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Tony Walsh watched from the tiny port window as their ship, the Mako, made its final approach to the port. The voyage had been misery incarnate for Tony, who considered himself a man of the land. He still had a hard time believing his incarceration had only lasted ten days, but he just considered himself glad it was almost over.
Grabbing the black slacks and polo, he dressed himself. Afterward, he pulled on a pair of polished black shoes. This part was to be the most dangerous part of his plan.
Things in New York had gotten hot. Rumors of crackdowns by MACUSA had been circulating for a while and he had definitely lost touch with some of his former packmates in LA and Portland. But that happened all the time. If someone left the pack, after a while, they usually lost touch. Not something he worried himself with.
Or he didn't, until Sean, the Alpha, brought the entire pack out for a hunt. They'd been chasing some prostitute through the woods near Lloyd Harbor. Even though it wasn't a full moon they were still a bit quicker and stronger than most muggles, and the hunger for meat was seldom fully satiated. Not to mention, it was just fun.
When Tony closed his eyes he could almost convince himself he was there. He could smell the squirrels and birds, hear the sound of branches cracking and the wind rushing by his ears as they chased her down.
And then, mid-chase, he had glanced over to Sean. The Alpha was hot on her trail one second, the next his head disappeared in a puff of red-gray mist and he slammed bodily into a tree. Only then did the loud, booming report of a muggle weapon penetrate the night. The entire pack stopped in its tracks, stunned. The loss of their Alpha was unthinkable. That turned out to be an incredible mistake.
The forest erupted in gunfire that was deafening to his sensitive hearing. Flashes of light sparked throughout the trees and one by one, his packmates dropped to the ground. In the flashes he could see men in tactical equipment systematically killing everyone he cared about.
Still, it wasn't until the Auror joined the fray, freezing Sarah into a solid brick of flesh that shattered when struck by a bullet, that Tony broke out of his terrified stupor and ran. He ran as fast as he could and listened to the crack-ziiip of muggle weapons getting closer and closer to killing him.
He'd ducked between trees, stumbled down a hill and ran until he hit the water. He heard the helicopter searching for him and everything felt so surreal. He didn't specifically remember finding his way to the harbor, but when he looked up at a container ship leaving port, he formed his plan then and there.
He didn't go back home. If MACUSA hunted his pack down like that then they'd surely know where he lived. Instead he snapped the neck of some drug dealer and took the man's money. He bought a hotel room and started searching the internet for advice slipping the border.
Canada was a thought but it didn't feel safe enough. Too close to the United States. He couldn't speak Spanish or French, or...well, anything that wasn't English, which disqualified most of Europe...and Asia. He didn't like Australia. Finally, he selected the UK. He'd need a passport to get through muggle customs according to the internet, but he was too scared of MACUSA catching him if he surfaced in any official way.
So, he went to the port and found the shittiest looking ship in the harbor that was setting course for the UK, then asked for a job. The pot bellied captain was wearing a shirt covered in gravy and ketchup stains and looked like he hadn't shaved in a year; he was happy to hire a young, muscular man, no questions asked.
Before they left port, he purchased a fluorescent green safety vest, sewing supplies, and black fabric. Over the ten days they sailed, he moved cargo, mopped floors, washed dishes, and generally did whatever shitty job that was asked of him. By night, he set about a crash course in learning to sew. It took the first four nights to finally get it down okay and his fingers were constantly sore, but now, as the ship slowed into the port, he had exactly what he needed.
It was a high risk-high reward kind of thing. He grabbed the safety vest and slipped it on over the polo shirt. On the back he'd sewn a homemade patch that matched, as closely as he could manage, the Border Force logo. It probably wouldn't stand up to very close observation, but then he didn't intend to get very close to anyone.
He waited until the ship stopped, then sat on the side of his bed and waited. It took several hours, then the captain announced that Border Force was boarding the ship for inspection and they should get their papers ready if they expected to set foot off of the ship.
Watching through the little window, he waited until he saw the line of officers, all wearing vests similar to his own, start up the ramp. He went through his drawer, grabbing the wallet filled with muggle money and stuffing it in his pocket, then headed down to the bottom of the ship.
Everyone else was going to be up top, ready to get their inspections over with. He stopped at the little closet in the rear of the ship. There, he waited. It took a solid forty-five minutes before he started hearing footsteps. He stepped out of the closet and closed the door, just in time to be caught by the Border Force officer.
"All clear, bruv," he said in his best attempt at a British accent. The puzzled officer stopped dead in his tracks.
"You made it down 'ere fast," the officer replied, turning around and heading back upstairs.
"All in a day's work," he called after the officer, relieved. After that, he simply followed the rest of the officers off of the ship. Once they'd made it to the pavement, they grouped together, chatting among themselves, heading this way and that. For his part, Tony ducked between a few containers and started working his way toward one of the openings in the fence surrounding the port.
His chest tightened as the man operating the checkpoint stepped out of his shack but, upon seeing the familiar vest, simply waved him though. The feeling didn't let up until the guard shack was out of sight, at which point he pulled the vest off and stuffed it into a communal trash bin. He'd made it...now what?
"Thank you for waiting," the fat leader of Britain's magical community muttered as he slid his heft into the opposite bench seat. Even as he imagined summoning the inky pit beneath the tub of lard before him, the forced smile that appeared on Howard Eden's face appeared every bit as genuine as it ever was. It was one of his most useful attributes, the ability to mask his own emotions and thoughts.
"Welcome, Minister," Eden replied, gesturing at the spread of comfort foods he'd ordered. In truth, the Minister was only a few minutes late to their lunch meeting, but Eden found that the Minister thrived on respect from the position. "Please, don't worry. I understand, you're very busy."
"You don't know the half of it!" Fudge exclaimed, patting a napkin into his lap before digging into the food. He started with the thickest chicken leg, attacking it like someone who hadn't eaten in a week. His considerable form, however, suggested quite the opposite. It was readily apparent that the Minister was a stress eater.
"There has been a lot on your plate?" Eden asked, having some idea already. Fudge nodded ferociously as he chewed, a little dribble of grease dripping down his chin.
"Quite so, I'm afraid," he finally said after swallowing. "Now, hear this," Fudge leaned in, pausing a moment to chew some bit that had escaped the previous swallow, "one of my most trusted Aurors has opened an investigation into what he calls the 'suspected reemergence of the Dark Lord.'" Fudge leaned back into his seat, gauging Edens reaction.
"Oh," Eden drawled, a look of surprise on his face. "If I understand correctly, he is dead, isn't he? At the hands of that young kid."
"Potter, yes," Fudge agreed. "I'm at a loss. He hasn't been out spreading rumors, mind you, but just to open such an investigation…" Fudge shook his head, "...I've people at the Daily Prophet asking if the Dark Lord has returned!" He emphasized with a large bite from a second chicken leg, though he had yet to finish the first.
"Surely your Auror is overreacting, just a little?" Eden said, chewing his lip for emphasis as though deep in thought. Fudge again nodded as he chewed. He swallowed, soaking the grease from his chin with the napkin.
"Of course he is," Fudge said. "I talked to him about it and do you know what Rufus said to me? Told me it's not my place to interfere with an investigation!"
"Rather bold for an Auror," Eden muttered, shifting to a concerned look. It was a delicate maneuver, pitting the two ministry officials against one another, but the potential payoff was outstanding.
"Right you are," he replied. "He has a point, legally speaking. I can't stop him investigating, but come on, man! The Dark Lord is gone and won't be returning, why should we start dredging up these awful memories!"
"Seems liable to disturb the peace," Eden added helpfully. Fudge nodded his head again, already deep into another bite. Eden allowed himself a brief smile. This was going exactly how he'd hoped.
The next several weeks had to have been some of the busiest that Brad had seen since being placed into Task Force Ansible. He had enjoyed every minute spent in France...once he'd talked to Fleur, at least. The morning after he'd stayed the night, they'd eaten breakfast together and then she took him into town to show him a few spots she enjoyed before they returned.
When he arrived back at Hogwarts, however, things changed rapidly. Colonel Sumner had not forgotten his lapse in judgement during the second task and Brad walked into an avalanche of extra duties. The first night back he started with the dishes at the FOB Phoenix mess hall, which Sumner had thoughtfully ordered suspended until Brad arrived back to take care of it. It had been lasagna.
He continued doing the dishes at the mess area every night, sorted ammunition casings, spent countless hours in the small motor pool doing menial tasks, and for one particularly brutal evening, he spent the day going over all of Colonel Sumner's written orders, literally crossing the t's and dotting the i's, a task the Colonel had saved for him.
Today, his duties had been lighter. He'd spent most of the day in the kitchen scrubbing dishes, serving food, then scrubbing more dishes. Brad grabbed the last of the massive pots, this one having been used for an ungodly supply of mashed potatoes, and began the arduous process of removing dried potatoes.
"Captain," the colonel's voice sounded from behind him. Brad jumped, accidentally dropping the bristle pad into the murky water at the bottom of the pan. He left it there, turning to the Colonel. "When you're finished here I want you to return to your regular duties."
"Yes, sir!" Brad exclaimed a little more enthusiastically than he'd intended. Truth be told, he missed his rifle and he had some practice that he wanted to do before it was time for the final task. Thus far, there had been little word on what to anticipate or when.
"I expect you to be able to keep your head in the future," Sumner replied, with the faintest hint of a smirk at the giant pot behind Brad. "As you were." He turned and stepped back out, leaving Brad to finish.
Half an hour later, Brad hit the shower area to try and get the smell of food off of himself. After that and a change of clothes, he felt like a new man. He headed to the motor pool to try to hitch a ride back to Hogwarts.
"Hey, Marco-" Brad started as he saw the fleet maintenance officer.
"Nope," Marco said, shaking his head in answer to the obvious question. "Big ol' negative." Brad opened his mouth to argue that he needed to get back to training ASAP, which was partly true, but Marco continued over him. "Colonel's orders. Said that the exercise would be good for you."
"Damn," Brad sighed. Hard to beat that. He looked up at the sky. The day was past its halfway point, but the weather was actually pretty nice out. A walk wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
It took him a couple of hours to make his way from the FOB, through Hogsmeade, then finally to the Hogwarts campus. That was due in no small part to the fact that he was taking his time and enjoying himself. It really was nice to be out of the kitchen and stopping to see the sights didn't take much effort. He hadn't realized how much he hated doing the dishes until recently.
As he wound up the path leading to the castle, he passed a few sentries that were making their rounds. In the distance he could see that the Quidditch field looked like it had some kind of garden or something growing in it and made a mental note to ask Harry about it. Quidditch was one of his favorite pastimes and he might have something to say about the use of his sports field.
"Finally," a familiar and extremely welcome voice called from behind him. Brad turned to see Fleur, matching Clara in a light blue tracksuit, hopping up from a spot where she and Clara had been propped up against a tree. He'd been so lost in thought that he had passed without looking. She walked over to greet him. "Where have you been?" she asked, sounding more curious than anything.
"Oh," he said, buying himself a second to think of how best to word things. His reply was lost when she slipped her arms around him in an unexpected and wonderful hug. Her vanilla/cinnamon scent filled his nostrils and he felt a tension in his gut, that he hadn't been aware of until now, release.
"It's good to see you again," Fleur murmured into his chest, giving him one final squeeze before letting go and stepping back.
"You too," he said with a smile. "What are you guys up to?"
"Just enjoying the weather," Clara replied, having stood up to join them. She glanced between the two and laughed. "I'll leave you two alone," she said starting up toward the castle. Brad immediately felt bad, not wanting to come between the friends.
"That's not-" he started, but Clara just turned to give him a disbelieving look and continued sauntering on her way, so he trailed off. Fleur shifted her weight back and forth, fidgeting with her fingers.
"Wanna go for a walk?" Brad asked, trying to come up with something to do with her. He fondly remembered sitting with her by the lake and it seemed as good a place as any. "Go see the lake before dinner?"
"That sounds nice," she said, shifting to walk beside him as they started in that direction. They talked about what they had been up to since getting back from France. Brad kept things centered on Fleur, both out of interest on what she'd been up to and not really wanting to broach the whole non-judicial punishment thing.
She had spent a fair amount of the time apart studying. While she had technically been excused from school exams, she still had to pass courses next year. Not to mention, they still had no idea what to expect for the final task, so it was best to study a bit of everything. After a while, she got him talking about how he had spent the last several weeks.
"That's crazy!" she exclaimed, putting her hand on his bicep for a moment.
"Could have been a whole lot worse," Brad replied with a chuckle, thinking about some of the more unsavory sanitation tasks that he could have been saddled with. Latrines came to mind.
"Still," she said, "punishing you for caring about us doesn't seem right."
"Well, I wasn't getting it for that, really. I shouldn't have lost my head, is all." Maybe a bit of an understatement, but it was more or less correct.
They walked together in a comfortable silence for a short time before arriving at a clear spot on the other side of the lake, somehow wordlessly deciding that the view here was what they were after, and stopped. The castle was mostly visible from across the large lake. It was partially obscured by the mast and sails of Durmstrang's ship. Everything was distant and the quiet of the woods that surrounded them felt welcome...peaceful.
His heart quickened as he felt her fingertips brush his. She didn't take her gaze off of the lake, nor did she pull her hand away, and when he opened his fingers, she slid her hand into his, clamping down gently. When he finally risked a glance at her, time seemed to freeze, his mind desperate to hold onto the image.
She was staring out at the lake, her silver-blonde hair tucked behind her ear and exposing her neck. He could see the rapid pulsing that told him her heart was beating every bit as fast as his. Her cheeks were flushed a light pink that wasn't there before she'd grabbed his hand, and he didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful sight. She bit her bottom lip in thought, drawing his attention to her soft and inviting lips.
He hadn't intended to do it. There was no conscious decision on his part. One second he was watching her and the next thing he knew, he was pressed close to her, his hand behind her neck and his mouth pressed to hers.
He realized it and for a split, terrifyingly long second, he feared he had crossed some line. The next, he was aware of her lips pressing back, deepening the kiss. She pushed her body back against his as she slipped her hands up to caress both of his cheeks and pull him closer, as though the tiniest space between them could break the moment.
It seemed to go on forever, and simultaneously he never, ever wanted it to stop. Before either of them were ready, their lips broke apart and they rested their foreheads together, panting for breath. One of her hands slid down from his cheek to rest on his chest and he opened his eyes. She was looking at him already, her deep blue eyes staring back into his.
"Mmm." It was an involuntary moan between breaths that slipped from her, and it sent them both cascading into a second kiss, every bit as deep and passionate as the first. When their bodies betrayed them and again forced them apart, desperate for oxygen, she took a step back, panting, and grabbed his hand. She pulled him over to the trunk of a nearby tree.
He sat down with his back against the tree and she sat beside him, melting into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her just slightly closer, and they sat there until the sun dipped behind the horizon.