Chapter Two: Clipping an Eagle's Wings
On Monday, Grant gathered up the dueling hall's earnings from the weekend and headed out of his office. "Brooke," he called, peeking around the corner to see his beautiful blonde wife at the front desk, "I'm off to Gringotts."
Brooke twisted around in her seat, a broad smile on her face. "I'll just be here then, Grant," she promised.
Grant smiled at her. "Hey, maybe you could brush up the runes on the dueling platforms in the front area? I think the rear one's starting to fade a bit."
Laughter spilled out. "You just don't want to do it yourself, Grant," Brooke scolded. When Grant shot her a pleading look, she giggled. "All right then. If the big, tough Grant Taylor can't do it, I guess I can."
"Thanks Brooke." Grant shifted back, then poked his head back out, turning serious. "And remember…"
"Keep the lockdown wards up until you come back," Brooke recited, shooing him towards the Floo. "I remember."
After his meeting at Gringotts; a tense, difficult meeting with his usual manager who made it a point to sneer in Grant's direction as he counted the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts as slowly as possible and then pointedly proclaimed that Grant was – even with the 'highly unexpected and unorthodox business practices you've employed of late' – behind on his loan payments; Grant headed to the Golden Prime Inn to grab a few bottles of butterbeer (3) and use their Floo.
The butterbeer was easy enough, but when he tried to use the Floo, the connection sputtered out. Activity in the Inn halted as everyone stared between the extinguished fireplace and the horrified, terror-stricken wizard who'd been about to use it. The butterbeer fell to the floor unnoticed as Grant whirled and raced out of the Inn, Apparating as soon as he was clear.
"Brooke!" Grant yelled as he shoved aside what was left of the front door to his dueling hall. "Brooke! Where are you?" Please, God, don't let anything have happened to her. He barely glanced around the ruined hall as he barreled through the front area, scanning for his wife. "Brooke! Answer me!"
The front desk she'd been manning that morning was gone, burnt to a crisp by whatever had breached the lockdown wards, and the dueling hall's large front windows, reminiscent of the massive drugstore windows of his childhood, were shattered; glass coated the floor, broken and tinged with blood. The sight of the red stains made his own blood run cold. "Brooke! Where are you? Please, answer me!"
Part of him couldn't help it; even as he searched frantically for Brooke, he saw the graffiti on the walls: MUDBLOOD GO HOME, NO MUGGLES HERE, and even MAGIC IS MIGHT. And proudly emblazoned on one of the walls was a green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Anything that could be smashed and ripped apart was smashed and ripped; Grant slid to a halt, dodging around a dueling platform whose wards were wildly fluctuating, the runes that powered said wards cracked and misshapen. The dueling platform he'd asked Brooke to look at… His gaze locked on his office door, broken in half and clinging to its one remaining hinge with a stray scrap of metal. The wizard's wand, already in his hand, flicked at the door; he ignored the fact that he was adding to the mess as the door flew out of his path and slammed into the broken wards behind him. Both door and wards fizzled, the wards falling and the door charring as it finally hit the ground with a crash.
"Brooke, where are you?!" Grant shouted as he skidded into the doorway of his office. "BROOKE!" he howled as he spotted her, buried under his office drawers and files; she wasn't moving and her hair spread around her head like a fan, mixed with blood. Please, God, no; not my Brooke, please not my Brooke… His first instinct was to run to her, uncover her, and worry about the rest later, but his old training kicked in with a vengeance; instead, he swore and pushed off from the doorway, going away from Brooke as he hurtled towards the dueling hall's Floo.
Grant fought past the wreckage of the hall, heavier close to the fireplace and his dueling hall's Apparition Point, snarling words that his wife would have his head for, but he hardly cared. Please, God, don't take her away from me, he begged silently, flinging his hand forward, yelling the spells to clear the debris from the Floo. A second spell lit the fire and Grant darted left to scoop up a handful of Floo Powder. "Auror Division!" he ordered, smashing the powder into the fire. As soon as the flames turned green, he stuck his head through, glaring at the on-duty Auror on the other side.
In a bored tone, without even looking up from his magazine, the Auror inquired, "This is the Auror Division, what is your emergency and Floo of origin?"
"I'm at the Shiloh Dueling Hall; my wife has been attacked!"
The good news: he was officially cleared for duty again. The bad news: he'd been reissued a sling with strict orders to keep it on at all times for the next week and threatened with an immediate revocation of his cleared status if he disobeyed. And just to complete the humiliation, the doctor had issued his commands in front of his team. And Commander Holleran.
"So what happened to the old sling, Sarge?" Jules teased as soon as the doctor was gone. Greg shot her a black look, one she ignored with the effortlessness of someone who followed doctor's orders when injured. He'd get her for that later…much later, when his arm felt better.
"Did you burn it?" Spike asked eagerly. "Or did you let the kids do it?"
"They never saw it," Greg growled, only to flinch as he realized he'd said that in front of his boss. Oops.
"Sergeant," Commander Holleran chided. "I do remember that you were supposed to use the sling for this entire weekend. Are you saying you ditched it before you even got home?"
Greg deflated, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I didn't want them to worry," he muttered, low enough that none of his team heard him.
"What was that, Boss?" Ed inquired, casting Greg an expectant look and crossing his arms when Greg didn't immediately respond. The other members of the team leaned in, the teasing written all over their faces. I am going to get all of you for this…
"I said," Greg repeated, his voice rising in a touch of irritation, though he didn't look up, "I didn't want them to worry."
Lou's eyes lit with understanding, a touch of sympathy, and a wry dash of humor. "How long before they figured it out anyway?" When his teammates turned and stared at him, he grinned. "Come on guys, they're living with Sarge. I bet they saw through him as soon as he walked through the door."
"Sucker bet," Spike and Wordy retorted at the same time.
"Thirded," Sam put in wryly. "We might've resented our wizard handlers on the Squib Squad, but one thing you never hid from them was an injury. They'd sniff you out in no time flat."
Ed arched a brow, then looked at his boss and smirked. "So, basically, you ditched the sling for nothing?"
Greg grumbled, but nodded agreement nonetheless. Wonder if I can rope the kids into helping me prank them?
The team leader jerked his thumb at Sam, Wordy, and Spike, his smirk growing wider. "They're right; that was a sucker bet."
No…a sucker bet is taunting your boss when he's down and forgetting he has two pranksters in residence…
"Sarge buys the first round after work," Wordy called, giving his boss a expression full of mischief. "I'm thinking butterbeer?"
"Sold," Lou agreed an instant later.
Greg pulled a face. "Okay, but!" He waited until he had his team's attention. "This time, I'm not getting pumpkin juice. One of you pick up a six-pack of root beer, okay? I'll pay you back."
"I can do that," Jules volunteered, making a face herself. "That pumpkin juice stuff is way too sweet."
Just for that, Jules, you get off scot-free when I prank the rest of them…with mio nipotes' help, of course.
The Healers dug Brooke out from under the wreckage in Grant's office as two patrol Aurors poked around and documented the damage to Grant's business. It was all very unhurried; neither the Aurors nor the Healers appeared to be overly concerned with Brooke's injuries or the blatant destruction of the Taylors' livelihood.
Even when one of the Healers found a note taped to Brooke's back, a vicious, angry screed at Grant and his decision to permit Muggles in his dueling hall, complete with threats towards Grant's two employees, the Auror were unperturbed. They finished documenting the damage and promised to get back to Grant 'in a day or two'. The Healers Portkeyed Brooke to St. Mungo's after making their own lazy, drawled promise to keep Grant apprised of his wife's status.
Once they were gone, Grant let out his breath in an angry hiss and turned his left hand over, glaring at the copy he'd surreptitiously made of the note the Healers had found. If the patrol Aurors wouldn't help him and his wife, he'd just have to find someone who would.
Greg did his best to avoid acting sulky, no matter how tempting that was; he was forbidden from doing paperwork or, indeed, anything that would put strain on his arm and back. That cut out the majority of his usual activities – not to mention severely restricted his workout – and left him with only a few things he could use to keep himself busy. If he'd known that he was going to be this restricted, he'd have used up a sick day or two, but it was a bit late for that now.
The Sergeant was forced to satisfy himself by bringing Team Two's Sergeant up-to-speed on several upcoming warrants originally slated for Team One to handle. Most of them would fall on Team Two's shoulders, two could be put off for a week while Greg's injuries healed, and one more had just been dropped from their roster. Apparently, Homicide needed a bit more time to build up the case for that particular warrant. And, naturally, none of that included the various and sundry hot calls that Team Two was now on tap for.
Winnie, behind her dispatcher desk as usual, piped up as Greg wound down. "I have Team Two listed as the primary team for any hot calls for the rest of this shift."
"Thanks, Winnie," Team Two's Sergeant replied, a somewhat cocky grin flashing on his face. "Sorry it had to happen like this, Parker, but my team's looking forward to being primary for a week or two."
"It's not nearly as glamorous as it looks," Parker jibed back, slapping his negotiator smile on in lieu of the frown that threatened. "Best of luck to you with those warrants."
"Copy that. Get well soon."
"Thanks," Greg remarked to his counterpart's back. Avoiding Winnie's sympathetic expression, he rubbed his face with his left hand and debated what to do next. With a slight internal sigh, he decided to get what exercise he could and enjoy the break from the endless paperwork. If only that break didn't come with a mountain of unfinished paperwork once it was over…
Giles frowned, rubbing one hand against his chin as he listened to Grant's explanation with half an ear; he was more intent on the short note the subjects had left behind. "How long has the vandalism been going on?" he asked abruptly, cutting Grant off mid-word.
Grant stopped, saying nothing, and when Giles looked up, the other man's shoulders were slumped and even shook a little; he sank into the one other upright chair left in his small office. "Ever since the tournament," Grant admitted. "Maybe even before it; there were several parents who were very angry with my decision to let Muggles come to the dueling hall. I got several Howlers (4) and the day before the tournament, someone tried to break through our security wards."
"That's when you started using the lockdown ward," Giles mused thoughtfully.
"Yeah," Grant confirmed, burying his face in his hands. "This is all my fault, if I hadn't agreed to that tournament…"
"If this is your fault, then it's my fault too, for encouraging you," Giles shot back, pushing himself to his feet and refusing to let Taylor wallow in self-pity and guilt. "Leave the blame where it belongs, Grant. With the fanatics who attacked your wife and wrecked your business." Giles grabbed the other man's shoulders and shook them, just a bit. "Brooke is still alive and we've got time to cut this off at the pass. It's going to be all right, Grant, I promise. I won't let anything happen to your people."
Grant didn't bother pointing out that Giles couldn't promise, not really. Instead, he drew in a breath and looked up at the Auror. "What do we do now?"
Giles smirked, a touch of glee in his eyes. "Now? Now I call in the cavalry."
[3] A popular Wizarding beverage, sold to young and old alike, though it does possess a slight amount of alcohol.
[4] A magical letter that screams its message in the very high and loud voice of the sender. If the recipient doesn't open the Howler immediately, it begins to smoke and will explode if not opened quickly enough. Once the message finishes, it bursts into flames and leaves only ashes behind.
