Antonin had a split-second warning when the twin to Morag's portkey let him know she had activated hers. He opened his arms wide, then staggered when Morag slammed into him. He grabbed her by reflex, almost falling as her legs refused to support her. She reeked of Dark Magic, the old magic, the wildest of the wild magic.
"Nikita, full wards," he snapped, "lethal level." Morag was hot, smoldering, unable to control her temperature for some reason. Without thinking about the risk, he took the Dark Magic into himself, and when he couldn't take any more, began to dump into the wards, hoping Josef could dissipate the energy. Holding Morag under her arms to support her, he held her close as he tried to get the magic under control.
He wasn't sure how long it took, probably not too long or they would have burned the boat to the waterline, but the Dark Magic as gone. Antonin found himself on his knees in the passageway, Morag tight against his chest, her head on his shoulder. Both their clothes were in ruins, still smoking a little, their hair frazzled, but nothing was seriously damaged.
Antonin sighed. He loosened his hold on Morag and indicated he would help her to her feet if she wished. "You always know how to make an entrance, dear lady. Care to tell me about your day in town?"