Apologies for the delay getting this out, I'm trying to get this out to you guys sooner!
Brad glanced down at his boots, spacing them apart at about shoulder length. He kept looking down as he adjusted the grip on his rifle, stretching his lower back. Then, in one fluid motion, he snapped the rifle up and to his shoulder, acquired the closest target, and fired a trio of shots in rapid succession. The steel target, cut in the rough shape of a human silhouette, fell over and Brad snapped to the next target.
He repeated the same motion again and again, until he heard the familiar click of his magazine running empty. With practiced ease, he dropped the empty magazine, pulling the last one from his plate carrier, sliding it into place, and moving to the next target. Another several shots and the last of the steel plates hit the dirt, leaving him without targets.
Brad stood up into a more comfortable position, pulling the empty magazine and letting the rifle hang from his harness. He picked up the two he'd just used and, as he was stowing them in a pouch to take care of later, two of the closest steel targets popped back up from the ground.
He reacted immediately, dropping to a crouch and pulling his sidearm from the holster on his thigh. His left hand, which he'd normally use to support his aim, caught on the edge of the magazine pouch. He fired the first two shots without careful aim, just focusing on getting lead downrange. When his other hand was free, he aimed a bit more carefully. By the time his magazine ran dry, he'd dropped both targets.
Looking around himself as he stood up, he saw Fleur was behind him, waggling the wand in her hand and smiling broadly.
"Bravo," she called out, pocketing the wand as she stepped past the barrier that kept the sound of gunfire from reaching the school.
"Keeping me on my toes, eh?" Brad replied as she got closer, stowing the handgun back in its holster. He stored the spent handgun magazine with the others and then returned his attention to her.
"Looks like you were ready for it," she said, smiling as she fell into step beside him. He was about ready to head back to the castle anyway. Dinner would be soon and he needed to get his gear stowed and take a shower. Tromping around the woods in full gear for most of the day could really work up a sweat.
"How's your day been?" Brad asked as she grabbed one of his gloved hands. She didn't seem to care whenever he was wearing his gear, she still seemed to want to be close.
"It's been good," she said, skipping a bit as she pulled her wand out. "Check this out." She released his hand and aimed at a nearby tree. She had to keep at it for a second, twirling her wrist in an intricate pattern and concentrating, but the branches began to crack and fall off and with a loud snap the tree split down the middle. She turned back to him, beaming.
"That's impressive!" he congratulated, knowing what she was really proud of. She'd been practicing a lot lately. One of her newer things was performing a stronger version of Reducto, as he'd just seen. Doing this as a silent spell, however, was the real trick. It took a lot of concentration and finesse to perform any spell without the verbal incantation.
"Thanks!" Her smile deepened as she fell in beside him again, quickly scooping his hand back up. She waved her wand back at the tree and the split reversed itself, the branches working their way back to their original places. She wasn't destructive at heart, he'd discovered. Whenever she saw things broken apart or misplaced, she took the time to fix it. It was one of the things he liked about her.
"How much time did you spend on perfecting that one?" he asked as they walked on. She pushed into his side playfully, a half-hearted attempt to knock him off balance.
"Most of the day," she admitted. "Have you been at the range all day?" He couldn't help smiling again, she had learned a lot of the lingo, and quickly too. It was nice that she cared to learn it.
"Yeah, most of it," Brad replied, only noticing how the plate carrier was starting to cut into his shoulders now that he was thinking about it. He'd gotten geared up at 1100 hours and he'd spent his time since then at the range. He'd only left to go back up to the castle once, at about 1400 hours or so, to replenish his ammunition, having fired every round he carried aside from the ten rounds of 9mm in the back-up gun that was strapped to his calf.
Special operators maintained their edge by training a lot. It was a point of pride for soldiers in Delta Force that, as counted by an oversight committee, the 250-300 direct action operators had spent more ammunition in training than the entire US Marine Corps over the course of the year. That edge they were renowned for cost a lot of training hours.
They finished walking to the castle armory, where Brad parted from Fleur with a chaste kiss, aware of the keen observations made by students and soldiers alike. He decided that she was probably just going to sit there and wait for him, so he stowed his gear and took a shower, deciding to clean and reorganize his gear tonight after everyone went to bed. Throwing on a set of fatigues and his sidearm belt, he headed back out.
Sure enough, she was sitting on a small bench just outside the armory, silently lifting and twirling a small marble bust with her wand. Always practicing. He stood there, just outside the armory, watching her for a moment. He liked seeing how focused she could be.
"You ready for some dinner?" he asked a little louder than he needed to and startling her from her concentration. She jumped but, to her credit, the bust never even dipped. She simply lowered it down to sit where it should and then turned to give him the best glare she could manage. She wasn't convincing and his smile proved too infectious.
"That wasn't a nice trick," she said, jumping up from her spot with a reluctant grin. They both enjoyed trying to catch the other off guard. Without all of his gear in the way, she slid an arm into his and leaned close as they walked to the Great Hall.
Dinner was just starting to appear on the platters when they arrived. Ron, in true form, was heaping a gigantic pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate. It gave Brad a brief sting, remembering scrubbing the potatoes out of pots day after day. He had a new appreciation for the elves that managed school cleanliness. He'd actually taken a page out of Mike's book and grabbed a S.P.E.W. patch from Hermione, which he'd mounted to the side of his helmet.
Clara was the first to notice them, wedged in between Hermione and Ron. She waved and Fleur waved back. They took seats beside each other, sitting close together. Another outward sign that their relationship had changed.
They had gotten some looks that first night, after the kiss. They had come in together and sat close, just like this. No one said a word about it one way or the other, however. Well, not until everyone went to bed. Mike made sure to say a word of congratulations, followed by a wink.
Since that night, they'd spent the majority of their free time together, and when they were together, it was difficult to maintain any degree of separation. He had to begrudgingly admit that he understood Mike and Hermione in a whole new light, now. While he and Fleur hadn't precisely said anything about the status of their relationship, he felt it was clear enough they were close. He could be satisfied with that.
Brad was aware of the footsteps behind him before the voice spoke out. "Captain, Miss Delacour," the voice said respectfully, "You're to report to the Quidditch pitch at 2030 hours...uh, 8:30, ma'am," he replied as she turned to look. One of the security detail troops, he figured.
"Thank you," Fleur spoke before he could, and Brad heard the footsteps recede.
"I guess we will find out what we're doing tonight, then." Brad felt a mixture of excitement and nerves. "I don't suppose you've heard anything about what they've been up to over there?" He asked Harry. He'd forgotten to ask about the garden he had seen over there.
"No," Harry admitted sullenly.
"It's an abomination, it is," Ron chimed in through a mouthful of potatoes. Clara scooted a little closer to Hermione, who both seemed to understand her discomfort and also use the opportunity to scoot closer to Mike.
"Well, God help us," Brad muttered. If they were building a garden in the pitch, he could only imagine what the task would be. He felt confident that, though he may not defeat them, he could fight anything thrown at him. He'd stand toe to toe with any adversary and give it his best. If the final task next week involved gardening, he was going to have a really rough time.
Howard Eden drummed his fingers against the picnic table, waiting for Rufus Scrimgeour to show up. Eden had promised some new intel, obtained by an exclusive source that he couldn't name. The source was, of course, himself, but that was a fact that the Auror didn't need to worry himself with. Typically, he got his information from Lucius Malfoy, but he thought it time to adjust again. It didn't pay to keep using the same sources all the time.
His previous meeting with Minister Fudge had been perfect, he heard exactly what he'd hoped to. Fudge was starting to worry about the investigation that Scrimgeour had launched, even though nothing had been proven to date. Eden made sure, of course, to sprinkle enough information out there that the investigation would keep going, but he made sure not to give all of the information.
Lucius was certain that this Dark Lord, Voldemort, would return soon. He was convinced that the disappearance of some Ministry of Magic broad was the work of Voldemort. On top of that, he had a magical tattoo that was starting to act stronger, which Lucius considered a sure sign.
Eden wasn't sure what to think, but he was determined that he would come out ahead either way. By simultaneously ensuring that Fudge thought there was no chance of his return and Scrimgeour did, no matter what he was backing someone with pull in the Ministry. And, as a new close personal friend and ally of Lucius, if it turned out the Voldemort did return, he would have an in there too.
The fact was, Eden thought he might like his highness, Lord Voldemort. By all accounts, the guy hated muggles every bit as much as he did, the untalented swine that they were. He imagined that, at least for a time, he could have fun with this Death Eater organization, laid out as it was.
Still, he couldn't count on the return happening. There was a lot of evidence pointing to Voldemort being completely dead, too. If the return didn't happen, he needed a way to gain control of the Death Eaters without the benefit of being blessed by its leader. Either way, it was a lot easier to take over an existing organization than to start from the ground up.
At this point though, he couldn't hedge his bets one way or the other. If he needed to start his own organization, it was best to get started sooner rather than later. That was where Abraham came in.
Abraham Zoll was an old, pureblooded wizard that hadn't set foot outside the UK in his entire life. That said, he was a man without a cause. Recently divorced, he'd just lost his house. Eden saw him for the first time sitting outside a cafe in Diagon Alley, begging for loose change.
Eden had always had a good sense about people. It was a trait shared by many throughout the world. Where Eden parted from the crowd was the fact that he acted on it. When he first laid eyes on Abraham, he had a good feeling.
He bought the man a meal and talked to him, learned his story. Then, over the next several days, he bought more meals. He provided some clothing, a roof over the man's head. He gently broached his thoughts on muggles. On how they were petulant vermin with a superiority complex and he hoped for their complete supplication. Well, maybe it hadn't been gentle, but the pitch had worked, so what did it matter?
After a couple days of meals and housing, he'd earned Abraham's complete devotion. He set up a bank account that Abraham had access to for food and shelter, then told the man to go out and spread the word. Dark wizards, dark creatures, he didn't care. Just spread the word and start getting some like-minded people together.
It was hard this early on to know exactly where to place his bets. So, he did what all smart people did. Diversified. Here soon, he'd feed Scrimgeour a new nugget of intel about the suspected rise of the Dark Lord, this one his own doing. He was going to tell Scrimgeour that he heard someone was messing with the owl mail, changing letters, trying to thwart the investigation.
He'd spent a night with the sweet, young Ava, enjoying the comforts of a woman. Then, once she'd fallen asleep, he burrowed into her mind and altered every trace of himself from her brain, pointing the finger instead to the most generic description he could think of. A mid-sized, middle aged man that was unremarkable in every way, except that Ava was allowing him to read sensitive mail.
They would spend an eternity looking for this mystery man. As for Ava, she would possibly suffer some brain damage and she would definitely spend some time in Azkaban, but that was what she got for being so weak-minded.
Finally, across the park, he could see the head Auror. It was time to fill him in.