Tony Walsh gripped the mug of beer tightly, pulling it up to his lips for a sip. It wasn't particularly great, but it was cheap and it got the job done. He couldn't ask for much more than that.
He'd been in London for a few weeks now and life was not at all what he had expected, though, to be fair, he hadn't really thought ahead too far. What he hadn't counted on was having no friends, no income, and no reason to get out of bed in the morning. Bed being a generous term for the sleeping bag he'd "acquired."
In another unexpected turn, he had only caught the scent of one other werewolf since his arrival, and he'd been too late to actually find her. It was all muggles and witches and wizards, the occasional goblin here and there…
Tony was always pretty good at blending in with the crowd. It was seldom that he got picked out as someone who didn't belong, which was good when your existence was considered a threat to those around you. Folks didn't take to kindly to that, though Tony enjoyed being near the top of the food chain.
Still, his ability to blend had been stunted since his arrival. Sure, no one had pegged him as a werewolf, but that didn't matter if they weren't willing to talk to you because you were American. He was treated as nothing more than a tourist, which made living in London full-time a little more challenging. So far, he'd had to resort to petty theft a couple times just to be able to eat. After his last pre-transition hunt, he wasn't eager to try again, even if he was across the world from MACUSA.
No, he'd resorted to eating beef and chicken and other barely tolerable meats. The next full moon was still several days out. A long wait, but he could feast then.
"Hello there, stranger," a man said, sliding onto the barstool beside Tony. When Tony didn't answer right away, the man smiled at the bartender. "I'll get two of what he's having," he said, jerking his thumb to point Tony out. The barkeep nodded and set about pouring the drinks.
"Who're you?" Tony asked, feeling obligated after the newcomer pushed one of the tall mugs his way.
"My name is Abraham, and you are?" Abraham eyed Tony appraisingly as he took a long sip from his own mug.
"I'm Tony," he replied, lifting his glass in thanks before taking another long sip.
"I've been watching you for a little bit, Tony," Abraham said, and Tony sat up a little straighter. "You look like you could use some companionship."
"Oh," was all he could think to say for a moment as he sat bolt upright. "I, uh, don't really swing that way-"
"No," Abraham chuckled, batting at the air as though to strike the idea out of the sky. "No, strictly platonic. No one does well alone, and you look like you could use a friend."
A little more at ease now, Tony slumped back into the stool. "I guess," he muttered into the mug, just before the brew touched his lips.
"I'm sure of it," Abraham replied easily, turning to face him directly. "It isn't right for you to be so alone...without a pack." Again, Tony sat bolt upright. He felt a rush of clarity as adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream.
"Who are you?" Tony asked, unconsciously drawing back his lips in threat.
"I'm just a man that wants to talk to you about finding some purpose." Abraham raised his hands gently, a gesture of surrender.
"Purpose?" Tony didn't carry a threatening tone this time, but nor did he sound friendly.
"Indeed. You, me, others like us...we've been stepped on by the common witch and wizard for quite some time now." Abraham said, leaning an elbow against the bar. Tony glanced nervously at the bartender, but the man appeared to be busying himself with cleaning some glasses at the other end of the bar, oblivious to the subject of their conversation. "And don't get me started on muggles."
"What exactly are you proposing?" Tony asked. He had to admit, being thrust into the gutter like this hadn't won the muggles any favors from him.
"I represent a fella by the name of Eden. Good man...has our interests at heart. Come meet him." Abraham laid it out, just like that. No beating around the bush.
"Why not," Tony said cooly, as though there had been some chance he wouldn't take the offer. He really didn't have anything better to do.
Brad excused himself, begrudgingly, from the dinner table to go set about working on his equipment. He'd planned to do it later in the evening, but since he was expected to arrive at the Quidditch pitch soon, he decided it was best to just get it done.
On top of that, he kind of enjoyed cleaning his weapons and getting magazines together. He could see himself enjoying working at an armory or something, in the distant future. Kicking in doors for a living was pretty fun, too.
As soon as he arrived, he pulled the magazines out of his drop pouch and laid them across the table. Then the plate carrier, his helmet, the rifle, handgun, and finally his leg holster. He took a glance at his watch. He had forty-five minutes to arrive at the Quidditch pitch.
First, he worked on the rifle magazines. He used regular, steel ball ammunition for training rather than the enchanted, plastic ones he normally carried. It was a simple matter to grab a case of 5.56 rounds and top off the magazines. When that was done, he cleared them from the table.
Next, he went through each pocket in his plate carrier, verifying that everything was in place as it should be. After that, he grabbed the stack of striped magazines and stowed them in his carrier, then hung it in his locker. He did the same to his leg holster, only instead of putting that back in his locker, he strapped it to his thigh. If he was leaving the castle later, it was best to have it with him. Just in case.
On his helmet, he snapped the night vision device back into place and turned the optics on, verifying that the battery charge was full. He carried a spare "snap pack" in his plate carrier, a battery bundle that he could snap in place on the fly to get his optics back up in the field. It was best to make sure you were topped off to start with, though.
With the table mostly cleared, he was able to quickly disassemble, clean, and reassemble both his sidearm and the HK416. He placed new batteries into the ACOG sight and set his radio onto the charging port. It would be fully charged by the time he got back to the castle, and he could mount it back onto his chest rig.
When everything was said and done, he still had eight minutes to get out to the field. Not too bad. He took one last look in his locker, admiring his handiwork, then set off, taking the long route to the pitch in order to swing by the carriage, just in case Fleur hadn't headed over yet.
"She already left," Clara called out as Brad neared the carriage. He waved in thanks and was about to turn away when she jogged over to him.
"What's up," he asked, eyeing her curiously.
"She's really happy right now," Clara said, her face flushed a little in the rush of confrontation. Brad half-smiled but she didn't return it. "Just, don't mess with her, okay?" She was obviously a little uncomfortable trying to threaten him but he had to give her points. She pushed though it out of concern for her friend.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Clara," Brad reassured her. "I'm pretty happy too."
"Good." She nodded her head, satisfied with having said her piece. "Go see what you're doing next week."
"Heaven help me if it's gardening," he chuckled, only half-joking. There was a serious part of his brain, small but ever-present, that worried about it.
He was the last to arrive at the Quidditch pitch, but since he was still three minutes early, he didn't feel too bad. He migrated over to where Fleur was standing and she slipped her hand into his.
"Wonderful, wonderful," Ludo Bagman greeted them, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in excitement. No one in the crowd returned the enthusiasm, but it didn't seem to phase the Ministry wizard. "Are you all ready to learn about the final task?"
There were a few murmurs in the affirmative and Brad took a second to look around them. From here, it looked less like a garden, which was comforting. They weren't plants so much as hedges, and they were growing in all different directions.
"Well," Ludo asked, eyeing each of them in turn. "Any guesses?" Brad thought about it for a moment, but it was Krum who spoke first.
"Maze." Brad couldn't tell from the inflection if it was a question or a statement, but the answer seemed to please Bagman.
"Precisely!" he cried out, a little too excited. "Don't worry, by the end of the week these hedges will be ten feet tall, easily!"
"Yeah, I was worried about that," Brad muttered dryly, just loud enough that Fleur squeezed his hand to shut him up as she suppressed a smile.
"So we just get through the maze and that's it, then?" Cedric asked, stepping onto his toes as though to try and memorize the pattern.
"Well, it won't be so simple," Bagman said with a mischievous grin. "The hedges like to move and the start points are all yet to be determined. Plus, the maze will be filled with puzzles and some creatures provided by Mr. Hagrid."
Brad chewed his lip at the last revelation, picturing running across one of those skrewts in the close confines of a hedge maze. He thanked his lucky stars that he'd decided to pack away the pair of M67 frag grenades.
"You'll start based on your current scores," Bagman continued. "Cedric, Captain Gordon, you two have the lead and so you'll start things off. Then Victor, and finally Fleur. You'll all start at different points, however. The cup will be placed in the center of the maze, and the first one to get it wins."
"Simple enoff," Krum grunted.
"Simple indeed," Bagman replied, though his face showed that he thought it would be anything but simple. "Let's head back to the castle, then." Bagman ushered them onward. Brad and Fleur started with everyone, but their pace was slower and so they fell behind, taking the opportunity to spend a few more minutes together. He'd escort her to the carriage and then go finish up with his radio.
"So, a maze," Brad said as they sauntered toward the edge of the forest. They were headed in the general direction of her carriage, but neither of them were in much of a rush.
"And not a garden," Fleur teased. Brad smirked but said nothing, a little embarrassed by how relieved he was. The closest he came to having a green thumb was when he was applying camouflage paint to his face. "Although, when you think about it, gardening wouldn't be much of a challenge."
"True," he admitted, and she had a point. While he anticipated being terrible at it, gardening wouldn't make for particularly interesting sport. It only left him feeling a little more foolish.
They walked slowly, listening to the sounds of the forest. The sun had dipped well beyond the horizon now, and though there was still light in the sky, it wasn't much. The creatures of the Forbidden Forest tended to prefer night.
Brad was getting ready to ask if Fleur had any idea what to expect as far as creatures or puzzles when there was a crunch followed by footsteps, somewhere in the forest. Fleur and Brad both stopped walking and Brad pushed her gently behind him, his other hand resting on the grip of his sidearm.
"Who goes there?" Brad called out forcefully. The only reply was the sound of stumbling footsteps getting louder. Before Brad could draw his sidearm, he caught sight of a ragged figure stumbling toward them. The only thing that kept his handgun in its holster was the fact that the figure seemed familiar. He was aware of Fleur gripping his shoulder as the figure closed.
"Oh, Weatherby, you must make note of-" the man stopped in his tracks, eyeing both Brad and Fleur incredulously.
"Mr. Crouch?" Brad asked, only remembering the man by his pencil thin mustache. It had seen better days, along with the rest of the man. He was poorly shaven and his clothing had taken quite a beating.
"What are you all doing here, shouldn't you be working on-" he went to step forward and his legs collapsed from beneath him. Brad quickly crossed the remaining distance, doing a rapid check for life threatening wounds.
"Shit," he muttered, grabbing at his shoulder for his radio mike for almost a full second before remembering it was on the charging port in the castle. He stood and turned to face Fleur. "I need you to go find the first sentry team you can and get medics over here."
"I'll be back," she nodded seriously, then turned to the castle at a run. He had a brief rush of pride in her ability to handle stressful situations, but pushed the thought aside, returning his focus back to Mr. Crouch.
"Sir," Brad started, pushing his knuckles into the man's sternum. He batted away at the pain, which Brad took as a good sign. When Crouch looked up at him, the confusion was erased almost entirely, replaced with fear.
"You must...warn...the boy...he's...danger…" Crouch seemed to be in such a rush to get the words out that he couldn't get them to flow properly. "Terrible mistake...my son...you must-"
Brad caught the movement out of the corner of his eye a split second before the streak of green light struck Mr. Crouch in his chest. Brad reacted instantly, pushing away and unholstering the handgun, firing as quickly as he could at the spot in the woods where he'd seen movement. He managed several shots before a red streak caught him in the face, knocking him unconscious.
"We should get him to medical," a voice commanded, and Brad felt someone grab his arms. He shook them away, instinctively reaching for his sidearm. The holster was empty. "Looks like he's coming around."
Brad opened his eyes. It was dark outside and he had a splitting headache. Standing over him, a medic flashed a light in his eyes. It was bright and Brad reactively pulled back from it. Thankfully, the medic seemed satisfied. He pushed himself upright, only then getting the sense of the activity around him.
A few dozen soldiers were organized into pairs at the direction of Lieutenant Knight from Phantom team. Another pair pulled the night vision down over their eyes and started into the woods.
"What's going on?" Brad asked. It caught Knight's attention. He quickly issued grid coordinates to the remaining troops and walked over to Brad.
"We were hoping you could tell us," Cody said, offering Brad a hand. He took it, allowing himself to be pulled into a standing position.
Brad closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness, and to think back. What had happened. He'd seen Mr. Crouch. He was acting kind of crazy, then...he'd been attacked.
"I got attacked," Brad said, looking around himself. The area was pretty secure with all of the extra security.
"Well, yeah," Cody chuckled, "I got that. Miss Delacour caught one of the patrols and said you were with Mr. Crouch, and that he was sick. When we got here, Crouch was dead and you were unconscious. Here's this, by the way." Cody pulled Brad's handgun from a spot on his chest rig. Brad slipped the magazine out, only four rounds left. He stowed it back in the holster.
"Crouch was mentioning something about warning, and something about his son. I saw the flash just before he got hit...fired off several rounds. Looks like the motherfucker got me…" It left a sour taste in his mouth. He was glad he didn't get killed obviously, but being bested by some unseen adversary didn't sit well with him.
"I see," Cody nodded. "Well, I'm coordinating the search effort. If that fucker is in the woods, we'll find 'em. Colonel will want to talk to you, probably. He's up at the Headmaster's office." Knight turned to get back to his duties, and chimed in before Brad could ask. "And she's fine. We sent her to the carriage to get some rest."
With that settled, Brad started for the castle. It was probably going to be a long night.