The low hum of the C-130’s engines filled the cabin as the team prepared for the jump. The atmosphere was tense—shock still lingering from the news that Harry Potter had been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. Farah’s trackers had pinpointed the location, but she and Gaz were tied up with recon in Diagon Alley, leaving Price, Soap, and Ghost to handle this operation. They weren’t going in alone, though; a few wizards, including Tom, had joined the mission, determined to bring Harry back.
Price stood at the center of the cramped cabin, his voice cutting through the drone of the engines. “Alright, listen up. We’re going in quiet, but once we’re inside, all bets are off. Stealth approach until we hit the manor. After that, we bring the pain.”
Ghost checked his gear one last time, his usual scowl hidden behind his mask. “Should’ve brought more explosives,” he muttered, half to himself, clearly itching for the inevitable firefight.
Tom, the wizard, tried to lighten the mood, though his own nerves were evident. “Don’t worry, lads, I’ve got a spell for that,” he quipped, though he knew the real firepower lay in the hands of his Muggle allies.
Price glanced at him with a smirk, appreciating the attempt at humor. “Let’s stick to what we know, Tom. Magic’s nice, but nothing beats good old-fashioned firepower.” He turned serious again, his gaze sweeping over the team. “Remember, this isn’t just another mission. We’re not just dealing with Death Eaters—we’re extracting Harry bloody Potter. We do this by the book until we can’t.”
Soap, always the joker, chimed in, “And when we can’t, we improvise, right?”
Price gave a curt nod. “Exactly. Farah and Gaz have already done the legwork. We know the layout, we know the weak spots. We hit them hard and fast. No mistakes.”
Tom adjusted his gear, a mix of magical and tactical, clearly trying to steady himself. “And the wards around the manor?”
“We’re taking no chances,” Price replied. “That’s why you’re jumping with us. Apparation’s off the table. We breach together, we fight together, we extract together.”
The plan was clear, the stakes high. As the team moved to the ramp, the gravity of their mission settled in. This was more than just another op—it was a critical strike in a war that was bigger than any of them.
As the team approached their drop zone, the rear ramp of the C-130 lowered, revealing the cold, inky blackness of the night sky. The wind howled, a stark reminder of the high altitude they were about to leap from. One by one, they lined up, checking their gear with the calm precision of seasoned operatives.
The wizards, typically used to teleporting at will, exchanged glances but steeled themselves. This was far from their usual mode of travel.
With a nod from Price, the first operative leapt into the void, disappearing into the darkness below. One by one, they followed, diving headfirst into the abyss. The ground, distant at first, rushed up to meet them at a breathtaking speed. The silence of the night was broken only by the soft rustle of parachutes deploying, and with practiced precision, the team landed silently in the fields surrounding Malfoy Manor.
As they regrouped, one of the wizards, still catching his breath, couldn’t help but grin. “You know,” he said, pulling off his helmet, “that was way more fun than Apparation. And I’ll be honest—it felt safer than a broomstick.”
Gaz, ever the quick wit, immediately seized the opportunity. “Who’s the muppet that thought a household cleaning tool was a good vehicle anyway?” He paused for effect, then added with a smirk, “Of all the things they could’ve picked... even a vacuum cleaner would’ve made more sense.”
The remark earned a round of chuckles from the team, the tension of the mission momentarily lifted by the shared laughter. Even the wizards, typically more reserved, found themselves grinning at the absurdity.
“Next time, we should ask the Ministry if they’ve got any magical vacuum cleaners lying around,” Ghost muttered, prompting another wave of laughter as they prepared for the next phase of their operation.
—
As they regrouped, Price wasted no time. “Soap, get the drone up.”
Soap nodded, quickly deploying the compact drone. It buzzed to life, ascending silently into the night sky. The small device moved with near-invisibility, feeding back live thermal images of the area. On the screen, glowing heat signatures revealed the locations of sentries stationed around Malfoy Manor.
“Looks like they’ve got more guards than brains,” Ghost muttered, his eyes narrowing as he observed the positions. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
Tom, peering over Soap’s shoulder, couldn’t help but marvel at the technology. “That’s… impressive,” he admitted, his usual confidence in magic momentarily humbled. “We usually rely on charms to spot enemies.”
Soap grinned, never missing a chance to boast. “Welcome to the future, mate.”
Price focused on the task at hand. “We’ve got eyes on the sentries. Let’s take them out quietly. Magic-enhanced rounds only. We don’t need any fireworks—yet.”
The team moved into position, their magically enhanced weapons at the ready. The combination of modern technology and magic made them a force to be reckoned with. Crawling through the grass, they approached their targets, the cool night air brushing against their faces.
“Is it just me, or is crawling through the dirt a prerequisite for every damn campaign? Always...” Soap grumbled as he slid forward on his belly, eyes locked on his target.
“Part of the charm, Soap,” Ghost replied dryly. “At least it’s not raining. Yet.”
They reached the first group of sentries, their targets unaware of the impending assault. With synchronized precision, they took aim and fired. The magically enhanced bullets tore through the night, silently dispatching the guards before they could even react.
Tom, who had been ready with his wand, lowered it with a sigh of relief. “I’ve got to admit, this is faster than casting a Stupefy.”
Price, keeping his voice low, added, “And a hell of a lot quieter. We keep this up, we’ll be inside before they even know what hit them.”
As they continued their approach, the team stayed low, using the tall grass for cover. The eerie quiet was only broken by the occasional mutterings of the team, mostly directed at the absurdity of their situation.
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“You know,” Ghost whispered as they neared the manor, “this is almost too easy. I’m half expecting a tank to roll out of nowhere.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Soap shot back, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of movement. “Last thing we need is for this to turn into another ‘oh, look, a Juggernaut’ scenario.”
Tom, catching the reference, chuckled softly. “If that happens, I’m Apparating out of here, wards or no wards.”
“Not without us, you’re not,” Price retorted, though his tone was laced with humor.
The team inched closer to the manor, the glow of the sentries’ heat signatures slowly fading as they moved out of range. With the perimeter secured, they readied themselves for the next phase of the operation—the breach. The quiet before the storm.
—
The team positioned themselves at the main entrance, ready for the breach. Tom cast the slow-motion spell just as Soap placed the charge. The door blew open with a deafening crack, but to the team, everything seemed to move in syrupy slow motion.
Ghost and Price led the charge, moving with calculated precision through the chaos. Flashbangs and smoke grenades filled the air, adding to the disorientation of the Death Eaters inside. The team fired their weapons with unerring accuracy, every shot landing on its mark as the world crawled around them.
But the Death Eaters, despite the initial shock, began to recover. Curses flew through the air, some narrowly missing their marks, others striking true. Soap caught a Stupefy straight to the chest, staggering back but refusing to go down.
“Bloody hell,” Soap grunted, shaking off the effects. “That all you got?”
One of the wizards, noticing Soap’s stubborn persistence, shouted over the din, “Are you alright? You just took a direct hit!”
Price, barely pausing as he took down another enemy, called back, “Relax, mate! We’ve taken worse. Hell, we’ve survived tank shots!”
The battle intensified as more Death Eaters joined the fray. The team moved as one, bullets and spells flying in a chaotic dance of destruction. The Death Eaters weren’t going down without a fight, and the room was soon filled with the sounds of battle—shouts, explosions, and the occasional cry of pain.
One of the wizards, growing frustrated with the time it took to cast spells, let out a growl of irritation. “This is too slow!” he shouted, pocketing his wand. He drew a magically enhanced sidearm and started firing, quickly dispatching a group of enemies. “Why did we ever think shouting spells and waiting was a good weapon?”
Soap, dodging a hex, couldn’t resist a quip. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you watch too much anime… you don’t need to scream every attack just to pull the sodding trigger!”
The room was a whirlwind of combat, and in the midst of it, Ghost’s rifle clicked empty. “For fuck’s sake!” he cursed, tossing the rifle aside and grabbing the nearest weapon—Tom’s wand.
“Hey—” Tom started, but it was too late.
Ghost, gripping the wand awkwardly, did the only thing that came to mind. He started shouting curses. “Bloody—Sodding—Hell! You bastard!”
With each word, a ridiculous spell shot out from the wand—sparks, harmless bursts of color, and even a small puff of confetti. But Ghost wasn’t deterred. He continued firing his sidearm with one hand while the wand spat out nonsensical spells in the other.
The Death Eaters, caught off guard by the bizarre display, faltered. Ghost, never one to back down, kept up the barrage, cursing like a sailor the entire time. “Piss off, you wankers! Bollocks! Shit!”
The frenzied combat began to die down, the Death Eaters either incapacitated or fleeing for their lives. The team, battered but unbowed, finally began to regroup amidst the smoke and debris. Tom, still trying to process what had just happened, walked over to Ghost, who was nonchalantly handing back the wand.
“What the hell was that?” Tom asked, incredulous. “I didn’t know cursing could cause spells!”
Ghost gave him a sideways glance, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “Why do you think they’re called curse words, mate?” he shot back, enjoying the confusion on Tom’s face.
Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Maybe you should enroll in Hogwarts after this war. You’ve got a natural talent.”
Ghost snorted, holstering his sidearm. “Not a chance. Ghosts and magic don’t mix. Besides, I’d rather see you try to survive special forces training.”
Tom chuckled, the tension easing as the absurdity of the situation sunk in. “Deal. We’ll see who lasts longer.”
Their banter didn’t go unnoticed. Soap, always quick to tease, coughed pointedly. “Oi, you two lovebirds want to keep it down? We’ve still got work to do.”
The rest of the team chuckled, the camaraderie lightening the atmosphere even further. Ghost rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a grin as he replied, “Don’t get jealous, Soap. There’s enough bromance to go around.”
With the room secure and the mission back on track, they prepared to move deeper into the manor. The bond between Ghost and Tom, forged in the heat of battle, was growing stronger—and the team was all too happy to poke fun at it.
—
The team moved swiftly through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, their weapons at the ready. The sounds of the earlier battle still echoed faintly behind them, but their focus was now on reaching the dungeon. According to the intel, that’s where Harry was being held—assuming the intel was still accurate.
As they reached the heavy, iron-bound door that led to the dungeon, Price nodded to Soap, who immediately began setting up charges. The process was second nature to them—place the explosives, step back, and prepare for the breach. The familiar routine brought a sense of calm amidst the chaos.
But just as Soap was about to arm the charges, one of the wizards hesitated. “Uh, have you guys tried, I don’t know, just opening the door?”
Price paused, his hand hovering over the detonator. He exchanged a glance with Ghost, who shrugged, clearly thinking it was worth a shot.
With a grunt, Price reached for the door handle and gave it a turn. To everyone’s surprise—and slight embarrassment—the door creaked open with ease.
There was a moment of stunned silence before the team collectively groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Soap muttered, shaking his head.
Tom, unable to resist a smirk, remarked, “As impressive as your Muggle tactics are, gentlemen, not every problem requires high explosives.”
Ghost, ever the grumbler, scowled. “Could’ve mentioned that before we prepped the charges.”
With the door now open, they cautiously stepped into the dungeon. The room was dark and dank, the air thick with the smell of damp stone. But something was off. The place was empty, save for a few scattered items on the floor—signs of a hasty exit.
Tom’s eyes scanned the room, narrowing as he spotted a familiar piece of cloth. “Wait a minute… This was Dobby’s doing.”
“Dobby?” Price asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tom nodded, picking up the cloth. “House elf. They have powerful magic, can Apparate in and out of places even wizards can’t. Looks like he got to Harry first.”
Ghost let out a low growl, clearly annoyed. “So, you’re telling me a house elf out-stealthed us?”
Soap couldn’t help but laugh, clapping Ghost on the shoulder. “Looks like it, mate. Dobby’s got you beat on this one.”
The team exchanged looks, their earlier tension giving way to chuckles as they realized just how absurd the situation was. Ghost, still grumbling, muttered, “Next time, I’m bringing my own bloody house elf.”
Tom, unable to resist another jab, added, “Indeed, sometimes finesse outmatches brute force.”
Price smirked, motioning for the team to start their extraction. “Let’s move out before we run into another elf that makes us look bad.”
As they made their way back through the manor, the mood was lighter. The mission might not have gone as planned, but they were still in one piece—and they had a new story to tell. The thought of being outdone by a house elf would be a source of ribbing for days to come.
As they exited the manor and regrouped at the extraction point, Soap looked back at the building and shook his head, chuckling. “Beaten by a house elf. Can’t wait to see how that one goes in the debrief.”