hands for the radio.

Derek held the radio and held the button to activate it, but he put it to Black’s mouth.

“Spen.”

‘Harry…oh…’

They could hear the stress and the relief in his voice, even over the radio.

“My go bag, it’s…”

‘I have it.’ Spencer interrupted quickly. ‘We found it and I have it with me.’

“I need…”

Derek panicked when Black stopped speaking and sagged in his hold, and he quickly checked to make sure that he was still conscious…still alive.

He was, but his bloodless face was turning grey. His lips were tinged blue at the edges, as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

‘What do you need?’ Spencer asked and Derek could tell that he knew something was seriously wrong. Looking at the gaping wound in Black’s side, Derek knew exactly what that something was. He didn’t see how Black could survive this wound…his bones were gone. How had he survived hours in this condition? How had he not already bled out?

“Morgan!”

“Here, Hotch!” Derek called out, as crashing through the dead leaves got louder as a dozen people converged on their location. If MI-7 agents were still here, in this forest, they wouldn’t get a chance to kill Harry now. Derek wouldn’t let them.

“Need you to contact Kingsley, Spen.” Black spoke quietly, as a bloody foam gathered on his lips. “Let Kingsley take me if needed. Keep the go bag close, keep it yourself or give it to Kingsley, no one else.”

‘I will.’ Reid insisted tearfully.

It was chaos as those rushing to get to them finally made it and Derek saw Hotch, Dave, and Emily stop and stare as they caught sight of the horrendous wound, even as the EMTs tried to do something to help.

“We need air ambulance.” One said to the other. “He needs a hospital, right now.”

“How did this even happen?” Rossi demanded, eyeing the horrific wound.

“Fucking Lestrange.” Black answered, startling the EMTs…then, he did look like he should be unconscious at the least. Or dead.

“You’re…you’re conscious?” The one asked in complete surprise.

“Yeah. It’s hurting like hell now. Think I got some leaves in there or something. Or maybe bugs. I’ve been lying in that bush for a while. I couldn’t get myself to move again.”

He was so damn calm that Derek wanted to yell at him for it. Black was twenty. Just twenty years old. What the hell had this kid been through in his life to just sit and watch his own heart beating through the gaping wound in his chest and remain so calm and controlled?

“Can you sit forward?” One EMT asked.

“Crunches up the lung and makes it harder to breathe.” Black said, shaking his head.

“We can’t even apply pressure to such a large wound. Do you know your blood type? You need blood.”

Black chuckled. “AB negative.”

“Of course you’d have the rarest blood type on the planet.” Derek joked.

“Spare blood bags in my go bag.” He told them. “Two of them.”

“You carry your own blood around with you?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, requirement of the job. Two pints of it, should be enough to get me…get me to…”

He went quiet again as he lost his breath. One of the EMTs quickly pulled out a canister of oxygen from his bag and slipped the mask over Black’s face.

“We need that blood.” The other said, directing the words to Hotch.

“The bag is with one of our agents by the farmhouse. The field there is large enough for the helicopter to land also, if the firefighters have managed to put out the flames.”

“It was almost under control when I left the clearing.” Emily told them.

“We need to get Agent Black back to the clearing.” Hotch said authoritatively.

“We brought a spinal board, it’ll be easier than a gurney over this terrain, but it’ll be painful for him with this wound.”

“Do it.” Black said, tugging the mask down with a bloodied hand.

“Leave that on.” Derek chastised sharply, moving the mask back into place.

Black tugged the mask back down. “Spencer doesn’t see.” He warned, still managing to sound threatening despite his severe injuries.

“Spencer is your husband.” Rossi pointed out.

“He’s worried because of Reid’s eidetic memory. He’s right that if Reid sees him like this, he’ll never get that image out of his head.” Derek said for Harry, even as he forced the oxygen mask back in place and removed Black’s hand from it so that he couldn’t pull it off again.

The wound was grotesque. Derek got a proper look at it once Black was eased onto the spinal board and he could stand and look and no one should have to see the inside of a person’s body. It was the organs that he could see and he had to force eye contact with Black to stop himself from staring at that steadily throbbing heart. It was just the lower part of the heart, barely visible, but it was visible all the same. Derek had never before considered that he’d physically see a living heart beating in a person’s chest. How was Black even alive? How was he so calm and rational in such a situation when half his side looked to have been ripped away? How was he not showing any sign of pain?

Harry was blinking too often. His right hand was holding his ear for some reason, his fingers curled over it, but he was still conscious and he hadn’t made a single sound. Not a murmur of pain or complaint. It was sickening just how much pain he could take and just keep taking. It didn’t sit right with him and it made Derek question just what this young man had been through in his short life.

Black was covered over with a blanket and then strapped to the board so that he wouldn’t move or slip as they carried him back through the forest.

“Strap the shoulders, not the chest.” One EMT ordered the other, who had been going to strap the chest. He dropped the straps as if they’d burned him and then moved to the ones around the shoulders.

Derek held one side of the board, even as the EMTs got either end. Hotch got the other side. Together, they lifted Black up, who didn’t make a single noise, not even to hiss or sigh when he, quite clearly, should be in more pain than anyone should have to bear.

It was slow and painstaking, they had to make sure their footing was secure and that the fallen leaves weren’t hiding branches or rocks or a hole.

The air ambulance was waiting for them, with more paramedics, two nurses and a doctor. They were holding two blood bags that Reid had clearly pulled from Black’s go bag.

Everything was a rush then. They were swarmed by the air ambulance crew and he and Hotch got pushed out as the first bag of blood was immediately set up and attached.

“How is he?” Reid demanded. “Harry?”

“Going to be fine, Spen.” Black replied calmly as he, once again, pulled his own oxygen mask down with a bloody hand. There was not a single hint in his voice that he was missing half of his ribcage and his organs, arguably the most important ones, were exposed.

“Keep that on.” The doctor snapped sternly, firmly pushing the oxygen mask back onto Black’s face…if looks could kill then the doctor would have dropped dead then and there. “OR is prepped and ready for our arrival.” The doctor told the team around him as they hurriedly moved the spinal board to the waiting helicopter.

“They’re taking him to the nearest trauma hospital.” JJ reported. “We can be there in twenty minutes, Spence.”

“Ten with me driving.” Derek said, already pulling the SUV keys from his pocket. “Come on, pretty boy, you’re with me. Did you call Kingsley?”

Spencer nodded, even as he looked frozen to the spot as Black was loaded quickly into the helicopter.

“Who is Kingsley?” Rossi asked, even as he approached Spencer with a gentle touch, moving him towards the cars.

“He’ll protect Harry.” Spencer said almost woodenly. “He’s the one who got the previous director of MI-7 thrown in prison when they tried to kill Harry. He’ll do the same again. He’s…he’s a Minister in Britain and he has authority over MI-7.”

Spencer was clutching Black’s go bag a little too tightly, as if it were his last link to his husband…as if Black had already died. He clumsily climbed into the SUV and Derek had to make sure the seatbelt was in place as Reid made no move to do it himself.

“How bad was it?” He asked as Derek got into the driver’s side, his arms clenching tighter around the massive pack that had even had Black’s blood bags inside it. “I know it must have been bad from how he sounded and he wouldn’t have wanted me to look.” He rambled.

“He cares about you, Reid.” Derek said as he peeled out of the dirt around the farmhouse and got back on the road.

“How bad was it?” Reid pressed.

“We’ll see when we get to the hospital.” Derek tried.

He heard Spencer swallow hard. “You’re covered in his blood, you know.”

Derek almost looked down, but the light grey shirt he’d chosen to wear was clearly going to be bloody because he’d held Black in his lap to keep that wound from the dirt.

“Then the air ambulance arrived and the crew told me they needed the blood from his go bag. They’d have only known about that if he’d mentioned it. I know it’s bad, Morgan, but how bad? Am I…? Is he going to…?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Reid.” Derek said, even as he kept his eyes on the road, sirens blaring, lights flashing, as he sped towards the hospital as fast as he dared.

“Is it a cut? A gunshot? Was he stabbed?”

“I don’t know that either. I don’t know what happened to him, Reid, he couldn’t say, but he’s lost a lot of blood. It was made worse because he had to hide himself from MI-7. We never saw any of them in the forest, except the one who was already dead.”

“You wouldn’t have seen them. Harry can climb a tree in three seconds and you’d never know he was there unless he wanted you to. We made it a game.” Spencer managed a small smile, but it fell into a grimace.

“Tell me about it.” Derek encouraged. Anything to keep Spencer from dwelling on what might be happening to his husband at that moment.

“I watched him climb that tree like it was a set of stairs. One moment he pulled himself up onto a branch and then he was gone. I knew which tree he was in, but I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t hear him. Nothing in that tree so much as rustled and I couldn’t see him at all. Next thing I know he’s dropping down right behind me, wrapping his arms around me and…” Spencer trailed off, his cheeks heating and Derek thought he definitely didn’t want to hear how that story had ended.

“None of us thought to look up or check the trees.” Derek admitted. “Do we need to keep protection on him while he’s at the hospital?”

“Kingsley will already be there when we arrive. They wouldn’t dare do anything while he’s overseeing everything. He might even take Harry into protective custody. We won’t be able to follow if that happens so…so I hope it doesn’t come to it, but if separation is the price I have to pay to keep Harry alive, I’ll agree to it.”

“Is that what Black meant when he said about letting Kingsley take him?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes. Harry and Kingsley have been through a lot together. He looks out for Harry and he tried to keep Harry out of MI-7, but he’s stubborn and…and when he wants to do something, it gets in his head and stays there until he does it, so Kingsley does what he can to protect Harry and they have access to the best technology and medical care in the world. But their medical facilities are kept secret, we won’t be allowed to follow. So, tell me truthfully, how bad was it?”

“He’s going to need that high-tech facility.” Derek said, sighing. “It was bad, Reid. He didn’t want you to see him so it didn’t get stuck in your head, but it was bad. I don’t know how he was still alive.”

“He always seems to survive the impossible.”

“He can certainly take a lot of pain. Anyone else and they’d have been unconscious.”

“Harry would have known that would be a death sentence and he has tricks to keep himself conscious in such situations. He knows how to survive.”

Derek couldn’t help thinking that someone that young shouldn’t have to know ‘tricks’ just to survive. This MI-7, an entirely secret section of a military intelligence organisation, clearly had a lot to answer for. Black had been just seventeen when they’d coerced him into becoming an agent, using his personal tragedy against him, and now they were purposefully trying to kill him off because he bucked orders that would have led to mass civilian losses.

It was in Derek’s mind that perhaps they had wanted to turn him into a serial killer. A sociopath who would follow orders and allow hundreds to be gunned down without sparing a thought for them. Someone they could give a target, send him in, and damn the consequences or the collateral damage linked to such work, but Harry Black had far too much empathy for that. He was not a sociopath, he wasn’t a serial killer, so now that MI-7 were done with him, and couldn’t use him anymore, they were getting rid of him.

They made it to the hospital and they were quick to park and enter, Spencer was still carrying the overlarge duffel bag. They found out where Black should have been taken, according to the nurse at the front desk, but when they arrived in the correct area, two doctors were standing around doing nothing and looking defeated along with one of the air ambulance paramedics they recognised, who was still covered in blood.

“He isn’t dead.” Reid immediately said to himself and Derek wrapped an arm around him, hoping that was true, but he’d seen the damage done. He had seen that terrible wound to the chest and he didn’t even know if that had been the only one or if there had been other wounds hidden.

“What’s happening?” Derek asked the waiting group. “Is Agent Black in surgery?”

“He never made it to surgery.”

Derek felt Spencer’s knees go and he had to turn to support him.

“No, my apologies.” The doctor said, seeing their reaction. “Are you…close to Agent Black?”

“This is his husband.” Derek chastised.

“He’s alive.” The doctor assured them quickly. “Or he was when we last saw him. Someone came in and just…took him. We told him that he couldn’t, that the patient needed immediate surgery, but he just took him.”

“A man named Kingsley?” Spencer demanded, finding his voice. “A tall, black man, he has a very deep, slow voice. A gold hoop in his ear?”

“That was him.” The doctor confirmed and Spencer sagged again, with relief this time. “That patient needed immediate help, I can’t speak for his condition now. We had everything prepped, I don’t understand why his superior would have risked moving him in such a condition when we were about to get him into surgery.”

“We’ll find out what’s happening, but Agent Black was being targeted and there’s a risk to keeping him in a public hospital.” Derek said. “We believe he’s been taken to a private facility where security will be much tighter for his protection.”

“They could have taken him after his surgery.” The doctor said. “The condition that boy was in, the amount of blood he’d lost, with such an injury, I fear he won’t survive. We were worried that he wouldn’t survive the trip to the hospital, let alone another delay to his treatment. It’s irresponsible.”

Derek walked Spencer away. Black didn’t want him to know about his injuries, it was best to leave it to Black to tell him himself, but Spencer had calmed down a little and he was walking without his support.

“Where do we go now?” Derek asked.

“We’ll have to clean up that farmhouse. We’ll have to explain why we came here, with no orders or an invitation in, and then we go back to Virginia and wait.”

“Leave the explanations to me.” Hotch said as he approached them. “How is Black?”

“He didn’t make it to surgery.” Spencer said, still clutching that ridiculously large bag. It must have been heavy, but Spencer refused to let anyone else touch it.

“He didn’t…?” JJ asked.

“He’s alive.” Derek said. “Kingsley took him the moment he entered the hospital. The doctors are angry, and think he won’t survive the journey to another hospital, but I get the feeling there’s something else at work here. There’s no way Black could have survived that serious an injury for hours, yet he did. What can you say about it, Reid?”

“Nothing.” Spencer said softly. “I can’t say anything.”

“More MI-7 technology at work?” Derek prodded.

“Yes.” Spencer confirmed.

“If it keeps him alive, maybe he wouldn’t mind sharing some of that fancy tech with us.” Derek said.

Spencer managed a small smile, which was a win in Derek’s book.

“Where do we go from here?” Emily asked.

“We have to face the bureaucrats about why we rushed to this scene without being invited in. What about the farmhouse scene?”

“The locals took over.” Rossi said. “When they went back for the body of Lestrange and the MI-7 agent, they were both missing. I smell a cover-up coming.”

“We head back to Virginia. Reid, Black would know to find us there?”

Spencer nodded. “He’d expect us to do that. He’ll get in contact when he can.”

“And if he can’t?” JJ asked gently.

“Kingsley will.” Spencer said, a slight waver in his voice.

“Back to face the music, as they say.” Rossi said.

Derek stayed close to Reid as they went back for the SUVs. Spencer refused to even put his husband’s go bag down, it stayed in his arms the entire time they travelled back to Virginia.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry woke up feeling like he’d been transfigured into a tennis ball and then given to a dog to tear apart. Every inch of his body felt like his nerve endings were on fire. Every part of him ached and tingled painfully.

“Harry?”

Harry peeled his eyes open a fraction to squint at the person beside him.

“Ah, you are awake. I can never be sure with you. You do everything too quietly.”

“King…Spen?”

“Spencer is fine. Likely worrying about you, but he’s back in Virginia.” Kinglsey assured him and something hard and painful in Harry’s chest eased. “You’re all healed up, though how you got into that state…we couldn’t identify the curse used.”

“Never heard of it before.” Harry informed. “Sectio. Was like a giant, clawed hand tore away my side.”

“We checked the wounds and it looks to us like the curse was supposed to include your organs as well.” Kingsley told him.

“Fucking Death Eaters. Has there been any information on the Carrows?”

“Merlin, Harry, you’re in a hospital bed after having had half your ribcage regrown and your flesh healed. Take some time to just rest.”

“I can’t. Not while they’re still out there, Kingsley. You know I can’t let this go.”

Kingsley let out a heavy sigh. “There’s been some chatter.” Kingsley confessed, but placing a hand over Harry’s freshly healed chest and keeping him lying down. “Nothing that can be used, so stay still, but we do have confirmation that they’re hiding in the woodwork. It seems they were in contact with Lestrange and they poked their heads up in panic when he was killed.”

“Last fuckers standing.” Harry said, managing a pained grin. “If I can get them…”

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re fully healed, the mess that Lestrange left behind is properly dealt with, and you’ve gone home to comfort your poor husband.”

“Has he been in contact?”

“Almost constantly, Harry. It’s been five days and he’s frantic.”

“Damn. Didn’t expect it to take this long.”

“You were in a very bad way. You know you had woodlice inside your body?”

“Gross. The healers had better of gotten them all.”

Kingsley chuckled. “We almost lost you this time, Harry.”

“MI-7 put a hit on me.”

“Spencer told me.” Kingsley said. “I’ve taken care of that and Director Brooks was pushed to stand down, at which point he was arrested. He’s facing trial for treason. Do you remember Felicity Waters? She’s the new director of MI-7.”

“I liked her.”

“Well, she likes ‘The Commander’ because I’ve told her to. There will be no more hits put out on The Commander and I’ve made sure they’ve added a substantial sum to your retirement severance package for the attempt and the unnecessary danger they put you in on this mission. I can’t believe they cut your emergency link to the Aurors! They had no right when I was the one who gave you that backup.”

“Got the one who answered the call too?” Harry asked.

“Yes, an Agent Simson was also fired over this. Rest assured, I removed everyone involved in that hit on you, Harry. You’re safe from them now and if you need any help taking out the Carrows, call me next time and not your husband. We had to steal Lestrange’s body from them for the confirmation.”

Harry laughed, the sound sticking in his dry throat, but it was sinking in…Lestrange was dead and only the Carrow siblings remained. Alecto and Amycus and they had finally poked their heads out of the hole they’d been hiding in since the end of the war. They had been in contact with Lestrange. Had they known that the three of them were the only Death Eaters left? Could they feel each other when they pressed their wands to their Dark Marks? He didn’t know, but he hoped that Alecto and Amycus knew that they were the last ones. He hoped that they were running shit scared from him, terrified that he could show up at any moment to take them out of existence.

They were the last ones and, once he’d taken them out, he felt that his life could truly start. He’d been held back, weighed down after the war by the surviving Death Eaters. They had been a noose around his neck for too long, dragging him down and dragging on the war despite Voldemort’s death and that they had lost. It was time to end it…for good.

“When can I be released?”

Kingsley sighed heavily, giving him a sad look. “You’ve just woken up, Harry. The healers had to keep switching just to keep you alive when you were first brought in. It took twenty-seven of them nineteen hours of constant healing and five of them are now recovering from magical exhaustion…as you were when you arrived. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Harry admitted. “But now that I’m awake, I just want Spencer.”

“I can go and get him if…”

Harry shook his head and Kingsley trailed off. “He’s part of a close-knit team. They would want to come too and we haven’t told them about magic.”

“I can get Spencer on his own.” Kingsley assured him.

Harry snorted a laugh. “They’d panic if he just disappeared, Kingsley.” Harry said, thinking about Agent Derek Morgan, who had a protective streak a mile wide. “It’s better if I go to them. I’m healed?”

“Healing.” Kingsley corrected. “You need to keep taking potions to heal the rest and your side is going to be tender for a while longer as that heals up.”

Harry forced himself to sit up, despite how stiff and achy he felt. He pulled the hospital gown he was wearing down from his neck, over his one arm, and he looked at the side that had been nothing but exposed organs. The area was very red, as if he had sunburn, and the skin tingled unpleasantly. He pressed, just a little, and the pain made him clench his teeth together. Even the bones underneath the skin protested, like sharp splinters…he, of course, recognised the effects of taking skele-gro.

“It took three doses to regrow your ribcage.” Kingsley informed him, guessing correctly where his mind had gone.

“No wonder my throat feels burnt raw.” Harry complained.

“You’re alive, Harry, and, after what you endured, that’s a miracle.”

Harry agreed with that. He remembered the struggle to keep moving after the adrenaline had crashed, after he’d killed Lestrange and the pain had started registering in his mind.

He’d been trying to make it back to his go bag, which had his medical kit containing potions and blood bags that he could have charmed into his body so that he could hang on for a little longer, but the torment of moving, of crawling through that forest that had been bustling with people he didn’t know were friend or foe…when he’d collapsed and couldn’t get himself back up, he’d painfully pulled himself into the bushes at the bottom of a cluster of elm trees edged with white yarrow to hide from the people hunting him down, thinking that he could have just a little rest, to regain a little energy to keep moving, but he hadn’t been able to move again after that. He’d been gasping for breath, trying to keep himself conscious by pinching himself, digging his nails into his wrist, into his earlobe, his lip. He’d been berating himself for just lying there, he’d known it could cost him his life if he stayed there, and he still couldn’t get himself moving.

His magic had started protesting the constant bubble charm that was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out and he’d known if he’d lost consciousness, and that bubble charm had faltered, he would have died in that bush. When he heard Derek Morgan’s voice, recognised it…it had been so overwhelming he had almost cried, the tears prickling the backs of his eyes. It had been hearing Spencer’s distress over the radio that had finally forced him to move…to somehow find the will and the energy to speak through his exhaustion and dry mouth. He couldn’t do that to Spencer. He wouldn’t let his husband stay in such a state, so he had forced himself to call out with the last of his stubborn will. He’d been found by the right people. Spencer had called Kingsley, who had been waiting for him as Harry had entered the hospital, and he had then been taken, via portkey, straight to Saint Mungo’s hospital for healing. He was alive. By some miracle, he’d survived the horror he’d been put through.

“I need Spencer…it’s not just being forced apart from him, Kingsley. I need some comfort after this, and I’m sure he needs that too.”

“I’ll check with the healers. Everything’s on the right track, you just need to keep taking the potions, but it’s your exhaustion, Harry. You know it’s dangerous. You need to let yourself rest and I’ll be telling that to your husband too!”

Harry snorted a laugh and shook his head. The next few weeks were going to be utterly miserable. After what Harry had recently put Spencer through while on medical leave...not letting him get up, keeping his coffee away from him, forcing him to rest and running around to get him anything he wanted so that Spencer wouldn’t move. Payback was a bitch and Spencer was going to relish forcing Harry to rest and stay still. Harry was almost looking forward to it. Almost.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- X

The healers hadn’t wanted to let Harry leave in such a condition and they had stressed just how dangerous magical exhaustion was, but Harry had still left the hospital. He was so tired he felt as if he could just sleep forever and, maybe, once he was back in Spencer’s arms, he would do just that.

Walking was painful, his knees trembled to keep him upright, and he had little magic to speak of. He couldn’t even apparate himself home, Kingsley had had to take him via side-apparation. Their Virginia home was empty…Spencer had gone to work to keep himself, and that wonderful brain of his, busy. Harry couldn’t blame him for that. He was actually grateful that Spencer would be around other people, his team, who Harry knew would worry about and look out for Spencer when he wasn’t there to do it himself.

He took a taxi to Quantico. The stringent security checks were annoying, but Harry had full clearance thanks to the specialised work he did around the world and citing the Wyoming case as his reason for being there worked like a charm. He had a little visitor’s card clipped to his shirt as he took the lift to level four, where the BAU was situated, and before he’d even walked through the door to their bullpen, he heard the team he was looking for before he saw them.

“…just saying I think you should be at home, Reid.” Morgan was saying with gentle concern. Harry knew that the only thing those words would do was rile Spencer up more.

“No! I need to do something, I can’t sit at home, waiting, it’ll drive me mad.” Spencer snapped back.

“Alright, but I don’t think you should be working.”

That was the wrong thing to say again and Harry grimaced.

“I can do my damn job!” Spencer argued, his defences raised as he took that comment to mean he was incapable of doing something and not that these people around him were concerned for him.

“Have you heard anything from Kingsley?” JJ’s voice asked, using the tried and tested tactic of changing the subject, but the subject chosen was probably not the best given Spencer’s frayed nerves. In their position, Harry would have definitely changed the subject to something work related.

“Only that Harry is alive. I’ve asked to go and see him, but…”

“They won’t let you.” Morgan finished.

“Probably for the best.” Harry said, walking through the door and interrupting them. “There’s no way you’d have let me spring myself from the hospital so early and I’d still be there.”

Spencer spun so quickly that Harry was afraid he’d hurt himself. The next moment and Harry was safely in the comfort of his husband’s arms. He clenched his teeth through the pain of having his still-healing side pressed on so tightly, even as he absorbed the wonderful feeling of being held by his tall, slender husband.

“It’s been six days. There’s no way you should be out of a hospital.” Derek told him, a touch sternly.

“No, they wanted me to stay, but they wouldn’t let Spencer in and refused to budge on the rules, so I left, against medical advice, of course.” Harry said from where he was squashed up against Spencer’s chest.

“Need us to book you into a hospital that will let us visit?” Derek said, only partly teasing.

“No. I’m healed, I just need time and rest.”

“There’s no way that chest wound is healed. Let me see it.”

“I’m not stripping off for you, and in front of my husband too.” Harry teased.

Spencer still hadn’t said anything, he just kept hold of him, squeezing a little too tight.

“Ease up a bit, Reid, you’re holding him over that wound.” Derek pointed out.

That did have Spencer dropping his arms immediately, but Harry clung onto him to keep him in place.

“It’s just sore.” Harry said. “It was only the left side that was affected, you can hold the right, Spen.”

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Agent Rossi was on the second level of the room, looking over them.

“I thought I’d come in an official capacity and explain what happened with the Wyoming case.”

“By all means, we’d love to hear it.” Rossi said, waving a hand to the second level and a room at the end that would offer them all the privacy they’d need. That was wonderful given that Harry couldn’t maintain any spells and the healers didn’t want him casting any magic at all. Which meant he couldn’t cast any privacy wards.

It took a few minutes for them all to relocate and for those missing to be called, and the bubbly, very kind, Penelope Garcia was the last to arrive in the room on her heels.

“Oh, we thought you were dead.” She greeted, which made Harry cock an eyebrow. “No, I mean, I tried looking for you, and I couldn’t find out where you’d been transferred, and I couldn’t find any folders on the Wyoming case or even anyone named Lestrange and…”

“Garcia.” Hotch interrupted, making a hand gesture for her to sit.

She sat immediately. “I’m very glad that you’re alive.” She told him.

“Thanks, I am too.” Harry said. “Officially, those hospitals don’t exist, like I and the job I do don’t exist. It took an army of twenty-seven medical professionals and about four hundred and sixty million dollars to heal me up, so you can understand why it’s not suitable for the general populace.” He lied. It had taken twenty-seven healers to treat and then look after him for the six days he’d been in the hospital, but it hadn’t cost him anything, but that lie helped when he was supposed to have been treated in America. No one but Spencer knew he’d been in Britain.

“How is that wound now?” Rossi asked.

Harry sighed, then stood with help from the table. Spencer’s hand found his lower back for added support. Harry pulled up his shirt to show the red, tender, newly grown skin.

“No way.” Derek said, reaching out as if he’d touch, but he stopped himself. “I saw that wound! I saw your organs! There’s no way this was done in six days.”

“It was done immediately, the same day I was admitted to the facility. I’ve been unconscious for five days and I was let out this morning after I woke yesterday…well, I let myself out as they didn’t want me to leave. But the skin is the last to regrow. It’s sore and prickly, itchy as hell, and the bone underneath is sore too, but the process will be completed in another couple of days. The exhaustion might take a little longer to get over, but this will all be a bad memory soon enough.”

“There’s actual bone under it?” Derek demanded. “Black, I saw your organs! I saw that your ribs had been torn away…how is that even possible?”

“The technology used, to my limited understanding of it, causes incredibly rapid regeneration. They made sure that the organs were undamaged, that everything not meant to be inside my body was removed, then regrew the bones, then the tissue, then finally the skin, all in several hours.”

“Everything not meant to be in your body?” Spencer repeated. “What was inside you that wasn’t meant to be?”

“Leaves, dirt, a small twig and several woodlice.” Harry said, smirking as everyone but the stoic Hotch grimaced.

“I can’t believe that sort of technology exists.” Derek said, still staring at the red skin that, the last he’d seen, had been a gaping hole that had exposed his left lung and the lower part of his heart. Harry dropped his shirt and sat back down.

“It’s so expensive to run it’s almost not even worth it, but they use us as guinea pigs almost, to test out new machines and such. There’s even a rumour that one of my ghost unit had their entire leg regrown, but they died on their next mission so I never got to question them.”

“Was it the other ghosts they sent after you in that forest?” Spencer asked, his tone dark.

“No. They’d know better. I trained them, they know they can’t beat me. It was a specialised MI-7 taskforce who were trained to do everything together so they learn to rely on one another. They’ll probably hold a grudge against me for the death of one of their team, but they’re nowhere near good enough to take me out, let alone Lestrange.”

“It was Lestrange who took out the agent, then?” Emily asked.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “I was tracking Lestrange and I heard the confrontation and I snuck over to where they were. Lestrange thought the agent was me as we were dressed the same and he killed him, I hid and waited for my shot and then killed Lestrange.”

“How did you get the injury?” Hotch asked him.

“Lestrange blew the farmhouse…I was way too close to it.” Harry said.

“We thought that maybe you had blown it up.” Spencer told him.

“To take out the thugs?” Harry asked, then smiled when Spencer nodded. “No. I was always going to do as you’d asked, love. Kill Lestrange and then get out. I acted first, to keep them as contained as I could. At that point, I still thought their plan was to head to the towns and take out soft targets, so I acted accordingly and I started picking off the stragglers, but that eventually alerted them to me being there once they started finding the bodies. I got my initial assessment wrong. I was always the target, not civilians. Once they knew I was there, Lestrange blew the farmhouse and then came for me. I went straight for the nearest cover, which was the forest. I was injured, not just my chest, but the explosion caused unseen head trauma too. Concussion, a slow brain bleed, and oscillopsia, which caused severe vertigo. It also blew out my eardrums and caused plenty of soft tissue damage.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to carry on in that condition.” Rossi told him.

Harry shook his head. “Put it all in a box and carry on, that’s what we’re trained to do. To complete the mission whatever the cost. Don’t acknowledge the pain, don’t stop moving, keep the focus entirely on the target until they’re eliminated. It was almost primal instinct for me to fall back on what I’d been trained to do. To use little tricks I’d picked up to keep myself conscious, even when everything was so overwhelming and I knew I was dying.”

Spencer’s hand spasmed on his back and Harry moved a hand to pet at his husband’s thigh under the table.

“I was, Spencer, I’m sorry. When Agent Morgan found me…I was at the point where I could no longer force myself to move and I was only conscious because I was constantly pinching my earlobe. I was trying to get to my go bag, for the medical supplies, but it was too far a distance. Going into that forest was never in my plans, neither was chasing after Lestrange as he went deeper and deeper in, so the go bag was too far away to be of help.”

“I told you to keep a smaller medical kit in one of your damn pockets. What use is having pants made of pockets if you don’t even use half of them?!” Spencer told him.

Harry smiled and moved to rest his forehead on Spencer’s arm.

“I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”

A hand reached up to stroke through the hair at the back of his head and Harry relaxed into it.

“What happened to the bodies of Lestrange and the MI-7 agent?” Hotch asked him.

“MI-7 stole them.” Harry reported. “Lestrange needed to be confirmed as a Death Eater target and MI-7 was never supposed to have been there, so they took the agent’s body to cover up that they’d tried to send a hit team after me. Lestrange has since been confirmed as a Death Eater target and his name was crossed off my official list.”

“You mentioned the Carrows when you were on the line to MI-7.” Hotch said next.

“My final targets.” Harry nodded. “Now confirmed as they’d been in contact with Lestrange and the moment he died, they panicked and made the mistake of peeking out of the woodwork just enough for us to confirm it was them. MI-7 will have to eat their fucking mistakes, but I always knew they were merely in a hole and would emerge eventually and now they have.”

“You’re not on call.” Spencer said so firmly his team blinked at him in shock. “Tell me that you’re not on call right now.”

“I’m on call, Spencer.” Harry said gently. “I’m always on call, you know that, and now that the Carrows have made themselves known, if we get a location, I have to…”

“No, absolutely not!” Spencer snapped at him. “You need to rest and what about your psych eval for the Lestrange mission? What about medical leave?”

“MI-7 have deemed me not injured enough to need any more medical leave, the six days I’ve taken so far are all I’m being granted, and only then because I was actually unconscious. My psych eval will come in the next few days, I haven’t been given a date yet, but I am still officially on call.”

“What happened to the delightful Director Brooks?” Rossi asked him, breaking into what could easily spiral into a marital spat.

Harry gave a nasty, evil little smirk. “Oh, the delightful Director Brooks was made to admit everything he’d done, including setting me up to die and then sending a hit team after me, a team that were in the same location as Lestrange before I was, I’d like to add, and he was forced to step down and he’s now facing trial for treason. You’ll see that on the news once the verdict is released, but it’ll be reported that he was the head of an unnamed department of JIC, the Joint Intelligence Committee, and that he’s being jailed for crimes against his country, not me personally.”

“The sociopathic agent who took such joy in delivering your death sentence?” Derek asked.

“Agent Simson was fired, though spared prison because he was ‘just following orders’, but he’s lost all benefits, including his considerable pension. I was given a very healthy boost to my retirement nest egg, though. For the inconvenience of having my own agency trying to kill me off.”

“Conditional on you taking out the Carrows, I assume?” Rossi asked him.

Harry nodded.

“How many Carrows are there?” Derek asked then.

“Two, but, and this is the best part, all our information at the moment says they’re not working with anyone. It’s just them, alone, terrified of me, and hiding, not planning anything. Their panic after Lestrange was killed clearly shows that they hoped, desperately, that he would kill me off so they wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“That could make them more dangerous.” Hotch cautioned.

Harry nodded. “I know, but it was Lestrange I was most worried about. Out of those who survived and escaped prison after the war, it was Lestrange who was the most dangerous, who had the highest chance of killing me, and he almost did, but after him, the Carrows are going to be easy for me. I just need a location, some decent information on their movements so I can follow their tracks, anything, but we haven’t got that much to go on yet.”

“Don’t be complacent.” Spencer chastised him. “You take the unsubs as seriously as you took Lestrange.”

Harry had to smile at his husband. “I will.” He promised. “I’m just saying that the Carrows are not on the same level as Lestrange was.”

“Underestimation will get you killed, Harry.”

“I know that from experience, Spen. How many times was I underestimated during the war because I was a short, skinny kid and they thought they’d have me beat just because of that? I’m the one still alive and I’m not going to drop the ball now that it’s come down to me against the two remaining Death Eaters. They’re running scared. They’re hiding because they know what’s coming, and their best chance of survival was Lestrange, and now he’s dead.”

Harry’s phone rang and Spencer looked horrified.

“You can’t even stand up, Harry!” He complained, even as Harry took the phone from his pocket and answered it.

“What happened, Kingsley?” He asked calmly.

‘More chatter on the Carrows.’ Kingsley told him in hushed, clipped tones that likely meant he was with company and didn’t want them to know they were on such friendly terms as no one knew that The Commander was Harry Potter.

“A location?” Harry asked, ignoring how tense Spencer went beside him. Harry petted at his husband’s thigh a little. It was doubtful he was being called in. It usually wasn’t a phone call but a message through his coin with coordinates so that he could move as soon as possible.

‘No. You are going to have to sift through this new information, though. It might give you some inkling as to what they might be up to.’

“Will do. Is it just chatter for now or interception work?”

‘Mostly chatter and one intercepted message heading to their ancestral house.’

“Any idea what country that was sent from?”

‘No. It was intercepted in our country, but Hestia and Flora Carrow were interviewed over it and, as of an hour ago, we’re certain they’re not involved and I’m personally convinced that they don’t want to be involved. It looks like the Carrows are running scared and they’re looking to their last remaining family for help.’

“That’s a good thing.” Harry pointed out. “Running scared, cut off from every avenue of help…”

‘Decipher the chatter and then see if it gives you a location, Commander.’ Kingsley said more sternly than he would have if he were alone and using Harry’s real name.

“I’m on it.” Harry replied. “Commander out.”

Harry cut the call and Spencer was almost glaring at him.

“You’re not going anywhere. I don’t care if I have to argue with the entire of MI-7…”

“The only place I’m going, love, is home.” Harry said gently, easing Spencer down. “There’s no location, just a lot of information for me to go through and I can do that at home. The Carrows are so panicked they’re making stupid mistakes and we’re picking up on all of them, but there’s nothing I can go off of yet. I can rest for a bit longer, love.”

Spencer let out a shuddering breath and Harry watched him slowly relax.

“Reid, you’ve got some vacation time to use, go home with Agent Black.” Hotch ordered. “Make sure he does actually make it home and that he rests for a while.”

Harry stood again with the help of the table. Spencer immediately stood with him, wrapping an arm around him.

“Are you allowed to eat?” Spencer asked him.

“Yes. No alcohol, not that I drink anyway, and I have to do deep breathing exercises for my lung and the new bones over it. That’s painful. All my medication is waiting at home too.”

“Are you in much pain?” Spencer asked him.

“I’m still under the effects of what they gave me before I left the hospital. But I didn’t bring any painkillers home. You know how sadistic MI-7 are, Spen. They’d rather I stay in pain to learn how to cope with it than give me enough painkillers. I can manage, I just want the itching to stop, it’s so distracting trying not to scratch at the new skin.”

“Are you not allowed to scratch it?” Penelope asked worriedly.

Harry looked at her and then shook his head. “No, because it’s brand new skin it’s very delicate. If I scratch it too much it might tear. The last thing I want is an infection or something. No extreme temperatures either, so no heat packs or ice packs. I’ll just get through it. It’ll be a few more days, I was told. I can put up with it for a few days.”

“You’re going to bed.” Spencer told him sternly.

Harry gave him a wide smirk. “Only if you come with me.”

“Oh, please, spare us the details.” Derek said, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

Harry laughed, but it was only teasing. He was absolutely not up for anything that strenuous, which was a shame as it wasn’t often that he or Spencer got time off from work, especially not together. Maybe if he was feeling better in a few days and Spencer took a few of those days off from work, they’d have time to themselves and time together to reconnect as a couple. He’d like that.

Harry had to be supported out of the building in the end and they took a taxi home. Harry was drifting on Spencer’s shoulder as his husband held him tightly so that he didn’t accidentally jar his body. He was exhausted still and, honestly, going to bed for boring reasons was likely exactly what he would end up doing. He was too injured, too tired, and he let Spencer fuss over him and then, once they were home, he happily got changed with Spencer’s help and then got into their bed.

Spencer fussed over him some more.

“Do you need any potions?” Spencer asked him.

“Not just yet. The next one is due in three hours. I think I will sleep for a while, do you want to join me? I know you couldn’t have been sleeping well while I was in Saint Mungo’s.” He said understandingly.

“It was almost impossible. I was just sat awake by the phone waiting for calls.” Spencer admitted.

“I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know I’d be unconscious for so long, but the healers said I pushed it off for so long and that my body made me pay for it and it did.”

“I’m just so glad that you’re alive, Harry.” Spencer told him. “I’m glad that you’re healed and back here with me.”

Harry gave him a gentle smile and then patted Spencer’s side of the bed next to him.

His husband rolled his eyes, but he smiled too and he did take off his rumpled work clothes, got into his pyjamas, and then joined him in their bed.

They came together gently, the both of them very aware of Harry’s still healing side, but they wrapped their arms around one another and they just absorbed the peace and the joy of the both of them being alive and together and able to hold one another again.

The Wyoming case had been terrible for them both, but it was over now. Lestrange was dead and Harry wasn’t. Sometimes, that was all that mattered.

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Harry was fully healed in three more days and he delighted in being able to scratch at the new skin, just to get the niggle out of his brain as his perfectly normal skin was no longer itchy. The bones underneath were strong and no longer felt like giant splinters, and breathing in deeply didn’t cause him any pain or discomfort.

He’d gone for the mandatory psych evaluation and he’d been sent away just as quickly with a confirmation of no psychological abnormalities. He still wasn’t showing any signs of being a serial killer or sociopath, he still had his empathy and Harry didn’t see it going anywhere ever.

He was still on call and scouring the Earth for the Carrows, following whatever information he could dig out from the useless chatter he was now receiving daily. They’d gotten a marker from the letter they’d sent to their ancestral home via owl. It was weak, barely there, but Harry was used to following less, and he’d immediately latched onto it when he’d been given the letter, which was a coded, desperate plea for help that Harry had deciphered. Amycus and Alecto wanted their nieces, Hestia and Flora, to hide them within the Carrow Manor. A request that the young women had denied when they’d told Kingsley all they knew about their aunt and uncle. Harry was less interested in that and more interested in the faint magical marker he could feel on the parchment. It was time to start hunting. The sooner he found and eliminated them, then the sooner he could finally start living. Truly living, as he deserved for all the sacrifices he’d made throughout his life.

He had a starting point, a maybe location for the Carrows, though nothing solid. It was barely a whisper, a possible sighting of Amycus, though Harry didn’t believe it would pan out, as he would assume they were both under disguising charms or even Polyjuice potion if they could get their hands on it. It was unlikely that they’d be running around with their actual features when they knew he was hunting them down. But it was finally something and he was healed enough that he could go and look into it.

He changed into his ‘uniform’ and gathered what he needed and shouldered the bulky go bag…Spencer had sat and watched him as he made up a smaller medical kit that was designed to be taken from the go bag and slipped into his pocket if he had to leave the go bag anywhere. As he had when he’d been chasing Lestrange. A few healing potions and some blood replenishers might have been the difference between his six-day hospital stay and just staying for a day to get himself healed up.

Picking up his ‘forbidden’ mobile phone, Harry called Spencer, who was on a case in Texas.

‘Harry, are you okay?’ Was how Spencer chose to answer the call. The call was distorted a little…he was on speaker, likely from the last call they’d received which was probably from Penelope Garcia.

“You are wound up far too tight, love. How many coffees have you had in the last twenty-four hours and how much sugar was in each of them?” He asked.

He heard a chuckle and he rolled his eyes.

“If Agent Morgan is hanging over your back, you have my encouragement to elbow him in the gut, Spen.” Harry said teasingly.

‘Hey, I’m not hanging over your husband.’ Derek Morgan protested. ‘You’re just on speaker.’

‘I can take you off speaker if you need me too.’ Spencer assured him.

“Is it just your team on the line?” Harry asked.

‘Yes, just them. We’re in a conference room going through information, so no one will overhear.’

“I’m sorry I interrupted your case, but I’ve just received a lead and I’m heading to Egypt.”

‘You picked up your go bag?’ Spencer asked in a very cutesy, domestic way.

“Got everything, love. This is just a recon mission, the information I’m going on is rather weak, so it might end up being nothing, but I can’t ignore any sort of lead when the information is drying up and it looks like they’re planning to go back into hiding. I can’t afford to let them do that. I have to keep chasing them to keep them on the move.”

‘Please be safe.’ Spencer begged him, sounding embarrassed, which made the fact he’d said it at all all the more precious.

“I will, love. Better than I did on the last mission. I’ve got more medical supplies and I’ve got the emergency pack we made up in one of my pockets. Kingsley also made sure I have an extra special emergency outlet if I need it, after what MI-7 did to me on the last mission, just in case.”

That was an emergency portkey that would take him directly to Kingsley’s house, no matter where he was in the world. It wasn’t technically legal, but neither was Harry’s current job. As Minister for Magic, Kingsley had bent the law a little to allow Harry to have the very powerful portkey, but if he was as injured as he was on his last mission, it could be the difference between living and dying.

‘If you need us, call us.’ Derek told him.

“Of course.” Harry said. “I’m not so stubborn that I’ll refuse to accept help. I’ll keep in touch as much as I can, Spencer.”

‘I’ll text you if anything happens.’ Spencer assured him.

“I love you. No more coffee.” He added, lightening the mood again.

‘I haven’t had that much.’ Spencer said, but Harry knew he’d probably had at least a dozen in the last twenty-four hours just from his mannerism.

“I mean it, no more coffee. Just because you don’t believe you haven’t had that much doesn’t mean your body agrees with that assessment.”

‘Love you.’ Spencer said more quietly and Harry smiled automatically at the behaviour of his sweet, shy husband.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

The call was disconnected as both of them got back to work. Harry took a moment to compose himself and then he was apparating away from his home in Virginia and heading for Aswan, Egypt, where, allegedly, there had been a sighting of Amycus Carrow. He would need to investigate to find out if that was true or not. It was time for him to eliminate the Death Eaters for good. It was him against the Carrows and he wasn’t going to allow them to get away from him.

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