I wanted to thank everyone again for the reviews! It really does a writer's heart well to know people are enjoying the story. I'm really excited for the things to come in this story. I hope you all enjoy.
The following week was a little easier, if only marginally. Hermione spent several nights in the care of Madame Pomfrey, who had the task of not just resizing Hermione's teeth, but repairing muscle and joint damage to the jaw. Previous dental work by her parents had unintended side effects when it came to a curse that was mostly used as a prank, and her teeth actually grew within her mouth.
Harry and Ron visited her, as did Brad and the rest of Reaper team. Mike only left her side to assist with training the team's newbie, and it was obvious he hated every moment of being away. He was cordial with everyone, but Harry could tell by the permanent burning look in his eye that he was ready to tear something apart.
Hermione remained blissfully unconscious for most of the repair work. Harry knew all about restructuring bone via magic and it was not a fun process. Professor Lockhart, the buffoon that he was, had tried to mend a broken bone in Harry's arm and instead removed the bone structure completely. The process of regrowing his arm had been excruciating.
On a more positive note, the Gryffindor students had finally resigned to the idea that they had a Hufflepuff champion. They weren't going to be the top cheerleaders, but they weren't struggling with the surprise addition and almost immediate removal of an additional champion from Gryffindor.
The same wasn't to be said for some of the other students, especially Slytherin. They were almost always caught wearing badges that depicted an olive drab figure being defeated, sometimes in gruesome ways. The figures were, of course, not detailed enough to be an actual threat. But attitude was in tremendous supply among them.
"Now, remember, this is particularly handy in duels." Professor Flitwick gave Harry a light elbow to the back, knocking him back into the moment. He'd been thinking about how Hermione was due to be released from the hospital ward today. He didn't have anything special planned, but it would be good to see her again. "Being able to blast your opponent back and get some distance, yes..." The professor smiled wryly, some memory of a duel occupying his mind for a moment. "...Handy, indeed. And, it's a fine spell for blasting spiders from hard to reach areas."
"That's a horrible idea!" Ron exclaimed in a whisper. He'd always been terrified of spiders and meeting a nest of Acromantula in their second year hadn't helped that in the slightest. "The only thing worse than a spider is a flying spider."
"Let's practice." The professor stood up on his pedestal, allowing the whole class to see his short form. He waved his wand, "Depulso!" A small stack of books with hilariously inaccurate depictions of dragons and other creatures launched off the table in front of him, scattering around the floor.
Before anyone else could get an attempt in, however, the bell sounded that told them class was over. Flitwick frowned, having again lost track of time. Some of the students were adept at getting him off subject for some length of time, usually about dueling or something similarly interesting.
The students filed out of the classroom. Harry was planning to head up to the infirmary to see Hermione. It was the last class of the day and he figured he'd visit her one more time before she was released. He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice. "Harry." Harry turned to look and couldn't help the smile that formed.
"SIRIUS!" His godfather wrapped him in a hug and smiled back broadly, holding both of Harry's shoulders after, as though to inspect him for damage.
"How are you doing?" Sirius asked. Harry shrugged, not really sure how to respond.
"I hear someone's trying to kill me again," he said. "So, I've got that going for me."
"Fat chance of that," Sirius said, gesturing to a passing patrol of four soldiers. "These guys are good at their jobs, I should know." He subconsciously rubbed the spot where he'd received a rubber bullet last year. "And I hear you're getting extra lessons with Moody, too."
"He's something," Harry replied. He'd only done one of the lessons so far, but it had been intense. The professor didn't pull any punches and he really knew what he was doing. There was none of the bowing or respectful distances or any of that.
Moody was a lot like Brad in that respect. In fact, they had both told him something early on, that if he found himself in a fair fight he hadn't prepared properly.
"It's about survival, plain and simple," Moody had told him. "Nothing else is gonna matter if you're dead, boy." That was before Moody hit him with a stunning hex. Harry hadn't been prepared to defend himself and Moody went on a tirade about Constant Vigilance!
"Well, he's been around the block a time or two," Sirius told Harry, looking around at the halls. They were strolling slowly. "It's really good to be back here, free, you know?"
Harry did know. Sirius had spent a long time in Azkaban and when he'd escaped, he could only go through these halls a hunted man. It had been a roller coaster of emotions when Harry had learned about the innocence of Sirius, just to have him arrested immediately after.
The simultaneous arrest of Peter Pettigrew had been what blew the official Ministry story out of the water, allowing for Sirius' exoneration. Harry hadn't witnessed it, but he'd learned that Pettigrew had received the Dementor's Kiss, his husk stowed away in Azkaban.
They walked through a number of halls, Sirius recounting tales of his father and himself. It was a great way to spend an evening.
Brad sat on the side of his bed, staring at his plate carrier. He was trying to decide if there were any necessary last-minute changes to make to his kit. It was hard to determine what he was going to need.
He spent a fair number of hours in the library, researching past Triwizard Tournaments for clues on what to expect. Over the course of reading four different books on the subject, he'd narrowed it down to dueling with other champions, dragons, gnomes, boggarts, serpents, gorgons, hydras, a sphinx, various magical puzzles, chimeras, merpeople, and a page and a half of other possible events.
How would he even fight a gorgon? He couldn't look at it without turning to stone, or so he'd read. There were various magical enchantments that could help a witch or wizard survive that encounter, but he had no such luck. So far, his plan was to just throw hand grenades.
He didn't think they'd use a hydra again. The last book he read came from the restricted section and actually had details of the last Triwizard Tournament. The hydra used for the first event killed all three champions and then a sizable number of Ministry handlers when it escaped.
Not for the first time, he decided to stick with his original kit. He'd added a grenade launcher, then decided to remove it. He'd looked at sticking an MK II Patronus pack in his bag, but he figured the chances of going toe to toe with a dementor would be slim. Dumbledore didn't approve of them being anywhere near the school and he doubted an event like this would change his opinion on that matter.
"Excuse me, Captain?" a nervous voice asked. It was one of the first year Gryffindor kids. He'd spent a fair amount of time trying to hang out with Harry. "They want you to go upstairs with your stuff, for the ceremony."
Go time. Brad picked up his plate carrier and put it on, slinging his rifle and carrying the rest of his kit. He followed the boy upstairs until they reached a large classroom that had been emptied of teaching materials.
Fleur, ever aware of her surroundings, was the first to see him. She didn't react or greet him. Simply turned back to her headmistress and continued talking. She'd been pretty much ignoring him since he'd volunteered to take Harry's place in the tournament.
He wasn't sure what was going on, but he tried his best to ignore it. She had originally been, if not friendly, at least cordial. He wasn't sure how he had offended her, but she'd been pointedly ignoring him since, not that he'd been going out of his way to talk to her. His greetings went unreturned and he'd quickly stopped trying.
Looking around the room, he saw that he was the last to arrive. Krum and Cedric were conversing quietly with Harry while a reporter with ridiculous looking glasses tried to get the attention of her cameraman. Brad didn't like the way he was looking at Fleur. It was almost hungry.
Brad, not one for subtlety, set his gear in by the door and stepped behind the cameraman.
"Anyone tell you staring can be hazardous to your health?" Brad asked. He man jumped and looked back at Brad with an indignant, irritated look.
"Who you thi-" He cut himself off, realizing who he was dealing with. He stammered a moment, trying to come up with some response to save face. His reporter stepped in, smiling in a way that made him immediately uneasy. She was a predator.
"Captain Gordon," she greeted him, extending a hand. He looked at it, then back to her, and didn't shake. He hated reporters. "I'm Rita Skeeter, from the Daily Prophet. So, you're the legend." She looked him up and down. "How about an exclusive," she gripped his upper arm firmly and lead him to a corner of the room. Brad had to fight his instinct, which was to twist away from her grip and fight back. Fucking reporters.
Her notepad and quill hovering next to her head, she stared at him. Almost through him. "So, what made you decide that you should take over for Mr. Potter?" Brad chewed his lip for a moment.
"No comment," he said, simply. She frowned, and Brad noticed that the quill was still writing furiously. He was certain he saw the word "emotional" before she gripped his chin and turned his face back to her. Her hand shot back to back to her chest, fearing from the look on his face that he was planning to bite her fingers off. She looked down, as though to confirm that all of her fingers made it back in one piece.
She sat there a moment. "You're not a friendly one, are you?" She tried smiling at him, but Brad saw through it.
"Nope," Brad replied. The quill was still writing and Brad glanced at it again. He looked on the verge of tears as he told me of the parents he never knew. He looked back to her acidly. "I hurt people for a living," he said. "Think about that before you try and print this trash." He stood without another word and left.
Soon, Dumbledore escorted both of the Ministry officials, along with an older man, into the room. They all were conversing quietly as they entered. Rita, apparently unfazed by their conversation, interjected herself to the headmaster's conversation.
"Dumbledore, so wonderful to see you again," Rita greeted him loudly. Dumbledore looked up, equally unfazed.
"Good to see you too, Rita," he said pleasantly.
"No hard feelings about-" she began, but was cut off by Dumbledore, who remained as pleasant as before.
"I'm certain you have a marvelous reason for your factless sensational methods, dear." He turned to the champions, leaving the red-faced reporter behind. "Thank you all for being here," he said, looking at each of them in turn.
"Our reasons for meeting here are threefold," Mr. Crouch said, stepping forward. "We will perform the Weighing of the Wand Ceremony as well as giving you the small bit of information you may receive before the first task. And...we will be doing our photos for the Daily Prophet." He added the last part warily. It made Brad feel a little better, it seemed that Rita Skeeter was universally unloved.
"Oh, don't make it sound so dull, Barty," Rita interjected, smiling. Brad didn't think anyone bought the nice girl act, however.
"This here is Mr. Ollivander, some of you may recognize him." Crouch beckoned the older man forward. He was an average height and build with silver eyes. He smiled at Cedric and then Harry. "He is our esteemed expert in wandcraft and wandlore."
"Thank you," Ollivander said kindly, stepping forward. "Let's start with Miss Delacour." Brad watched as she hopped up gracefully and presented her wand. Ollivander, to his credit, was more interested in her wand that he was of her. He inspected it up and down. "Ah, nine and a half inches, Rosewood. A Veela-hair core?" he asked politely, but it was obvious that he was confident in his answer.
"My grandmothers," Fleur replied with a note of pride, and no accent whatsoever. Brad remembered her mentioning that her accent crept in when she was emotional and missed talking to her. He sighed, trying to push the thought from his mind.
"Splendid. I don't use Veela hair much, a little temperamental, you know?" He waved the wand wordlessly and several vibrantly colored butterflies launched from the wand, all fluttering out the nearest window. "It works wonderfully." He handed the wand back to Fleur, who glided back to her seat.
"Cedric, if you would." Cedric got up and handed his wand off to the wandmaker. Ollivander inspected this one just as thoroughly. "Twelve and a half inches, ash, with a unicorn hair. I remember that one…they don't give up hair easily, unicorns. In marvelous condition," he commented.
"I polished it just last night," Cedric said, turning and winking at Harry, who looked concerned about a possible double meaning. Ollivander waved the wand, producing a bouquet of flowers and then retracting it. He handed the wand back and Cedric resumed his seat next to Harry, who was busy trying to rub fingerprints off his own wand.
Ollivander inspected both Harry's and Krum's wands and both were in satisfactory condition. Afterward, he thanked them all and left, having no further reason or desire to stay.
"Now that we've completed that step, let's get to the hints!" Bagman exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He was obviously more excited than anyone. Still, the four champions and the operator leaned forward with interest. Brad would need every ounce of help he could get to prepare for whatever challenge awaited, if the tournament would let him compete for Harry. He sincerely hoped it did.
"The first task will test your bravery and daring. As such, I cannot reveal to you any details. However, know that it will require every ounce of courage and cunning you possess." Seemingly satisfied with his hint, Bagman turned to Rita. "Pictures?"
The fuck was that? There was nothing to go off of there, that could mean anything. Brad sighed and resigned himself to simply staying as prepared as he could manage in order to handle whatever surprise was sent his way.
The cameraman, seeming to value his personal safety, kept his eyes on the group as a whole and not just the attractive female champion. Rita had to take charge of positioning everyone to get the pictures just right.
Evidently, Harry and Brad were both extremely interesting additions to this Triwizard Tournament and simply had to be in the front row. Brad was sandwiched between Harry and Fleur, who also apparently needed to be up front. Brad did his level best to remain focused as he inhaled her vanilla/cinnamon scent.
She pressed close to him at one point, at the direction of Rita, and he could have sworn she could hear his heartbeat, it was so loud. Still, he distracted himself by reciting the lyrics to a running cadence through his head and didn't show any outward sign of his heartfelt distress.
Still, through his embarrassingly juvenile hormones, he found himself painfully aware that she was ignoring him just as completely as before. I've really pissed her off, somehow. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out a reason.
The pictures were done quickly and the rest of the champions left, Brad being asked to remain behind by the judges of the tournament. Colonel Sumner and the FOB Phoenix quartermaster, Staff Sergeant Raines, showed up shortly after the champions left.
Over the next hour and a half, the kit Brad had set up was looked through and explained. The Ministry officials and leaders of schools were unfamiliar with the tools and weapons of war that Brad carried.
It surprised Brad that his entire kit was approved. There had been some questioning from Colonel Sumner about the addition of fragmentation grenades and the pair of magazines for his rifle that contained live ammunition.
He was, however, a little concerned when Barty Crouch Sr told the colonel that such munitions weren't likely to cause much damage. Regardless, he was permitted his entire kit. Now he just had to hope it was enough.
Malfoy was walking to the Slytherin dungeon by himself. Crabbe was with Goyle in the infirmary, being treated for the boils and welts that had sprouted everywhere. He'd visited once, but that had been enough. Those boils were hideous.
He looked forward to getting Harry for that one. It'd been luck that saved Harry. Snape's intervention had been unexpected, but it'd been worth watching Gryffindor lose fifty points and then detention for Harry and Ron to boot. Even better, watching that mudblood get hit with his spell, that was priceless.
Malfoy yelped in surprise as his arm was wrenched above his head and he was pushed bodily into the stone wall, smacking his head. He saw stars for a moment before, thump, a white-hot pain erupted in his flank. He yanked at his arm, trying to get it down, to defend his open side. Thump, another hit in the same spot made him weak in the knees and he cried out in pain. He felt hot breath on his neck.
"Listen, you stupid asshole, you picked the wrong girl to fuck with," a gruff voice said. He recognized it. Mike, the boyfriend. He wanted to be offended that the lowlife muggle would have the gall to try something like this, but the only thought that his mind would circulate was fear for his own safety. He jerked his arm back and bucked his hips, trying to fight the operator off, but the only thing that earned him was another hit to the kidneys that burned away the remainder of his desire to fight back.
"I can do this all day," Mike whispered into Malfoy's ear. Malfoy remained still and didn't speak. "You listen close...if you lay another finger on her I swear to whatever god you pray to, I will string your body up some place no one will find it. You got me?" When Malfoy nodded his head in agreement, he felt another thump and this time, he was allowed to slide down the wall and curl up in a ball.
Mike leaned in over him with parting words. "And if I ever hear you say the word 'mudblood' again, I'll rip your damn tongue out of your mouth."
With that, the operator disappeared into the shadows, leaving Malfoy to recover on his own.