Brad sat down, the chair feeling uncomfortably hot and the lumbar support digging into his back. He reflexively reached down to adjust it before remembering what an asshole Mr. Dunkirk could be when things weren't just so at his station. The last thing Brad wanted to listen to was another mumbled lecture about personal property.
"I'll be back in a bit," Dunkirk said, eyeing Brad's hand conspicuously before ducking out of the bedroom, leaving Brad alone with Sara. They were geared up for their two hours of observing the camera banks, a task he couldn't imagine being stuck with full-time.
"So," Sara started, but she trailed off, evidently not knowing where to take the comment. He'd felt the tension there since she'd taken over Mike's spot, but he hadn't had much opportunity to talk to her one-on-one. For not having a specific assignment, they'd been busy since showing up at the FOB.
"Something on your mind?" Brad asked, giving her a chance to say her piece.
On the screen banks, the residents of Hogsmeade went about their daily lives. The train station was suitably empty, it seemed that travel to and from Hogsmeade was fairly rare. Kids bought sweets, couples ate breakfast at restaurants. On the surface, it looked peaceful. Still, Brad noticed that the parents didn't let their kids far out of sight, and wands were always within easy reach. Uncertain times did that.
"How was the summer?" Sara asked, and Brad cringed for her at the awkward inflection in her voice as she tried to sound casual. It was for this reason he'd assigned her with him for the shift. He didn't want weird tension between them. It degraded their effectiveness as a unit, and also it was just uncomfortable.
"You know you don't need to prove yourself to me, right?" Brad asked, turning to face her and choosing to just hit this thing head on. Her cheeks were a shade of pink barely visible in the light given by the TV screens.
"I mean, I get what I'm here for," she said. "I'm holding Mike's spot until he gets back. I'm not a full operator and I'm just glad to be able to learn fro-"
"No," Brad cut her off, holding up a hand. "You're right, you're not here to replace Mike. No one can, and no one expects you to."
It was silent for a moment as Brad tried to figure out what he was trying to say.
"I want Mike back as much as anyone. He's one of my best friends in the world. But running a team is a different ballgame, and I've gotta make sure the team is in ship shape. You bring your own talent to the team, Sara. You look out for your people and you pull your own weight...I'm glad you're on the team, alright?"
"Fuckin' A, Cap," was all she replied, but he was sure he saw a smile as she turned back to monitor the computer banks. He was glad to settle that.
"It's a waste of time," Ron mumbled, still on about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts course as they descended the last of the steps on the staircase.
"I think it's really telling," Hermione said matter-of-factly, before returning her attention back to Harry. "I've been doing some reading," an edge of concern leaked into her voice. "I don't think these dreams are good news, Harry."
"I could have told you that," Harry snapped, immediately regretting the outburst. It didn't seem to faze Hermione, however. He was thankful his friend had developed thick skin. She'd been helping him try to sort out his nightmares, often where he saw himself doing awful things through the eyes of Voldemort.
"I'm afraid I haven't been able to learn very much. It's been hard to get anything decent out of the library lately," Hermione went on. "Madam Pince used to let me get books from the restricted section, but apparently that has been utterly banned this year by our new Headmistress."
"Ah," an unwelcome voice cut in from the doorway of their classroom as Professor Hargrass stepped out, staring at them through thick rimmed glasses. "Are we talking about Madam Umbridge?"
"Good morning, Professor," Hermione said with forced joyfulness. None of them liked the new professor. At first, Harry had been excited. Professor Hargrass was from the Aurors Office.
That excitement quickly turned to horror as they learned that he was what Brad had often referred to as a "Desk Jockey." The Professor had never fought a dark wizard before, had never dueled, hadn't done anything but study, really. He had a wealth of theoretical knowledge about the Dark Arts and countering them, but after a lengthy interrogation by the entire class, he'd reluctantly admitted that he'd never put any of it to the test himself.
Headmistress Umbridge had come down on them pretty hard for that interrogation, too. Each person in the class had been forced to listen as Umbridge explained that theoretical knowledge of the Dark Arts was all they needed, as the threat of dark wizards had all but been stamped out in England. Then, they'd had to write a one page apology explaining what they'd learned about the merits of the Professor's knowledge.
"Well, don't stand out there all day" the professor said, ushering them inside. They took seats together as the rest of the class trickled in.
"Right, then," Professor Hargrass announced from the front of the room, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Today, I think we'll cover the next two chapters in the book. On you go."
That was the other irritating thing about Hargrass. He insisted that memorizing the knowledge on their own was sufficient and had dedicated relatively little time to lecturing and answering questions.
Harry had always thought lectures were a little boring, but he was finding that reading dry textbooks from cover to cover might not be a better alternative, unless you were a mental sponge like Hermione, of course.
After about twenty minutes of silence in the room, small conversations started to spark up. Hargrass himself was now engrossed in his own book and didn't seem to notice.
"Did you have another dream last night?" Hermione asked quietly, turning to face Harry.
"Yeah," Harry admitted. She didn't reply, just stared at him expectantly. As the gentle din of conversation continued, Harry decided he probably wouldn't be overheard.
"I had a dream that I was in a house somewhere." Harry could still recall the soft fabric of the chair he was sitting in, the texture of scales as he stroked a snake that slowly slithered around his lap. "A man was pushed to the ground in front of me. He looked young, maybe in his twenties. The men that led him to me said he was an Auror named William. I put him under Imperius."
"I hardly believe what I'm hearing," Professor Hargrass said, suddenly standing near their table. All three of them jumped at his voice. "I can't believe you would threaten an Auror like that, Harry."
"Threaten?" Harry asked. "It was a dream, I'd neve-"
"I happen to know William quite well, he's a good man. Been working in our evidence department since he was hired at the Ministry. Utterly undeserving of this attitude."
"I-" Harry tried to explain, his face turning a shade red as more students in the class turned to watch the commotion.
"Not another word from any of you until after class. Then, I think we will talk to the Headmistress about your threats."
Fleur stared at herself in the mirror as she slid her grandmother's old brush through her hair. It didn't catch, of course, it never did. The Veela heritage prevented her from ever having hair problems. Still, she enjoyed the process, the feeling. It was comforting, and right now that's what she needed.
Brad was gone now, and with him her heart. Even now she could feel the empty pit in her chest where it should be. Nothing she did seemed to relieve the feeling. Setting the brush down, she picked up the crumpled T-shirt that was sitting on the boudoir. It was the only thing that wasn't set there neatly, but she didn't want to keep folding and unfolding it.
Picking it up, she brought it to bed with her. She slid beneath the soft sheets and with a wave of her wand, the lights were out. She bundled the T-shirt on the pillow next to her and sighed. It was a small comfort, that scent. A phantom of his presence.
The weight in bed next to her was what she missed most. She couldn't turn and feel him there anymore. She didn't wake up feeling his arm around her waist, she was alone now. Alone, and she hated it.
If there had been any doubt in her mind before on how she felt about him, it was gone now. For several long moments she lay there, feeling her pulse thump strongly in her neck. She longed to be with him...talk to him. In a fit of frustration, she rolled to her side, where she saw the desk next to her boudoir.
As though answering the subconscious question that tickled the back of her mind, she heard Bubo, their owl, hoot outside her window. She sat up, letting the covers fall, recalling a conversation she'd had with Brad about his summer spent in Africa hunting a fugitive. He'd poked fun at Mike because he had stayed in contact with Hermione through owl mail.
For the first time since he'd left, she felt a broad smile form on her lips. She dashed out of the bed, trailing her sheets and blankets to the floor behind her as she threw herself in the chair, grabbing her quill. She could still stay in touch at least.
It took her less than fifteen minutes to have a full page letter written. She spritzed the parchment with her favorite perfume, sealed the letter in an envelope, and secured it to Bubo's leg. A moment later, the owl was off to England and Fleur was back in bed, reorganizing her sheets and feeling much more content, anticipating his reply already.