River Thames
London
Rain fell softly over London, light enough to be ignored yet persistent enough to shape the rhythm of the city. The streets glistened beneath the gray sky as cars moved steadily through traffic, their tires hissing against wet asphalt. Pedestrians hurried along the pavements, coats pulled close, umbrellas blooming like dark flowers along the road.
Near the embankment, a black car slowed before coming to a stop. Its engine idled briefly, then went silent. The door opened, and Olivia stepped out onto the pavement. She was dressed neatly, conservatively, in a manner that suited both her position and her temperament. From the car she retrieved her umbrella and opened it with a practiced motion, shielding herself from the fine rain as she turned toward the river.
The Thames stretched before her, broad and dark, its surface broken by ripples that reflected the muted glow of the city lights. Bridges arched over it with the calm confidence of structures that had outlived generations. The river had seen empires rise and fall, secrets told and buried, lives altered and ended, all without ever slowing its course.
As Olivia walked closer to the water, she noticed a lone figure standing near the railing. He was tall, dressed entirely in black, his posture straight and unyielding. A black umbrella was held above him, angled just enough to keep the rain from touching his shoulders. He stood still, his attention fixed on the water below. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his lips.
Olivia approached him without hesitation. When she reached his side, she stopped at a respectful distance and inclined her head slightly.
"It is good to see you healthy, sir," she said, her tone formal and with respect.
The man turned his head just enough to acknowledge her presence. He removed the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers, a thin trail of smoke rising and dissolving into the damp air. His expression was calm, almost amused, as he looked at her.
"It is beautiful weather today," he replied evenly. "Of course I am healthy, Madam Brooks."
His gaze returned to the river, and he placed the cigarette back between his lips. For some time , neither of them spoke. The rain continued its quiet descent, and the city carried on behind them.
"I had a meeting today with the Director General of MI5," he continued, his voice steady and unhurried. "They are restless. They suspect a structure exists. They don't yet know its shape, and if it were not for Her Majesty, they would have formally requested information about us. About our missions. They do not like that another organization operates independently, responsible only to the Crown and not to the government."
As he spoke, Olivia glanced behind her. Across the river stood Thames House, imposing and watchful, its presence impossible to ignore. The headquarters of the MI5 seemed to loom larger in moments like these. She turned her attention back to the man beside her.
"Well, sir," she said coolly, "I believe they may already be aware of some of our handlers. I caught one of their agents getting too close to my daughter. It appears they know about my affiliation with the organization. Still, I do not believe they will actively pressure us into cooperation, at least not openly."
The man exhaled smoke slowly before responding.
"I have heard similar reports from other handlers," he said. "Especially in recent years. The magical world has become more active in our affairs, and the recent kidnapping incidents have only worsened the situation. The intelligence agencies want to know more than they already do, and they will not stop probing simply because they are told to."
Olivia's eyes drifted back to the river as she considered his words.
"Could we not use our OCAs," she asked, her voice measured, "to erase any evidence or information about our organization from MI6 and MI5 databases? It would not take more than a day."
The man laughed softly, a sound almost lost beneath the rain. He turned fully toward her this time, studying her face with something resembling fondness.
"You are still impulsive at times," he said, "just as you were when you were a little girl, Olivia."
He used her name deliberately, discarding the formal title he had addressed her with moments earlier. Olivia looked away, focusing on the river. A faint redness touched her cheeks, subtle but unmistakable.
"It is a good suggestion," he continued, "but not now. The situation is not yet dire enough to justify such measures. If they cross the line, then perhaps. Our OCAs can always work their particular brand of magic. Still, Her Majesty would never allow our organization to fall under MI5 leadership. That would open the door to truths that must remain closed, especially concerning the existence of the magical world."
Olivia nodded slowly. She understood the implications all too well.
They stood in silence for a time, watching the river flow beneath the bridges. The city seemed distant, muffled by rain and thought alike. Eventually, the man spoke again.
"Tell me about the progress of your mission," he said. "And what of your OCA? Is he assimilating well?"
Her tone softened when she answered, though her posture remained disciplined.
"He has secured a position as a professor at Hogwarts," she said. "He has already met with Albus Dumbledore. At the beginning of next month, he will formally assume his role. After that, the mission will enter its next phase."
The man nodded, a hint of satisfaction crossing his features.
"Good," he said. "Very good. I expected no less from him. After all, he carries her blood. This much should be easy for him."
At those words, something in Olivia's expression tightened. Her face twisted briefly with emotion that was difficult to name. The man did not see it, or chose not to.
"Other handlers have reported similar success," he continued. "Their OCAs have assumed their assigned roles and are prepared to begin their tasks."
"Yes, sir," Olivia replied. "Within the next few years, we will begin to see tangible results."
He hummed thoughtfully, then glanced at her again.
"And what of your junior handler," he asked, "and the new OCA you were instructed to train?"
"I have been in contact with both," Olivia answered. "The handler is competent, though somewhat antisocial. She is intelligent, however, and capable. As for the OCA, he is young and recently graduated from magical school. He possesses potential, but he requires guidance."
"How long before they are ready for deployment," he asked, "and for the new handler to take charge of an OCA of her own?"
"With proper training," Olivia said confidently, "two to three years at most. They lack field experience, but their foundations are solid. After that, she should be able to operate independently. The OCA could be sent on a mission now if necessary, but further assessment is advisable, particularly regarding his psychological stability."
The man nodded slowly.
"That is acceptable," he said. "But I must remind you of one thing. I do not want another rogue OCA. Not like your previous one. We lost track of her for years, and the disruption she caused was unacceptable. I will be watching this one closely. This mission is too important to tolerate failure."
Olivia lowered her head slightly in acknowledgment.
"He will not repeat her mistakes," she said quietly. "I raised him myself, sir. I trust him."
The man who was Secretary Cavendish stepped away from the railing, turning his back to the river.
"You said the same thing before," he replied over his shoulder. "And we both know where that trust led us."
With that, he walked away, disappearing into the rain and the moving crowd. Olivia remained where she was, umbrella held steady above her head. She watched the Thames as it continued its endless journey, the city reflected in its dark surface. Her face was calm, but her eyes held a sadness shaped by memory and regret.
London moved on around her, unaware of the weight of the past she carried.