AN – Folks, I really apologize for how long it took me to update this. It has not been abandoned. There was a death in my family, followed by the near-rupturing of my appendix. Currently recovering from the surgery, and I have a little time to get back at this. Grandma, this chapter is for you.
Thank you all for the support for this story, I've been blown away by the number of readers. Enjoy
The next morning at breakfast, Malfoy was making a spectacle of his condition. He talked loudly about how he had been 'mauled' and detailed what his father was going to do about it. Brad also noted that Hagrid was absent from the morning meal. It seemed he took the situation poorly, which was too bad. There was not much more the professor could have done.
"I don't get how that little bastard can go on like that." Mike had been going on about it since they dropped Malfoy off at the infirmary. "He clearly didn't follow the instructions, and paid the price. Serves him right."
"Now, Sergeant," Brad started, using his mock official tone. To the outside observer, it might sound like an official reprimand. Those who spent a fair amount of time with Brad knew better. It was more of a 'you can't do X with such-in-so around' voice. "You aren't suggesting that he should be attacked by a hippogriff, right?"
"Of course not, boss," Mike replied rolling his eyes ever so slightly and picking up a strip of bacon. "Just saying, it was no secret that you shouldn't insult the things."
"Ah, damn it!" There was a thump at the table as Jason's knuckles smacked against it, his arm flat under Ian's, who was grinning wildly. Ian and Jason were at it again, arm wrestling.
"Can't stop these guns, bro." Ian faked kissing his bicep and Jason threw the rest of a biscuit at him. They both laughed and got back to eating. The few students that had turned their heads at the spectacle turned back to their food, more interested in their own conversations than whatever the muggles were up to.
"Jesus, does it ever stop with you two?" Staff Sergeant Sam Nelson had never been a morning person. His abnormally short fuse seemed to be shorter still in the wee hours of the day. He pinched between his eyes as though nursing a headache, and then went to take a sip of his coffee. Ian and Jason ignored him, already locking arms in another battle.
"Come on, man," Mike clapped Sam on the back, causing a splash of coffee to land on his lap. Sam slammed his cup to the table in his irritation, spilling more still as he picked up a napkin to clean the mess.
"You careless mother-" Sam's words were cut off by a boot to the knee from Ryan, who was often looking out for Sam and ensuring the outbursts didn't make it too far. Sam trusted and respected Ryan for his no-nonsense approach to everything in life, and was glad to be on Ryan's fireteam. The sergeant first class had noticed Major Price incoming, and issued the kick to keep the short-fused operator in check. Mike sat back feigning confident relaxation while Sam bit his lip to prevent an outburst, red in the face.
"Major, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Gordon asked as soon as Price was close enough to the table. The major was silent for a moment, eyeing the still red faced staff sergeant with a look of questioning.
"The centaurs made contact with Dumbledore, God knows how…" Major Price was, like the rest of the Spartans, still working to get a grasp on the complexities and limitations of magic. "They want to meet at 1000 hours. It'll be your team, me, and Dumbledore. We will follow the Headmaster to the meeting location."
"Copy," Brad said. The meeting yesterday had been tense, and he hoped the centaurs were more relaxed this time around. "I was going to send a pair with Harry to his classes again today, do we need my whole team present at the meet?" The major paused to consider it, then shook his head.
"No, go ahead and send them. I'm confident in our firepower, and I doubt it'll descend into a firefight with the headmaster there." There was a nod of agreement from the team, and the major left.
"That was fast…" Mike broke the silence first, "I expected them to just ignore us."
"Guess not," Gordon looked across at his team. "Eric and David, you guys go with Harry to class. The rest of us will take the morning, and at 0900 prep for the meeting." Mike looked a little crestfallen, he had really enjoyed the classes yesterday, and had been dropping very unsubtle hints to the captain that he wanted to go again.
They dug back into their food, the day's objectives set.
A couple tables away, Harry and his friends were working at their own breakfasts. Hermione was working on a slice of toast while Harry and Ron were putting a dent in the plate of eggs.
"I'm just saying, I thought he was very nice," Hermione said. They had been talking about the presence of the soldiers yesterday.
"Of course you did," Ron fought the words out through a mouthful of eggs. "He was actually interested in the classes. Like a dream come true…" Ron took another large bite of his meal, not noticing Hermione's glowing cheeks before she buried her head in A History of Magic, Volume III.
"Great," Harry, who had been paying very little attention to the conversation, set his fork down loudly. "We have double potions this morning…with Slytherin." Aside from Slytherin, no one really liked potions, mostly due to the Professor. Snape was in a league of his own with regard to favoritism, letting Slytherin students get away with just about anything while punishing other students for the most minor infractions.
"Wonderful," Ron sighed, "because we didn't get enough of that lot yesterday." He looked over at a platter next to Hermione, empty save a couple strips of bacon. "You gonna eat those?"
"Go ahead," she said, pushing the platter towards him. He hardly waited, snatching the two strips off of the plate. She eyed him with a look of distaste, then got back to her book.
"Hey, guys!" Mike appeared between the heads of Ron and Hermione, making both jump slightly. He seemed not to notice, "What's up?"
"Oh, hello," Hermione responded lamely, closing her book and turning to face Mike. "Er, just finishing breakfast." She drooped her shoulders slightly, unimpressed by her own response. Mike however seemed unfazed and smiled broadly at her. A faint pink formed in Hermione's cheeks.
"I love breakfast," he said, then stood up. He gestured toward a similarly dressed pair standing near them. They were dressed similarly to the rest of Reaper team. Not in full uniforms, but still toting various gear and gun belts. "This is Eric," Mike gestured toward the closest man. Hermione recognized him as the one who worked on Malfoy yesterday when he was first injured. He was handsome, short cropped brown hair and deep hazel eyes. If she hadn't known better, she might imagine he was a model. He wore the same fatigue pants as the rest of the special operators, and a tan undershirt that suggested a well-toned body. His gun belt wrapped snugly around his waist. Eric smiled warmly, but said nothing.
"And this is David," he gestured similarly toward the other. This one was taller than the other, wearing the full fatigue set, and his gun belt did not hang as perfectly. He wore thickly rimmed glasses and looked uncomfortable at the introduction, choosing to simply stand there as Mike talked. "They will be hanging with you guys this morning throughout class."
"You might change your mind," Ron warned while chewing a mouthful of bacon. "We have double potions with Slytherin." Mike stared at him for a moment, determining that this was a bad thing.
"Bummer," was the only response Mike could think up. Potions didn't sound too bad, but from the tone of Ron and the glum looks he saw from the other Gryffindors, he might be alone in that. "A History of Magic, huh?" Ron rolled his eyes and got back to his food, while Harry took another look at the two operators that would attend class with him, and got back to his own food.
"Just a little extra reading," she replied a little defensively. She was used to getting made fun of for her joy of learning, and prepared for the jab that was no doubt coming.
"Volume three?" He paused a moment, and she looked up. "I don't suppose you still have volume one laying around?" Her mouth hung open a moment, her prepared response turning out to be unnecessary.
"Blimey, she's probably got more books than the library here," Ron said, his tone suggesting that this was something mind boggling. Hermione blushed.
"That's great," Mike said smiling, to Ron's ire. "Could I borrow it?"
Great, he likes class, he likes books. It's another Hermione, Ron thought to himself with an audible snort. Mike eyed him briefly, then turned back to Hermione, though Ron had not paid any attention.
"Er…" She had never met anyone who really enjoyed learning like she did, and she was still trying to gauge if Mike was as enthusiastic as he seemed. He had said he wasn't always excited for class, but yesterday he had paid attention to the courses, even asking Hermione a few pertinent questions on the way to new classes.
"I promise not to crease the pages." Mike raised his eyebrows playfully, causing her to smile.
"Okay," she answered, "I'll bring it to breakfast tomorrow?" He smiled in agreement, then clapped Ron on the back roughly, a subtle payback for the jabbing remarks at Hermione.
"Great, looking forward to it." Mike stood up, "Have a great class, guys!" With that, he left.
"Git," Ron muttered under his breath.
Captain Bradley Gordon pulled back the charging handle of his HK416, peeking through the open barrel and verifying that there was not a round in the chamber. Noting it was clear, he began disassembling the weapon, getting ready to clean it.
Brad had always enjoyed weapons maintenance. Though every one of his squad members, to a man, thoroughly hated the tedious process; Brad found it relaxing, soothing. In fact, when he was stressed or upset for some reason, his team knew to begin by looking in the armory. Often, they would find him with a stripped weapon.
Special Operators were special in many ways. They received more training, bigger budgets, and better gadgets, among other things. One way such thing was the selection of weapons, and what they could do to customize them. Each operator was encouraged to have their weapon. A firearm that is used by that operator, and that operator alone, customized to their own comfort.
Brad chose the HK416. It was more reliable than the Colt M4A1 carbine that it was modeled after thanks to a short-stroke gas system HK had successfully utilized in other rifles. Other improvements to the rifle included drainage holes in the bolt carrier allowing the rifle to be fired after being submerged in water and a free-floating barrel that improved the accuracy of the rifle.
He took special care of the weapon, making tweaks and modifications, customizing it to his preference. He added an EOTech holographic sight to make target acquisition easier. On the rails he added a flashlight and an infrared laser sight, invisible to the naked eye but bright as day when using night-vision. He added a Magpul AFG-2, an angled fore grip that made holding and firing the weapon more comfortable. He also used Magpul polymer magazines over the metal ones, as they were lighter weight, more ergonomic, and they significantly reduced misfeeds.
He had just finished cleaning it when his watch beeped. He had twenty minutes to get ready before the meeting with the centaurs. That wasn't something he imagined he would ever find normal, a meeting with centaurs. He smiled to himself, set his timer and rapidly put his rifle back together. He was just shy of his record, though he was unsure he could beat it.
Twenty minutes later, he stood outside the entrance hall doors with the rest of his team, sans David and Eric. They were set in full gear, their weapons slung comfortably from harnesses on their chests as they awaited the rest of the delegation. It wasn't long before Dumbledore and Major Price showed up.
"Gentlemen," the major greeted the operators. "We are following the headmaster. He has asked me to follow his lead with the negotiation, and I have agreed. You boys are here for security, and you're to react only. Apparently centaurs are a dramatic bunch and make threatening gestures. Do not fire unless you absolutely have to. We don't need more enemies."
"Copy that," was the cool reply of Capt. Gordon, who was in his 'operator mode.' It was something a lot of them joked about. Something about being in full gear, readying for an operation-it brought out the soldier in them.
"Sir," Major Price gave Dumbledore a gesture that said 'lead the way' and the group started off down the steps. They walked to the northeast, just past the greenhouses, Dumbledore in the lead with Major Price just to the side and the operators in a loose semicircle behind them, their heads on a swivel as they scanned for any potential threat.
"Just this way, I believe." Dumbledore started into the Forbidden Forest when they reached the edge. For a man as old as Dumbledore looked, he was surprisingly agile and the group kept a steady pace. They were just losing sight of the castle when Sanderson's voice crackled over the radio.
"Contact, right." The group, save Dumbledore, stopped and the operators brought their rifles to 'low ready,' the weapon shouldered but the barrel still angled toward the ground. They could respond swiftly should the need arise. Dumbledore had only taken a few steps when he realized the rest of the group had stopped, and followed suit. The wait was not long, and three centaurs calmly walked out of the bushes ahead of them.
"Greetings, Dumbledore." It was Firenze, Gordon recognized him from yesterday's encounter. The other two he did not recognize. "Your companions are surprisingly disciplined, for humans. Others would have attacked yesterday, it is what we expected."
"Good day, Firenze." Dumbledore greeted the centaurs smiling, a twinkle in his eye that suggested that he was as at ease as he might be taking a stroll down the hall of his school. "That is a high praise indeed. Centaurs do not compliment lightly."
"Thank you," the major was not particularly familiar with negotiations, but knew that it wouldn't hurt to be polite. "We do our best to exercise restraint wherever possible." The centaurs eyed Major Price briefly before turning back to Dumbledore.
"We are here out of respect for you, Headmaster. You know well we are not at the beck and call of wizards. What do you require?" It was the middle centaur talking, larger than any of the others. His skin was a deep chestnut color, and he had long hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The look on his face was less than friendly, however.
"Magorian, these soldiers," Dumbledore waved a gesture over the men behind him, "are at Hogwarts for the protection of our students against a most dangerous criminal. Their transgression yesterday was merely a…" Dumbledore paused, searching for the right word. "…patrol, a search party looking for the criminal."
"You insult us, to say a wizarding criminal would pass our lands unchecked." The centaur, Magorian, looked as though he may fire an arrow out of rage. The operators gripped their weapons tighter, and Major Price reflexively rested his hand on the handle of his sidearm. Dumbledore however, looked completely at ease.
"I misspoke," Dumbledore said placatingly, "they are rather new to magic, and magical beings. They had no knowledge of how secure your lands are."
"What are you here for, wizard?" Magorian relaxed, but only just. His hand still gripped his bow tightly, and his brow was furrowed.
"I would request that you show the soldiers the boundary of your territory." Dumbledore turned and looked at the major as though waiting for him to speak. Price cleared his throat.
"We meant no harm, and continue not to. If your land is secure, we have no need to patrol it." The centaurs ruffled at the 'if' in his comment, and he continued loudly to prevent an interruption. "That does not secure the rest of the forest however. Show us your borders, we will not cross again, and we can still do our job to keep this criminal away from the students."
The centaurs eyed the group for an uncomfortable length of time, and the Major almost spoke again before the reply was finally made.
"Come, one of you. Pay close attention because we will only do this once." The centaur turned and started off toward the west, and Captain Gordon took off after him, not waiting for the order. He was much more physically fit that the Major anyways.
Potions class had been unpleasant for all of the Gryffindors, and for David and Eric in particular.
"Wonderful," the sneering drawl of the potions professor rang in the ears of the operators. "It isn't enough to infest the school, you need to interrupt class as well?" The soldiers were taken aback by the unexpected hostility of Snape, and said nothing. "Nothing to add? Very well, sit. And do be quiet."
The operators sat at the rear of the class and listened as the professor 'taught,' mostly by asking what appeared to be tough questions and taking points away from Gryffindor because Hermione kept trying to answer when no one else could. The course seemed to be taking forever, and Eric had just checked his watch, noting that they were not even quite halfway through, when the doors burst open loudly.
Malfoy entered, balancing a confident swagger with an injured helplessness that had some of the Slytherin girls fawning over him.
"How is it, Malfoy?" Pansy Parkinson asked the boy as he sat down, wincing. "Does it hurt much?" She rubbed his back comfortingly as she waited for his response.
"Yeah," he replied with a brave sort of grimace that irritated Eric to no end. Eric had seen the wound, and while it was deep, he had been in contact with Madam Pomfrey about their medical abilities. He knew for a fact that the wound was almost three quarters of the way healed.
"Settle down," Snape said idly, and the fawning died down. Pansy continued to rub Malfoys back, but turned to pay attention to the professor. After seeing the reactions of the professor when Hermione spoke out of turn, he had expected a little more explosion from Snape.
Looks like he saves the patience for his own house, Eric thought to himself.
"You know all you need to brew the Shrinking Potion. Get started," Snape said, his robes flaring behind him as he turned sharply to return to his desk.
"Sir," Malfoy called, causing the professor to stop and turn back. "Sir, I'll need help shredding my daisy roots. My arm-"
"Weasley, shred Malfoy's roots." The professor sat at his desk and began flipping through a large book at his desk.
"Right," Ron said, taking the roots and cutting them quickly into mismatched shapes.
"Sir, he's mutilating them!" Malfoy exclaimed, a feigned distress in his voice. Snape looked up from his book irritated, a look that was hardly different from the one he naturally wore.
"Weasley, trade roots with Mr. Malfoy." He looked down at the book again, but his reading was cut short by Ron's response.
"But, sir-" whatever excuse Ron was about to use was cut short by Snape, who looked up and slammed his book against the desk.
"Now," he said venomously. Ron didn't dare argue, and shoved his own beautifully cut roots to Malfoy, who was smiling in delight. The rest of the class went similarly, Malfoy requesting help and Snape issuing an order for a Gryffindor student to pull the extra weight. He spent a fair time berating the Gryffindor students for subpar performance, reducing one boy, Neville, to a bumbling mess. The class couldn't end soon enough for Eric and his fellow operator, along with the entire Gryffindor class.
"Five points from Gryffindor, I told you not to help Mr. Longbottom, Granger. Class dismissed," Snape drawled, and the students stood as one, leaving. Eric and David waited a moment, then accompanied Harry and his friends out of the class.
"Potter!" Malfoy's voice called out over the crowd, and they stopped, looking back. "Potter, seen the Daily Prophet today? They spotted Black, not too far from here. Thinking about catching him yourself?" His eyes shined with malevolence.
"What are you on about?" Harry asked impatiently, not planning to spend the rest of his morning with the Slytherin.
"You mean you don't know?" His eyes widened mockingly, the little smirk on his face betraying his true feeling on the matter. "I mean, maybe it isn't for you, but I would want revenge."
"Spill it, Malfoy," Ron said, also losing patience.
"Draco, let's go. You'll need to eat to get well." It was Pansy Parkinson again, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and he gave them a quick wink before wincing and gasping slightly at the touch, and she softened even further.
"Yeah, you're right." Malfoy started off under her arm, walking as though he was recovering from a grave injury and not a moderate gash to the arm.
"Damn, those Slytherins are douchebags." Eric eyed the retreating couple for a moment longer, then turned to the trio. "Sorry you guys got it so bad today." Hermione smiled humorlessly and Ron scoffed.
"That's potions," Harry said, starting toward the Great Hall, where lunch was about to start. The rest of the group followed, and after a few polite words, they parted.
"Hey boys, how was class?" Mike asked as David and Eric approached their table. Harry, Ron and Hermione went to their table, and the excited chatter of students could be heard throughout the hall as they waited for the food to appear.
"It sucked, man." Eric said, plopping in his seat. David, ever the quiet one, simply nodded his head in agreement and pulled out a sudoku book and his timer. "That potions professor is a dick, and so are those Slytherins. Where's the Captain?"
"Bummer," Mike replied sullenly, wondering if he still would have enjoyed the course. "Captain's running around with the centaurs. Meeting went alright, they're showing him what's off-limits. Should be back anytime." The group sat together and talked about their experiences today until the food appeared, and the talking quieted down as they started grabbing food off of the now full platters.
Captain Gordon made it back shortly after, heading straight to the Great Hall in full gear. He would look slightly out of place, but after the pace he had to keep up with the centaur and the distance they traveled, he was famished. He recorded the data on his wrist computer as he walked back to the castle, sending it directly to the Major and headed straight for food.
"Captain," Sanderson greeted before taking a bit of a sandwich.
"You look like you had quite a walk, Cap," Mike was grinning, holding his own sandwich. Brad sat heavily into the open seat, then grabbed the closest food to himself, which turned out to be a bowl of soup. He took his spoon to it, surprised by the flavor.
"Uh, Cap?" Mike asked, his look a cross between amusement and bewilderment. "That's the gravy…for the mashed potatoes…"
"Huh," was the only response as the Captain took another spoonful, not wanting to show any embarrassment. "It's good." He put the bowl down after a third scoop, and picked up one of the stacked sandwiches.
"So how was the adventure with Magorian?" Mike passed a small plate with a couple sandwiches, potatoes and some cookies on it toward the captain. He was familiar with the feeling, after burning so many calories a man could eat anything.
"Got the data," Brad said, accepting the plate with a grateful nod and continued, "was hell keeping up with him. I'm pretty sure he was trying to lose me. How was class?" The operators relayed their observations of the class, with special attention paid to Snape and Malfoy.
"Sounds like we pegged Slytherin." Gordon and the others had placed their bets on which house would produce the most trouble. None of them had thought to add which teacher they would have issues with.
"So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?" David asked, between sessions of his puzzles.
"We don't have much, I'm going to attend the next class with Harry. The rest of you can work on whatever you need to." There were a few acknowledgements, and most of them paid the majority of their attention to their meals.
"Right on, can I come too?" Mike asked, looking a little more perked up. Brad didn't have the heart, nor a valid excuse, to say no, so he simply nodded his head affirmative. Mike smiled broadly and dug back into his meal, the rest of which was largely silent.
After lunch, Mike again approached the trio, this time with Brad in tow. Brad had stayed behind, giving much of his gear to his squad mates to stow away until later, when he could properly clean it. He was now much more comfortable, with just the fatigue bottoms, undershirt, and gun belt.
"Hey, the captain and I are gonna tag along for the next one." Mike greeted the trio.
"This going to be a regular occurrence?" Harry asked. He was growing used to the extra attention he got over the last two years, but he was sure that the muggle soldiers following him around would only exacerbate things.
"Probably," Brad replied as he caught up, just in time to hear the question. "We aren't in the regular patrol rotation, and we could use the familiarization with magic. Still playing catch-up." Harry nodded in resigned agreement, and they group set off toward the Defense Against Dark Arts class.
Hermione led the way and Mike was quick to insert himself next to her, the two chattering away happily about various topics. Ron, Harry and Brad followed.
"So, how'd you become a solider then?" Harry asked, turning to Brad as they walked. Brad hesitated for a moment, and decided that the magical world already knew most of this anyways, with their 'informers' and the like. Sharing personal details wasn't something he did often, but he wanted Harry to trust him. "You're a little young, right?" he continued.
"My parents died in a terrorist attack," Brad said. Brad, along with several others in the program, lost his parents in the World Trade Center attack. Others lost family overseas, in bombings, shootings, and other acts of terror. It was a driving force in the Spartan Program, paying back those that took away their families. "Most of us lost our parents that way, actually. The army came along and offered me a way to get back at the people who did it…or at least people like them. I took it."
"How old were you?" It was Ron this time. Brad didn't look too much older than them, and they weren't old enough to work, let alone fight in a military.
"I was six when I was recruited. Didn't really know what I was getting myself into, but I'm glad I did it. Sixteen now." Brad answered the unanswered age question, confirming to the both of them that he was much younger than most soldiers.
"That's…" Harry wasn't sure what else to say about it. He wondered for a moment how his life might be, if the military knocked on the door of Number 4, Privet Drive, offering him the chance to prevent his situation from happening to other kids. At six, he already knew how the Dursleys felt about him, and probably would have jumped at the chance to get away from them.
He imagined himself, muscles bulging under a uniform and a sense of drive and purpose he had heard of and observed from his brief interactions with the soldiers. The family-like sense of comradery, each of them obviously trusting one another completely. He felt a pang of jealousy, but it was gone as soon as it came.
He wasn't jealous, not really. He couldn't envy their lives. They lost their childhoods along with their parents. They all carried themselves with a confidence borne from a life of hardship. Harry knew his own was not a gentle upbringing, but he couldn't help but smile as he imagined the cliché drill instructor yelling in his face and demanding more physical training. Vernon had yelled often enough, but usually from a distance and usually to confine him to his 'room.' He wondered how he would have fared.
"Looks like we're here." Ron broke the introspection of his best friend as they made it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.
As everyone made it inside the classroom and began taking seats, Brad noticed that Professor Lupin was not in the room. He took a seat behind the trio, next to a young Gryffindor girl he didn't recognize. The students were unpacking books and quills when the professor made his entrance. He was still rather pale, dressed in tattered robes that were definitely not as fine as that of other professors.
"Good afternoon," Lupin announced as he made it to his desk. The idle conversation throughout the room died down as the professor placed an equally tattered briefcase on his desk. He smiled at the class, "Please put your books back into your bags, todays lesson will be a practical one. You will only be needing your wands." There was a murmur through the class, and Brad got the distinct impression that this was not a normal start to the first class. Nevertheless, the students obliged and soon the tables were cleared of books.
"Right then," Lupin walked slowly around the desk and toward the door. "If you'll all follow me." The puzzled class stood up and followed, their curiosity piqued. There was a brief interruption by Peeves, which was expertly handled by Lupin. The poltergeist had stuffed chewing gum into the keyhole of a supply closet and taunted the Professor as he passed. Lupin uttered a spell that shot the gum straight up Peeves nose, sending the poltergeist off with style. The class moved along its path with a newfound respect for the professor.
He led them to a large classroom filled with mismatching chairs and a wardrobe in the center. It was otherwise empty, save a chair near the door that was occupied by Professor Snape. The class filed in and before Lupin could close the door, Snape stood from his seat, a sneer evident on his face.
"Leave it open," Snape started toward the door. "I'd rather not stay to witness this." Brad frowned as Snape closed the distance toward the door, then stood uncomfortably close to Neville and Professor Lupin. The guy really was a dick.
"It's possible no one informed you. I see that Neville Longbottom is in this group. I warn you not to entrust him with anything difficult, unless Miss Granger is whispering instructions into his ear." Brads' frown deepened at the blatant call out in front of the entire class, even as Neville's ears turned a bright red. Before he could say anything on the matter, Lupin beat him to it.
"I was actually rather hoping that Neville would help me with this task," Lupin replied, his eyebrows raised in challenge. Neville's red simply deepened. "I am quite certain he will perform admirably." Snape ignored the comment and left, slamming the door just a little louder than socially appropriate.
"Now then," Lupin walked into the center of the class, near the wardrobe. As he shortened the distance, a loud thump sounded from within, and the doorknob started rattling. There were several gasps, and some of the closer students jumped. Brads hand unconsciously snapped toward his sidearm, but he stayed that response before he completed the action. Guess I'm a little jumpy too.
"It's nothing to worry about," Lupin called to the class. It did little to comfort them, but they continued to listen intently. "There is a boggart in there." Brad looked to the faces of the students, not sure what a boggart was. He gathered from the mix of worried and terrified looks, that it was in fact something to worry about. "Who here knows what a boggart is?" Lupin asked the class. Before he could complete the question, Hermione's hand shot up. He gave her a questioning look.
"Sir, a boggart is a shape-shifter," She started, lowering her hand, and her eyes as a nervousness set in. She often answered questions in class, but was not always comfortable with everyone's eyes on her, especially a certain muggle boy next to her. "It will take the shape of whatever will frighten us most." Lupin held his questioning gaze just a moment longer than necessary before he smiled at her widely, obviously impressed with the answer.
"Couldn't have said it better myself. Take five points for Gryffindor," Lupin continued the lesson on boggarts, what they were and how to defeat them. Mike nudged Hermione in the shoulder after her successful answer and gave her a subtle high-five, as not to interrupt the class.
Brad stood near the door, content to observe the class and its process. Lupin did a great job of preparing his students, seeming to have an intuitive knowledge about how each of them might best learn. He gave praise generously, but not without merit. Soon he released the boggart, and as the professor expected, Neville defeated it rapidly. The class took turns facing their fears and dispatching them in an amusing manner. The class went from very nervous to a lighthearted feel, and by the end students were laughing.
It wasn't lost on Brad that the turns ended before Harry could have a go at it, nor was it lost on him that the class had really learned a lot. He supposed that if any of them had encountered a boggart in their day to day lives before then, it would have been a horrific experience. Now, these students could recognize the boggart for what it was and dispatch it. He was impressed with the professor, even if the man could do with some sun and a better change of clothes.
When the class was dismissed, Brad and Mike escorted the Gryffindors to the Great Hall for dinner. Mike and Hermione led the group, taking animatedly. There was a lot of excited chatter from the Gryffindor table as they talked about the class, and Reaper team went over the class amongst themselves. Several of them took turns making fun of Mike, who they accused of having a crush. He took it well, but never denied it.