AN - Thank you to DullReign82 for your reviews, I am glad you're enjoying. Guest, I hope that this is suitable! Enjoy, and as always, please feel free to review.
"Boys, welcome!" Mike greeted the quartet cheerfully as they entered the room. "Wands in the bucket." Mike waived them forward, indicating the bucket on a table in the front of the classroom.
"Glad you could all make it," Brad smiled at the four Slytherin boys who had caused such a ruckus during the last Quidditch game. None of the four shared the enthusiasm of the operators, being that this was a night of detention. With direct approval of the Headmaster, the operators had control of the boys from nightfall to daybreak.
"We didn't really get a choice," Malfoy said with a little spite in his voice.
"You had all the choice in the world, little fella," Jason said, patting the blonde-haired boy on his head and messing up his slicked back hair. Jason was easily a head taller and was significantly more muscular. Thankfully, the boy wasn't stupid enough to do anything more than scowl at the mussing of his hair. "No one made you disrupt the game and pretend you were dementors."
"Yeah, don't ya want to be a man?" Mike asked, a big grin on his face as he eyed each of the now wandless boys. "Men accept the consequences of their actions."
"Alright," Brad said, patting a pile of clothes next to him on the table. There were three other sets, each a mishmash of clashing colors. "You boys are dressed inappropriately for the tasks at hand tonight...thankfully we have some clothes for you. Grab a set and get changed." Brad took a step back from the table, inviting them to come pick clothes.
"Oh?" Malfoy asked. The other three eyed him questioningly. Crabbe and Goyle appeared not to want to rock the boat, and Marcus Flint was staying quiet as well. "I think my robes are just fine compared to these." Malfoy held up an over-sized, bright orange shirt and a pair of equally baggy looking pink pants.
"You wanna go there?" Brad asked. There was no edge to his voice, but the invitation to defy him was as obvious a trap as anyone had seen. Well, anyone but Malfoy.
"What's wrong with the robes?" Malfoy seemed to think that this train of logic was infallible.
"Jason, would you show this young fella what is wrong with his robes?" Brad gestured toward Malfoy. Jason, who was standing directly behind the Slytherin boy, wasted no time grabbing a couple handfuls of the robes and wrenching them apart in opposite directions. There was a loud tearing sound and suddenly there was a draft in the back of Malfoy's robes.
"There is a hole in your robes," Brad said. Malfoy was completely red in the face, but Brad switched focus to the other three boys. "Anyone else want their robes checked for malfunctions?" There was a chorus of no as the boys each grabbed a pile of clothes. The operators gave the boys a little privacy to change and soon each of them were clad in over-sized, mismatched clothing.
"Excellent." Brad looked each of them over, a satisfied look on his face. It was very obvious that each of them felt very uncomfortable with their apparel. "Now, as you well know my unit is tasked with keeping this school safe. Since you have elected to join us tonight, you will be helping us keep this castle secure. Follow me."
Brad lead the unhappy quartet out of the classroom, up the staircase to the top level, and down the hall to another class. Inside there was a table with four spoons on it and several buckets of sand.
"One thing we can't get enough of are sandbags. We are lacking in hearty individuals that are up to this task, so each of you will grab a spoon, fill it with sand, and bring it downstairs to your bag so that you can fill it up. Eric will help you secure the bag once it is full, Jason will be up here making sure you use the equipment provided, and Mike and I will be making sure we aren't taking our time. We wouldn't want to put the school's safety at risk after all...any questions?"
"Yeah," Malfoy started almost immediately. Brad knew if anyone was going to speak up, it would be him. "Why don't we bring the bucket downstairs? Why one spoon at a time? And we are wizards, we could fill them with magic? This is a huge waste of ti-" Malfoy was cut off by Brad, who closed the distance between them extremely fast.
"NO!" he bellowed in the boy's face, cowering him immediately, "A waste of time is plotting a poorly thought out prank that could have gotten someone killed. A waste of time is keeping my team up all night babysitting a bunch of pissant wannabe big boys who think that knowing magic makes them somehow superior! A waste of time is standing here explaining why you don't know your ass from your elbow! Get a fucking spoon and get started!" Brad punctuated his last shout by pulling out and extending an ASP baton with a mean sounding click. He was almost red in the face by the end of his rant and Malfoy was bent backwards an uncomfortable degree trying to get away from Brad.
The rest of the boys didn't need telling twice, they moved quickly to the spoons, each grabbing one and scooping a teaspoon of sand from the nearest bucket. Mike and Brad stayed close in tow, prodding stragglers with their batons and keeping them moving up and down the stairs for several hours.
It was almost two in the morning when Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus had finished their bags. Malfoy, as it turned out, was among the least physically fit out of all of them. Several times, he stumbled on the stairs and dumped his teaspoon of sand. Once even, he slipped in a small pile of his own spilled sand.
He'd tried his hardest during the fall to get out of the rest of the detention, going so far as to summon tears. The operators were having none of it and finally Brad redeployed the baton. Its hostile click was enough to send the message that he would not be escaping detention.
The operators, who were also feeling the many trips up and down the staircase, weren't about to let the three boys who finished first get off easy. Brad ordered them to keep pace with Malfoy and encourage him to keep going and do better. Any time one of them stopped offering encouragement, they got a prod from a baton.
Brad found himself struggling not to laugh multiple time throughout at lame, less-than-heartfelt shouts of encouragement.
"You've got this, Malfoy!"
"Come on, you can do it!"
"Don't stop, go, go, GO!"
Hell, at that point his own classmates were doing half the work for him. They were keeping pace and making sure he didn't fuck it up, because they were tired of running up and down the stairs. Malfoy knew that they didn't mean the encouragement because they wanted him to succeed, but because they wanted to stop being punished for his mess-ups.
It only took another half an hour, but finally it was done.
"Merlin," Malfoy sighed, getting his weight off of his nearly gelatinous legs by sitting in a chair. He had barely a moment of time in the chair before Jason had closed the distance and kicked one of the rear legs clean off, sending the boy toppling backwards. "Wha-" he yelped.
"Did you forget this is a punishment?" Jason asked the boy as he lay on the ground. Malfoy scowled up at Jason, who grabbed him by the shoulders and picked him up, leaving him standing upright again. Marcus, who was in the middle of trying to take a seat himself, heaved himself back up before his rear even grazed the chair. "You sit when we tell you to sit, and not a moment sooner."
"Oi, you tellin' me we ain't even done yet?" Crabbe asked aloud.
"Done?" Brad shook his head in disbelief. "You lazy assholes took over half the night filling up four sandbags, you'll be lucky if I don't bring you back again tomorrow night to do some actual work."
"Oughhh," Marcus sighed in defeat, clearly opposed to the idea of coming back to do this again. The other boys held similar looks.
"Well, pair off. One person gets a broom, the other a dustpan," Brad said, gesturing toward a corner of the room stocked with cleaning supplies. They were hilariously small, and the boys looked at them in disbelief. "They're designed for the house elves. When they came by to clean up the mess you guys made on the stairs, I volunteered you to pick up after yourselves. Crabbe, Goyle, you two start at the bottom of the stairs and work your way up. Malfoy and Flint, start from up top at the sand room. I don't want to see even one grain of sand on these stairs."
So the work went on for the next several hours. It didn't take long before the boys were visited by all manner of aches and pains from the stoops and bends, using their tiny brooms and dustpans to clean each step and then dumping their picked-up bits of sand and debris into a sack they were stuck carrying.
It was about a half hour until breakfast when they finally met, Crabbe and Goyle covering almost two thirds of the stairs while Malfoy and Flint had an unmistakably heavier sand and debris bag, most of the errors having been made at or near the top of the stairs.
"Alright boys, let's go. The equipment needs to be returned to the house elves. We will take the Great Hall route. Same goes for these bags of trash, get 'em picked up and get a move on. You do not want to take your time!" Brad hollered at them. "And bring your sandbags!"
They each picked up their filled sandbag, then one grabbed their miniature broom and dustpan while the other carried their bag of debris, then headed through the corridors. They walked with great difficulty, their muscles tested to their max over an exhausting night of running up and down stairs. Not one of them could successfully pick up their feet all the way when taking a step, preferring to drag their feet along the ground.
Brad neglected to mention that it was so close to breakfast time. If they'd been moving along at a reasonable pace, then they could have made it through the Great Hall without incident. As it stood however, their pace made it impossible to beat the breakfast rush.
"What are they wearing!?" one first year girl exclaimed as they neared the Great Hall. Only then did the four Slytherin boys remember that they'd been forced to wear oversized, poorly matched clothes, and that other students existed. They turned beet red as more and more people saw them, and the whispers got louder.
"I told you that you didn't want to take your time," Brad chimed in as they made it through the Great Hall. There was open laughter when Goyle stopped moving for a second to gawk at the food on one of the tables, tripping Malfoy who wasn't paying attention. Malfoy dumped his bag of dirt and sand on the floor in front of him, landing in it.
The operators sorted it out quickly, picking Malfoy off of the ground and directing the quartet to get to sweeping and cleaning. The outbursts of laughter gave way to murmurs that lay somewhere between sympathy and a general "saw-that-coming" attitude. After a few minutes, the pile was cleaned and the group was through the Great Hall.
They made it to one of the small rooms nearby, where a crew of house elves were working on gathering garbage together in one place.
"Give the supplies to our...brightly dressed friend here," Brad said, indicating an enthusiastic looking elf who was dressed in a way that made the Slytherin boys look ready for a formal event. "Trash and sandbags in the bin," Brad finished.
"What?!" Malfoy asked, incredulously. Putting sandbags, that had taken them all night to fill, into the trash seemed absurd. After all of the effort put into it…
"Oh, I had the quartermaster do inventory on our sandbag supply..." Brad said as though it was routine. "We were in surplus by four, no sense taking up valuable space with extra sandbags, you know?"
Malfoy and the others stared at the operator with their mouths hanging open in a sleep deprived, dazed shock.
"You're dismissed," Brad said, waving them off. "And I do hope not to have to repeat this exercise with any of you...I assure you it can get much more unpleasant." He left it at that, leading his troops out of the room, leaving the stunned, exhausted boys still standing there.
"That's bloody devious, that is!" Ron exclaimed, earning a smack across the back of the head from Hermione and a glare from Madam Pince, who had already had occasion to remind him to be quiet twice so far. Nevertheless, Harry and Hermione were both smiling at the retelling of the nights events for a certain four Slytherin boys who had made quite a stir that morning at breakfast.
"Yeah, they weren't too fond of that," Brad said.
"I'd think not, after spending all night working on them," Ron replied in admiration.
The group was sitting in the library, working on their promise to Hagrid. After the things they'd collected for the trial, the group hadn't anticipated Buckbeak losing the trial. From the sound of things, the political clout of Lucius Malfoy had a pretty large part in the outcome in the trial.
The four operators were planning on attending the appeal being held in two weeks, giving their account in person. The summons to Hagrid's hut wasn't the only time it was mentioned. Hagrid had approached Dumbledore about the situation as well. Dumbledore agreed to push for allowing the muggle soldiers to take part in the trial, but due to his position as Headmaster, he could not directly help.
Brad wasn't holding his breath about the appeal, but he kept that to himself. Corruption was a pain to deal with, and Lucius Malfoy had a lot more clout than he should. Brad wasn't even sure what the man did for a living, but damn it all if he didn't have the Minister's ear.
Hermione and Mike were continuing to search through past beast trials, looking for anything that might help. They'd poured over all of this before, when they were first coming up with a defense for Buckbeak. As near as Brad could figure, it made Hermione feel helpful. Research was her forte. And Mike was going to follow her wherever. He seemed to have it bad for her.
"Why didn't we use this last time?" Hermione whispered excitedly. "Here, a Hippogriff was tried for attacking the son of a foreign minister and won the trial."
"In 1749, right?" Mike asked. Hermione looked up at him, shocked that he'd known that. "It was the Prime Minister's Hippogriff, remember? They called a mistrial and the Hippogriff was executed right after..."
"Oh," she sighed, remembering the conversation from last time. "That's right." She started reading again, looking for any scrap of information that could help.
"There you are!" a first year Gryffindor student called out loudly, earning a cringe from everyone at the table and the ire of Madam Pince.
"Quiet down, this is a library!" she called out from her office. Thankfully she wasn't one to come running out after them when they spoke up.
"Best keep it down in here," Ron greeted the first year.
"Harry, Oliver has been looking for you. He wants me to tell you that practice is daily for the Slytherin match next week." She seemed to be in awe, staring openly at the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Yo," Mike nudged the first year, drawing his attention. "His eyes are down there," Mike gestured toward Harry's face, and the group tried to hide their smirks.
"Right," she blushed deeply, dropping her gaze to the floor. Hermione elbowed Mike in the ribs for embarrassing the poor girl, though she too was fighting off a smile.
"Thank you," Hermione said a little more compassionately. Harry nodded his agreement, and the first year turned on her heels and left rapidly. "You didn't have to embarrass the poor girl!" She tried to sound angry, but his goofy grin kept the smile on her face and she failed miserably.
"She was gawking," Mike said earnestly. "Nobody likes a gawker."
"You ready to put some hurt on Slytherin?" Brad asked, changing the subject. Daily practice was going to be rough with exams coming up.
"Yeah, I think it'll be good to show 'em up," Harry said.
"Alright, lets get back to-" Hermione started, but was interrupted by a shrill voice.
"Quiet!" Madam Pince called again. The group rolled their eyes and got back to the research.
Harry rolled over, punching his pillow into more of a ball, and tried to get comfortable. It had been a longer night than he'd hoped for. The match against Slytherin was tomorrow...today, he corrected himself. He knew it had to be early in the morning by now.
What a week it had been. Oliver had promised daily practice, but after an abysmal performance by the chasers during that first practice, Oliver opted for twice a day. In addition, he was trying to study for his upcoming exams.
He wanted to rub Slytherins ugly little nose in it, to crush them in the match, but he also knew it would be a relief to have the match done and over with. He'd have all of two days after the match before exams started and he felt woefully unprepared.
Hermione was helping him study of course, but he never felt the same grasp of information that she had. She seemed to absorb information like a sponge, just soaking it in wherever it was. He was an adept student, when he put his mind to it. It felt like there were more important things to do than study, however.
What good was an Outstanding in Transfiguration when the embodiment of evil was trying to steal something to get his body back? What good was a passing grade in potions when a giant serpent was trying to kill students? How do you spend time on homework when a savage murderer is hunting you?
"Alright!" Ron shouted, getting fits of surprise from the rest of the boys in the dorm. More than one pillow was hurled at the redhead, who fought them off heartily. "Let's stomp Slytherin!"
"Woo!" Seamus shouted in agreement. "We'll eat those snakes for breakfast!"
"Let's get breakfast!" another boy shouted, causing laughter throughout the dorm.
So much for sleep, Harry thought to himself, sitting up. He rubbed his blurry eyes and put his glasses on. The rest of the boys were getting dressed, so he did the same.
"You ready to do this thing?" It was Lee Jordan, the commentator for all of the school Quidditch matches. He was hilariously distractible and was not remotely impartial, but no one else wanted the job so far, so he kept on going.
"Yeah, I reckon so," Harry replied, adjusting his robes to a more comfortable fit.
"Don't worry, Harry, no one is getting near you. No repeats of that sabotage," Fred called out, getting nods and shouts of agreement from the rest of the Gryffindor students. They'd been livid after the attempt by Slytherin at the last game, and the general scuffles in the halls were not helping matters. Lately, someone from the Quidditch team was always with Harry, along with his operators. Harry mused that this was what a head of state must feel like.
Downstairs, the operators were all up and ready to go. Harry wondered if they were always up early, but it was more likely that they'd woken to the shouts and hollers from the Gryffindor students.
They walked in a large group to the Great Hall for breakfast and, while they were the first ones there, it didn't last long. The rest of the school trickled in throughout breakfast. It was time for the Quidditch Cup's final game this afternoon, and the entire school was excited.
It'd been a sort of controlled loud, with animated conversations at all of the tables. Then someone said the word Firebolt and everybody at the Gryffindor table started a cheer. Slytherin responded in kind with one of their house cheers. The back and forth went on, getting louder and louder until some of the security teams got involved, telling everyone to save it for the field. The last thing that was needed was a food fight or riot.
After breakfast, it was time for some light warm-ups. The operators attended their briefing, outlining who would be where and with what equipment. The security presence was going to be heavy, and while everyone was at the game, the school was going to be locked down. A full fireteam would be at each entrance and patrols roaming throughout, while there would be almost double the presence at the game. Not one member of the task force would be off-duty during the game.
Meanwhile, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team were out riding and doing light exercises on their brooms. Nothing particularly energetic, that was all being saved for the game. They wanted to work enough to get their blood flowing and be ready to go.
These exercises went on until 1130 hrs, when Wood called them all down to the pitch. The game would start in an hour, so it was time to try to relax while they got everything set up. Meanwhile, Wood started in on his pre-game speech.
"This is it, ladies and gentlemen!" he called out in the locker room. They were already dressed in their uniforms, brooms ready to go. "The Quidditch Cup can be ours! We all know Slytherin is gonna play dirty, and they're gonna pay for it in penalties. We just need to focus and do it right, keep Harry open to getting the Snitch. We can have this thing!" He pumped his fist in the air, eliciting a cheer from the Gryffindor team.
They were expecting the Slytherin team to cheat and play dirty. It was their way, and everyone knew it. Wood was right, it was a matter of working hard and playing it safe.
"Gryffi-" Lee Jordan's booming voice was drowned out by the cheering from outside. Harry realized, with a start, that it was time for the game. They'd been so focused on Wood's speech, for once, that they weren't waiting for the call out. They rushed outside to see the Slytherin team on the pitch already, looking smug.
The chants of the crowd were, again, making it hard for Harry to hear anything. He watched as Wood met Marcus Flint in the middle of the field for a handshake. It went on for a second longer than normal, Marcus holding tight and trying to inflict some damage. Madam Hooch smacked him upside the head, breaking the grip, and the two captains returned to their sides of the field.
A high-pitched whistle, and Harry kicked up hard, the game starting in earnest. He saw Katie Bell snag the Quaffle and streak toward the opposing end. His eyes darted around the field, looking for that telling glint of gold.
Harry jerked his broom to the right and soared down, a Bludger missing his head by a hair. Starting off strong, it would seem.
"IT'S A SCORE," Lee Jordan boomed out, "TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!" That would work.
Harry watched on as Gryffindor brought its A game. The chasers had taken the initiative and were keeping it in check, the beaters keeping the Slytherin team at bay, and Wood bringing a strong defensive game to anything that got through to the goals.
Slytherin repeatedly broke the rules. One of the chasers grabbed Katie Bell by the head, causing her to drop the Quaffle. A beater kept targeting Wood, trying to knock the Keeper out of the game. Thankfully, Madam Hooch was paying close attention and caught almost every instance of rule breaking. It was costing Slytherin dearly, as Gryffindor was up 80-10.
Finally, Harry saw it. A glint of gold in the distance and he streaked down at it. He had to dodge another Bludger but he was closing in on it. He started to reach out-
He felt the broom kick under him, and a glance behind him told him everything. Malfoy, who couldn't keep up, had grabbed the end of his broom, stunting him. Malfoy couldn't hold the grip and let go, but the damage was done. Harry couldn't find the Snitch again.
"THAT DIRTY, CHEATING-" Lee cut himself off, not risking the ire of McGonagall. Harry scowled in frustration but darted away, not wanting to stick near the Slytherin Seeker.
There was a deeper struggle, back and forth. The penalties were adding up, but the pressure on Wood was getting to him too. The score was 110-50, still a long way from Slytherin being up, but mistakes were being made.
Angelina had the Quaffle and was soaring toward the goals and the entire Slytherin team was getting in the way. Harry was tired of seeing them play dirty and decided to give them a little taste. He pushed his broom as fast as he could, shooting ahead of Angelina and straight at them. They panicked and broke off from his onslaught, clearing the path for Angelina, who shot and scored.
Harry spun around triumphantly, getting a large grin from Angelina. He glanced around the pitch and felt his heart drop. There was Malfoy, skimming along the bottom of the pitch, chasing a small golden glint. Harry pushed his broom as hard as he could, closing the distance fast. It didn't look fast enough.
Malfoy swiped at the Snitch, missing it by a finger-width. The snitch darted to the right and Malfoy followed, a little sluggishly. Harry pushed as hard as he could to catch up, and was just about there when Malfoy took another swipe.
The Snitch darted to the left just in time and Malfoy missed again. The Slytherin Seeker turned, following the Snitch. This time, Harry was close enough to intervene. Malfoy reached out and Harry threw an elbow into the meaty part of Malfoy's arm, knowing from experience sparring with Brad that it was a spot that hurt like hell. Malfoy jerked away, opening the path to Harry, who plucked the Snitch out of the sky.
The crowd roared so loud that Harry didn't hear Madam Hooch blow her whistle, signaling the end of the game. It didn't matter though. The players were heading toward their sides of the field, Gryffindor celebrating loudly and Slytherin sulking.
The rest of the day was a party the likes of which Gryffindor had not seen in years, even putting their last one to shame. The entire house celebrated, taking time away from studying and anything else that might have been going on. They'd finally won the cup again and no holds were barred as they reveled in the victory.