Guilian had finally made it back to the UK. He was so relieved to learn that the pox virus had been all but eradicated, as he truly had missed visiting the casino in London.
But what stroke of fate had him in London this night. Draped around the most delectable blonde as he finally found sleep in the early hours of the morning, he was woken to the strangest feeling.
It took a few minutes to realise he was being summoned. His heart started to hammer in his chest. He'd not felt this way since he'd helped Bletchley at the broom ride a few months ago. Fuck! He was being called to duty, which meant only one thing. Battle.
He could have most likely begged off if he was back home, but there was no chance of that now - the spell wouldn't go away, even if he apparated back home. He trembled as he slipped into dark robes. He was not ready for this.
Minutes later, he apparated to the village of Upper Slaughter, only to realise he'd entered a war zone. He could still be in bed with the blonde, but instead, he was here.
He saw the Lestranges barking orders, as he realised the town was being laid to siege. Looking up to the skies, he truly wished he had a broom, as he felt he'd be of a hell of a lot more use there, than on the ground. He heard Lestrange order Bletchley up in the air, and was going to ask Miles if he had another broom. But he was pointed to, and ordered out onto the field.
Fuck.
He barely knew the geography of this part of Gloucestershire, and it was barely light when he streamed out onto the fields and began to throw defensive hexes to deflect the somewhat infantile, yet dangerous spells being aimed his way.