All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

The War : The Raid

I can’t seem to face up to the facts

I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax

I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire

Don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire

Pyscho Killer

Qu’est-ce que c’est

Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better

Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away

 

Tuesday 20th March 1979

Solomon Locke was missing.

He had disappeared over the weekend, while on a mission for the Order. Sirius had no idea who Solomon Locke even was, but apparently he was largely responsible for intelligence-gathering operations. Sirius was surprised to learn that he’d been working quite closely with Dorcas Meadowes – her friendly, unobtrusive nature and pureblood pedigree allowed her to blend in well amongst crowds that the Order suspected might be sympathetic to Voldemort’s cause. But Sirius lacked the subtlety for those types of missions, and as a result he had never spoken to Locke in his life; he had only ever seen the man in passing a handful of times at Order meetings.

Now, though, Moody had called for all hands on deck.

“Locke has access to critical Order intelligence,” the gruff Auror told them, eye swivelling to survey the group as he spoke. “If the death eaters manage to crack him, our entire operation could be compromised – safehouse location, member identities, supply stores…”

Sirius looked around at the team Moody had gathered as he continued to speak. Frank and Alice, Dorcas and Emmeline, the Prewett twins, Caradoc Dearborn, himself, and James. And Moody, of course—all members who had already been sent on raids for the Order; all members who had already seen combat. Though as Sirius thought back on the handful of skirmishes he and James had been caught up in over the past few months, he couldn’t help but feel out of his depth. Those had mostly been small-scale duels, fending off one or two death eaters on guard duty or casting curses over their shoulders as they sped away from raids. The mission tonight was something entirely different.

“They don’t know that we know about their little prison,” Moody growled, “Since, of course, the Malfoys have been keeping their association with Voldemort under wraps.”

There was a collective flinch as he spoke the name—even Sirius winced.

“But we have it on good intelligence that they’ve been keeping a handful of prisoners in the basement of the family’s estate. They won’t be expecting us to attack the house of a well-known politician, and that’s what we’re relying on—we take them by surprise, get in and get out quick.”

He turned to James, Sirius, the Prewetts, Emmeline, Alice and Frank. “Your job is to take care of anyone they have guarding the estate. Make sure the path is clear for our strike force—me, Dearborn, Meadowes. We need to get into that basement, retrieve Locke, and get out before they can call for reinforcements. Going in, we’ll have the numbers on our side—cut off their lines of communication and don’t let anyone slip away. The second they come back with more death eaters, we pull out and the mission is over.”