[ EU ] A major ISIS attack on London Muggles indirectly kills a number of Wizards and the Ministry of Magic decides it can no longer stand idly by . When a trained team is sent to deal directly with those responsible they begin to suspect the terrorists have a magic user among their number .

December. Al-Raqqa, Syria. A thick layer of dust had settled over the yellowed street. Forth stepped the three wizards, hoods drawn over their heads. At the front was Steven Rosier, wand drawn, flanked by Amira Shafiq at his right - all but her eyes hidden from the world with a black niqaab - and Frank Pottsworth at his left. 
 Pottsworth was tentatively scratching his face, his deep scars itching from the sand. Rosier was staring ahead with a rough sort of determination. After all, he knew their mission would be far from easy, but they had accepted it nevertheless. Their pride had been hurt too much. This endless war would no longer threaten the United Kingdom, neither its wizards nor its muggles. 
 
 The Syrian Ministry of Magic had fallen into disarray a year before, and since then the war had spinned completely out of control. There had not even been anyone guarding the Portkeys in Turkey. The four of them had entered Syria without a soul noticing, and now they had reached the ISIL capital. Normally, they would use brooms - or the popular Syrian variant, flying carpets - but with all the shooting and bombing, it was unadvisable. They had Disapparated into Raqqa step by step, and it had taken them two days. Finally, they were here - tired, but no less motivated to find the ones responsible for what happened in London. 
 
 Pottsworth narrowed his eyes. Far away, at the square, a group of men had gathered despite the dust that hung in the air. & nbsp;'Muggles,' Shafiq informed them, her voice slightly muffled. & nbsp; 
'Keep your wands drawn,' Rosier informed his group.'They might be ISIL affiliated.' & nbsp; 
'Protego,' Pottsfield whispered, slowly moving his wand up and down.'Salvio Hexa. Protego. Salvio Hexa.' & nbsp; 
 As they neared the square, the situation became clearer. Two men and a woman were tied up to a statue, while a crowd watched on as a large muggle, clad all in black, struck at the backs of the three people with a lash.'May God defend us!' another man in black was screaming.'May God defend us and keep us from these sinners!' & nbsp; 
'Do not intervene,' Rosier said, but it was already too late. To his right, Shafiq had fired off a spell, striking the lash from the hand of the torturer. Screams resounded through the crowd as it quickly dispersed. The torturer and his companion were dumbstruck, though not for long, as Pottsfield stupified both of them with two well-aimed strikes. 
 Rosier sighed. He ought to have known that Shafiq was going to be a problem, knowing her temper and her passion, but she was the only at the Auror department who knew more than two Arabic spells. He pointed his wand at the three people tied to the statue and whispered a quick Relashio. & nbsp; 
'Shafiq,' he said, exhausted,'this was highly unauthorized.' & nbsp; 
'I know, sir,' she answered, while quickly setting up a magical barrier around them. She helped the torture victims to their feet and asked after their wellbeing in Arabic. Meeting Rosier's eyes over her shoulder, she seemed almost apologetic. & nbsp; 
 After the victims had been cleared of their memories and the ISIL men had been restrained, Rosier woke one of them up with a quick shot of water from the tip of his wand. The man coughed for a good five minutes, and glared at Rosier with enough intensity to send a chill down Rosier's spine. 
 
'I'll ask you plain and simple,' Rosier said slowly, struggling with the Arabic words.'You will lead us to Abdelaziz bin Muhaddeen, and you will do it willingly. We have ways to force you if you do not comply.' He tapped his wand against the man's sweaty forehead.'I suggest you do not try our patience.' & nbsp; 
'Dogs,' said the man, and spit at the ground.'Do you think we do n't know who you are?' & nbsp; 
'Curious,' Rosier said, unimpressed.'Who are we?' & nbsp; 
'The devil's kaffirs,' the man said.'We were warned for you. We were warned for your coming. And none of you can escape the judgment of God.' & nbsp; 
'Allow me,' said Pottsfield, stepping closer and rolling down his sleeve. & nbsp; 
'You will get nothing out of us, you filthy unbeliever,' said the fighter. & nbsp; 
 Unflinching, Pottsfield pointed his wand at the ISIL member and smiled vacantly.'Legilimens.' 
 
'We have a problem,' Shafiq shouted.'Rosier.' & nbsp; 
'Give me a second,' Rosier said, scrunching his face as he looked down at the ISIL member. The man was squirming, his eyes closed. His unruly black beard was moving slightly from how hard the man was focusing. Almost as if he knew how to fight back against the mind-reading. & nbsp; 
'Getting anything?' Rosier asked. & nbsp; 
'I'm working on it,' Pottsfield said from between clenched teeth.'There are many locks inside his mind.' & nbsp; 
'ROSIER!' Shafiq called, more urgently now.'Rosier, please!' & nbsp; 
'The barrier keeps muggles from seeing us, Shafiq,' Rosier said gently, turning around.'Just do n't make a scene, and do n't run off.' & nbsp; 
'That's not it, Rosier. Look down the street.' & nbsp; 
 Rosier looked at the direction Shafiq was pointing. Down the asphalted street, where rusted cars stood to the side and each of the square buildings carried the scars of war, something was approaching. A black shape. & nbsp; 
 And as it got closer, Rosier saw. The shape hovered a few feet from the ground. & nbsp; 
'No,' he said. His throat almost immediately closed up and his heart started pounding. & nbsp; 
'Rosier,' Shafiq said.'What do we do?' & nbsp; 
'What?' he asked her, his voice almost a whisper. & nbsp; 
'I have n't been in the field much,' Shafiq said.'I do n't know how to cast the counterspell. Please, Rosier.' & nbsp; 
'Pottsfield,' Rosier said.'Pottsfield!' & nbsp; 
 The scarred, older wizard rose to his feet and narrowed his eyes.'Ah,' he said in his weathered voice.'Dementor incoming.' 
 
'Come, Rosier,' Pottsfield said.'You've dealt with far worse. Remember Congo?' & nbsp; 
'Worse?' Rosier repeated hollowly.'There's little worse.' & nbsp; 
'Do n't be dramatic,' Pottsfield said, aiming his wand. The dementor's approach had quickened.'There really is n't that much to it, this day and age.' & nbsp; 
 As the dementor breached the protective barrier at the square's edge, Pottsfield immediately commanded an Expecto Patronum big enough to light up the whites of Rosier's eyes. The dementor was pushed back, out of the circle, but its ragged breathing still made Rosier grasp for air. & nbsp; 
'I'll be damned!' Shafiq suddenly announced.'Look up!' & nbsp; 
 Rosier did, and his heart almost stopped. From the sky, dozens of dementors were descending, their hoods flapping in the dry winds. & nbsp; 
 Rosier had frozen in place, and Shafiq had grabbed his arm and pulled him away.'Retreat,' she ordered him.'We must retreat, if you're not going to fight them.' & nbsp; 
 They ran, Pottsfield soon following them. There was about twenty Dementors, far too many even for him to counter. They'd have to apparate as soon as they were out of the Dementors' sights - 
 
 Something stopped Rosier in his tracks. In spite of his fears, he turned around. The Dementors were swarming the square, but none of them had even bothered to follow after the Aurors. No, in fact, they were busy with the ISIL fighters. & nbsp; 
 The one Pottsfield had tried to use legilimency on was staring straight at Rosier as a Dementor was bent over it, its jaw hinged open. & nbsp; 
 Despite himself, Pottsfield found himself going near the square again. There was something in the man's eyes that pulled him closer. The cold dread of the Dementors' presence creeped deep into his bones, and yet he walked on. 
 Soon, he was at swinging distance of the nearest Dementors - yet still none of them paid him any attention. & nbsp; 
 The ISIL fighter had become pale, the life draining out of his face right before Rosier's eyes. He still had not broken his stare at Rosier, but now, he had opened his mouth. & nbsp; 
 His dark eyes were clouding over. The man moved his lips, a movement almost too small to see. But Rosier knew how to read lips. & nbsp; 
'God is great,' the fighter uttered, and his soul left him.
