Blurred Lines Mods (blurred_mods) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-09-14 01:27:00 |
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BFOB - Group Log Part 6
Who: A fuckload of people
Where: Hogwarts & environs
When: 11p-1a 13 September
What: A fight
Rating: R
Status: Mostly complete
PART 6 OF 8
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [summary]
Marlene's spell glanced off the edge of Dolph's protego, bursting red magic into flame and flooding the air with a million burning sparks - but as he turned, he swung at her - not bothering to fight her attack with magic, but relying on sinew and anger to drive his fist home. The rebounded incendio flew off in some haphazard direction, and Dolph's growl echoed in the distance as the sharp crack of a tree -- the tree -- catching fire rang across the grounds.
The incendio to the tree had brought Dorcas running -- while most sane people would've run in the opposite direction, when she had seen Marlene being attacked by the hulking Death Eater, instinct told her to help her friend. She might have guessed from the rage that she saw on Marlene's face that the man in question was Rodolphus Lestrange, but she didn't have time to contemplate the other options. Either way, taking on a brutal Death Eater of his size wasn't easy on one's own, and she wasn't about to let Marlene become a sitting duck. Though her robes were burnt, her hair was wet, and her side was still sore from the still-open Gouging Charm that Malfoy had used on her, she trotted up behind them as quietly as she could, though the noise of the battle would probably cover her footsteps, anyway. She was panting when she came up behind the Death Eater and silently cast a Tripping Jinx, hoping that it would send him off of his feet with enough time for Marlene to get away, at least.
Well that sucked. Marlene pushed herself up off the ground, her only thought being get the hell out of the way now. That had gone very very badly, he knew she was there now, and there was only so much time that a trip-hex could buy a person. Nonetheless she looked gratefully at Dorcas... who was tapdancing (Marlene performed the countercurse for that immediately), and made sure that this time she had a shield spell up before the batshit giant crazyface retaliated.
Rodolphus had grabbed for the girl - the loudmouth (and he realised at this proximity just how closely she resembled her sister) - and found himself plummeting; he was a tall, heavy person, and the axiom about such types falling hard was proven by the loud thud that sounded out. But he was battle-hardened and acted - as he always had - without fear and without hesitation. A flash of red from his wand lifted his nonverbal protego once more, and he turned, one knee down and one boot flat upon the ground. They were children - foolish and compulsive - and he had no doubts they would attack him as quickly as they were able, making retaliation - and getting to his feet again - an inevitability.
The Tripping Jinx hadn't been as successful as she'd hoped -- it would've been easier if he had fallen flat on his face so that she and Marlene could run off, but she wasn't going to take a chance with running away when she could easily be hexed in the back for retaliation. As quickly as she could, she racked through a list of spells and muttered a quick Jelly Fingers Curse, followed by a yell of "STUPEFY!" Since the attack on her flat, she had been trying to play her spells safe -- temporarily inconvenience, do little harm.
This might actually just work. There were two of them, and while she and Dorcas were definitely not the most experienced people in the Order, they'd been through enough in the last few months alone to at least hopefully prove affective against the moose-sized shithead that was Rodolphus Lestrange. Of course, he'd probably be much more willing to pull out spells that she and Dorcas wouldn't even dare touch, and that was a problem. Casting a silent Expelliarmus! at Lestrange's wand -- hopefully that would take care of that issue -- and immediately following that spell up with an Incarcerous towards his feet, Marlene moved towards Dorcas, figuring that way if they managed to take him down now, they could both get the hell out of there together. Not that she thought this was over yet by any sense of the word.
Protego after protego exploded in front of Rodolphus, each spell shattering a different colour into the darkness. Defence wasn't Rodolphus's favourite sport, but he was perfectly still and they were predictable, though a touch of his impatience became obvious as a root bound one foot to the ground. He simply hoisted himself up now as the last explosion of light erupted before him, almost bored with this game. He knew they were angrier than that, especially McKinnon.
With an uplifted wand - and giving the vague impression of an oversized orchestra conductor - Rodolphus cast a noxious green spell at Dorcas (no doubts at the identity of that magic) and cut through his binds on a downward slice. He took a lumbering step closer to Marlene, wry smile lost behind the expressionless black mask. Crucio.
The blasting hex Marlene had been pointing at Rodolphus had lost any power behind it halfway, barely blasting a snitch-sized hole into the grass by Marlene's feet as she realised the spell that he was casting at Dorcas, the same spell that (as far as the investigations had been able to tell) had killed her little sister. That HE'D used to kill her sister. Her stomach dropped, the disgusted feeling of rage from before churning in her stomach, as Marlene whipped herself back towards Rodolphus, wand out, gouging spell ready... and dropped to the ground, shrieking and writhing beneath the cruciatus curse, insides twisting and muscles screaming in absolute utter agony.
Of course the Death Eaters weren't going to play fair -- Dorcas thankfully dodged the Killing Curse by diving into the ground and rolling, watching the green light explode into the ground beside her. By the time she came to her senses she was listening to Marlene's screams of agony. Knowing what the curse felt like, she didn't bother scramble to her feet before raising her wand (she was glad she'd brought her old one after all -- she could do whatever she wanted with it) and shouting, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" She pointed her wand directly at Rodolphus, but her aim wasn't as good from this position -- she just hoped it hit. If those were going to be the stakes, she could play this game as well.
The cruciatus stopped at the sound of an unforgiveable, and a grin cracked out over Rodolphus's teeth as he lunged forward and out of its path. Perhaps a shielding spell would stop the killing curse, but it wasn't something one did practical exams on, was it? He preferred more physical means of escape, anyhow, particularly when it brought him in range of a still fetal-positioned Marlene McKinnon.
One hand lunged down and grabbed the first bit of flesh it came to, wrenching the rest of the body with it until she was on her feet. A sharp SLAM against the tree and Rodolphus tutted gently. "Not the sort of magic one expects from the crusaders of mudblood rights."
Marlene barely had a moment to enjoy her release from the spell's effects when she was ripped from her spot curled on the ground, vision blurring as her body smashed into the tree, her head bouncing off the trunk like some sort of toy with a sickening thwacking sound that Marlene prayed only sounded as loud as it did because it was her head. She glanced back towards where she'd been on the ground, where her wand had been dropped -- not that she could see the place, of course. Rodolphus was gigantic and everywhere and all the jokes that they had made did not even begin to reflect how fucking terrifying it was having him inches from her face -- and glared back up at the man, struggling against him as best she could despite already feeling pathetically weak, not sure what else to do. "What if I puked on you right now, would that be more appropriate?" Marlene asked him as she tried to pull away, vision still swimming, her tone somewhere between seething and scared to freaking death.
Previously, Dorcas had been fairly calm -- at least as far as a battle situation involving Rodolphus Lestrange was concerned. But his treatment of Marlene set off a cannon inside of her, she wanted to kill him, she wanted to make him suffer. She had to make herself take a deep breath -- breathe deeply, Dorcas, don't get yourselves killed -- and silently summoned Marlene's wand to her, tucking it up her sleeve. Losing a wand was bad, but if it were crushed, that would be even worse. "I may be a crusader," she snarled at the Death Eater, "But I fight fire with fire." She was literally spitting her words -- she wanted to try the Killing Curse again, but Marlene was too close to him, she couldn't risk hitting her. Not knowing what else to do, she charged into Rodolphus, her anger taking over the logic that would tell her Lestrange was more than a foot taller than her, weighed twice as much, and happened to know how to use all of us strength. She rammed against him, her small frame trying to pull him away from her friend, and kicked him as hard as she could in the back of the knee.
Marlene was spirited, and Dolph, despite his hatred of these idiots and their overblown senses of self-importance, rather enjoyed grappling with those with spirit, even if she was tilting at a rather oversized windmill. "What if --" he began smoothly, pulling her closer into him, "I gut you right now? Would that improve your indigestion?" But he didn't get a chance to hear Marlene's response, entertaining as he was sure it would be, for Dorcas's approach herald a fresh attack. This was almost precious - he was being swarmed by girls smaller than his sisters.
Not quite precious enough to quench the pain that spilled up over his thigh, and Rodolphus was forced to shift weight, pushing Marlene farther away from him. Next came a more difficult decision - drop Marlene... or drop his wand.
It seemed infinitely more desirable to drop the wand - for though Marlene wasn't nearly as sleek or practical, she was a useful toy, and a free hand allowed him to strike out for Dorcas. She was a little lower than he was used to hitting, but it didn't bother him in the slightest to punch a girl square in the nose. His other hand tightened around Marlene - squeezing, hard. His pain. Her pain. Dorcas's rage. The wand fell, and he lashed out, a sick hunger of sorts flickering across the only visible part of his face - the eyes.
Even without Dorcas's interruption, Rodolphus would not have had an answer to his question right at that moment. Marlene's eyes went wide for a moment as the implication of his words hit her, a shuddered gasp escaping against her will, and then squeezed shut as she tried to come up with some way, any way to get the hell out of this and away from him. It didn't matter anymore. She could get vindication later when she hadn't already gone up against two werewolves in the same night; right now all Marlene wanted was to not die.
Unfortunately, it reallllly was not looking like that was going to happen, Rodolphus squeezing harder as Marlene struggled to keep breathing somehow, her hands pummeling and beathing against his trunk-like arm as hard as she could manage. The leg closer to him kicked out -- fuck, she could barely reach that far and her legs were not that short; this was ridiculous -- hitting against him, trying to do whatever she could think of that could potentially lead to him dropping her.
Being hit by Rodolphus was like having a bulldozer come in contact with her nose. Gasping in pain, Dorcas's hands flew up to her face. She couldn't see what he was doing to Marlene, she was blinded by pain, red and yellow spots blinking against her eyelids. Even though she hated the man, she had to credit him -- he knew that "Muggle dueling" could be just as affective as a wand. Blood was already dripping from her nostrils. Her nose had been broken. With a cough, she tried to think of a spell to fix her nose, but none came. As her vision came back, she saw that he had discarded his wand. Now was her chance. No Shield Charms -- just them against Lestrange. She spat out the blood accumulating in her mouth before sending a Blasting Hex towards his arm and then screaming, "CRUCIO!"
The splatter of blood across his knuckles and robes was far more satisfying than the result of any (light) magic, and Rodolphus made a noise of satisfaction. He was almost enjoying this - a battle of wills rather than strength, the champions of goodness and modern values corrupting themselves with the darkest sort of magic. He might have commended Dorcas's efforts had he the time to speak, but she was furious - forcing herself through blood and pain and anger to cast on him - again, again.
He dragged Marlene toward him as her friend cast - a moment of disgusting intimacy, the mingling smells of blood and filth punctuated by a rain of fire as Dorcas's blasting curse rocked the tree. He held her there, tight, as the crucio ripped into her, watching every second of misery, holding her upright against the contractions of muscle and the desperate convulsions of every nerve.
And then he turned his sights upon Dorcas - for the only thing more gripping than agony was horror.
It took a moment for Marlene to realise what was going on. He's had every opportunity to leave her pushed up against the tree when the blasting curse hit, but he hadn't, and now he was too close and she could smell him and why didn't he just kill her already, he'd killed everyone else. She kept kicking against him, flailing against Lestrange in ever-failing attempts to get away, even going so far as to stomp on his foot in hopes that maybe that would work, but nothing did. None of it made sense.
Until suddenly Marlene found herself jerked out in front of him, Dorcas's Crucio smashing into her. Then she understood. Between the mindless screaming and the blinding pain ripping through her, tears rolling down her cheek as she arched and twisted against the curse, she understood. If she could have thought of anything beyond how much everything hurt, Marlene would've wished that she could've gone back to being confused, as that maybe would've sucked just a tiny bit less.
Fortunately for Rodolphus, Dorcas's face was instantly overcome by a look of pure horror. Eyes wide as dinner plates, her mouth open, pure shock and disgust -- at him and herself in the lines of her face. As soon as she could, she lowered her wand, praying that Marlene was alright, praying that she would forgive her, praying that Lestrange wouldn't take advantage of her utter paralysis and just snap Marlene's neck. Dorcas had never been a religious girl, despite having a religious namesake, but now, she found herself repeating in her head, "Please let her be alright. Please, God, just let her be alright." Sobs were filling her chest; she desperately wanted to run away, but after that, she couldn't just leave Marlene.
Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed Rodolphus's arm -- she couldn't even fit her hands around it properly -- and yanked. "Put her down! Put her down, you great hulking cunt!"
Rodolphus braced a heel against the tree and gave Dorcas an open-palmed shove backward with an expression of contempt (not that it came through the mask). "No. No, that is not how this works. Be silent." His tone was no longer amused - no longer entertained. He had a half-dead girl in one hand and a sobbing girl on the ground. It was enough. These were children who had to, continually, be taught lessons. The deaths of family were not enough. The deaths of friends.
"This is finished, and it is time for you to go home." He was cold. Hard. And he gripped Marlene tighter in case she decided to renew her struggle after the effects of the cruciatus. "Put your wand away until you are ready to deal with the consequences of your magic. If you balk at the torture of a friend, you are too weak to wield an unforgiveable. Put it away."
He was right in at least one respect -- Dorcas Meadowes was very bad at learning her lesson. At least, the lessons that the Death Eaters had been trying to teach her. It didn't matter how many people they killed, how many times they tortured her. She wasn't going to change her mind, to sit silently and watch them take over Britain. She would rather die -- and yes, she would rather torture a friend. Gritting her teeth and trying to catch her breath from her fall and her sobs, she sat up. She looked a pathetic mess, blood was all over her robes and her face, her hair was matted, her clothing was burnt and torn, and she was a tiny little girl up against a man twice her size. But Dorcas was just as stupid as she was academically gifted. Keeping her wand firmly grasped in her hand, she hissed, "No. I don't take orders from you, or from anyone else." Her whole body was shaking, but she pulled herself to her feet. She didn't respond to the comment about being unable to weild the Unforgivables. Maybe they were too much for her, but somewhere, deep inside, she enjoyed the pain that she had caused the short Death Eater when her flat was attacked. She enjoyed the thought of Rodolphus Lestrange writhing in agony. "Put Marlene down now before I kill you." As if to make good on her threat, she spat -- as close to his face as she could get.
"Mm. Then we are at an empasse. If you wish to kill me, kill your friend to get to me. If you are unwilling to do so, quell your pride and do as you are told." This was a mere matter of logic
"I have all day, but you --" he glanced off into the distance, where the fight between the death eaters and aurors was growing nearer and nearer. "-- only a few minutes to decide. Kill her to kill me. Or perhaps I could do it for you - would that make the dilemma easier? I could snap her neck so easily..."
Spittle hit him and ran down the matte black curve of his mask's jaw. It was nothing.
One hand wrapped snuggly against Marlene's nape. He could feel the soft extrusions of spine. So easy. And unlike Dorcas, he had no pride to suffer. Only a lesson to be taught or a price to be paid.
Dorcas had been in duels before. She had been under the Cruciatus Curse, she had used it. She knew how to handle these things. But he was putting her in a dilemma -- of course she valued Marlene more than her pride, but it wasn't a simple matter of pride. It was admitting that he was right, and he wasn't. Thinking as quickly as she could, she tried to think a way out of this situation. She cleared her throat. She could still taste the blood in her mouth. Trying to keep her composure (her voice was shaking ever so slightly), she said slowly, "How am I to know that you won't just kill us both if I put my wand away?"
Of course, that was the age old question. He was hardly likely to pull out a legally binding contract to assure them free access back to their wound-licking grounds. "Because there is no sport in this." It was a simple enough - an honest enough - answer. Gideon and Fabian deserved the hatred that killed them. Deserved it, earned it. Rodolphus was hardly a fair man, or a man who believed in second chances. His moral code was vastly skewed from that which Dorcas or Marlene might have identified with, and he could as easily kill them as set them free - dependent on his whim.
But he was, for all intents and purposes, surprisingly honest.
"And it is far more interesting to know your rage will fester." Fester and corrupt. Just like Josephine.
"I hated you enough before this," Dorcas sneered, in an uncharacteristically low and dangerous voice. She wasn't the sort to hiss -- she yelled, she let her emotions be known, she wasn't quiet. But she put her wand away, tucking it into the belt of her robes. Rage was bubbling inside of her, boiling, it took everything inside of her not to take his ultimatum, to shoot a Killing Curse at him and watch his massive body fall to the ground. But no -- Marlene. She had to remind herself that her safety was more important than Dorcas's rage and pride, that there would be other opportunities for Lestrange. Her jaw was thrust out in defiance despite heeding his words. "Give her to me," she demanded, though she was in no place to make demands.
"Hatred means nothing unless it's personal." Rodolphus replied, dismissively; keeping his hold on Marlene, he sunk to one knee to retrieve his wand, which glowed in the warmth of the fiery willow. He returned to standing, a smile curling unseen at the edges of his lips. Defiant to the last. It would be the death of her - and he marked those words. Unhindered ego resulted in rather messy ends... one had to look only as far as Roman Selwyn for the evidence of that. He could have killed Marlene. He could have used her to block whatever enraged spells Dorcas Meadowes chose to throw at him. And he could have beaten her to death with the corpse - all in the name of pride. It was pathetic.
With his wand trained over Marlene's shoulder, he slowly set the girl back down upon her feet; assured she could do something that resembled stumbling, he pressed his palm against her back and sent her toward Dorcas.
"Goodbye." No pride. No jest. Merely the cool indifference of the stoic, now resurfaced above whatever passions Rodolphus had deigned to let slip tonight. This was finished.
Dorcas caught Marlene -- she barely seemed conscious, apologies would have to wait -- and sent a glare at Rodolphus. It took everything inside of her to hoist Marlene up with one arm over her shoulder. There was no way she could carry her. "See you later," she said, hatred evident in her voice. Helping Marlene walk, she turned towards the Healers, not bothering to look back.
No. Marlene didn't want to see him later. She didn't want to see him ever again. She didn't want Dorcas to touch her. She wanted to find Agnes, to go home, to be with Remus. Not this. There was a feeling of disgust and disdain unlike anything Marlene had felt before brewing up inside her, and between the shooting of spells from surrounding duels and the lingering pain from everything that had happened back there, she couldn't place who it was directed at: at Rodolphus, at Dorcas, at herself for having a chance to avenge her family and failing completely, doing nothing more than becoming a pathetic bargaining chip in a battle of pride.
She wanted to protest, to scream for Dorcas to get away from her, that she could get home herself, that if their positions would've been reversed, she would've done what he'd told her to do in a second if it meant that she could save Dorcas, and it would've been over. And she started to, only to begin coughing up blood in the meantime, needing to stop walking for a moment, still using Dorcas as a support as she caught her breath. Choking back a sob, Marlene let Dorcas continue leading them towards the Healers (hoping she went to Beth; she wanted to go home, not to Mungo's), figuring there'd be plenty of time for her to protest later.
--
Marlene had hardly noticed that she and Dorcas had stopped moving on their pathway out of Hogwarts's gate, arriving where the Healers were stationed on the other side of the wall. Her vision was still swimming as Dorcas practically had to drag her off the battlefield, the entirety of Marlene's focus concentrating on fighting off her growing nausea. She was freezing cold, and everything ached, and she briefly wondered if this is what dying was supposed to feel like. Marlene hoped not; she wanted to get the hell away from Dorcas before she finally keeled over for good.
It took a while for her to recognise any of the Healers, not so much due to them being strangers, but moreso because she still couldn't see straight. Not that it mattered if she knew who they were or not as long as they had some sort of pain killer potion to give her that would make this night stop, but if there was a chance that she could find someone who would take her home rather than to St. Mungo's, Marlene was going to take it. She needed to find Beth. Beth knew how to get past the wards at James's house; she would take her back there.
But then she spotted Hestia, who she was just as relieved to see. "Hes?" Marlene called out to her weakly, wrenching herself away from Dorcas and trying to move over to her friend on her own. And she made it a few steps... before her knees buckled underneath her, and Marlene promptly toppled to the ground. That was enough walking for the night, apparently.
Hestia was supposed to be drinking. She was supposed to be drunk by now, with Kingsley, and actually relaxing, but instead, she was at Hogwarts, watching what seemed to be the Battle of the Century take place and trying to heal as many people as she could. It wasn't often that Healers from the Spell Damage floor were "fortunate" enough to work triage, and Hestia wasn't sure how she felt about it, but there was really no time to consider that, nor did it matter much. People were getting hurt, and badly, and Hestia was there to help. She was exhausted, she was practically cross-eyed with how tired she was, and she was nursing a lovely black eye from a patient who'd been thrashing around violently in pain.
And she was resting. Things seemed to be slowing down (please God), and Hestia needed to breathe for a minute. She stepped back from the mess and the chaos to wipe her brow and sigh, and that was when she saw Marlene McKinnon stumbling towards her and collapsing before she arrived. "Marlene?!" Hestia's break was over, and she ran to the side of her friend who looked, well, like death warmed over. "What the bloody... how the..." The sentences weren't really working so well for Hestia as she dropped to her knees beside Marlene. "What happened?" she finally asked, not as much wishing for a recap as hoping to get an idea of what she could do to help.
Oh good, Hestia had taken Marlene's collapsing as an invitation to join her. She'd been hoping that she would do that. "Everything ever," Marlene replied quietly, trying her best to make a joke, which turned into a cough, which went on to Marlene coughing up fluidly things that she really wished would stay put inside of her like they were supposed to. Fuck, how was she going to explain this. Hestia didn't know about the Order. She didn't know that Marlene was one of the "vigilantes;" what excuse did she have for why she had spent the night running around Hogwarts getting her arse beaten by werewolves and murderers in masks? "I think uh... fuck. Hestia, I want to go home," she sniffed out, trying (and failing) to hold back tears, wishing she could just go to sleep right there. Maybe she'd feel better when she woke up. Maybe this had all been a nightmare.
Shit. She was coughing up blood, which meant internal injuries, which meant that Hestia should, to all intents and purposes, have carried Marlene over to the rest of the triage center, but...
She glanced back at them over her shoulder. Someone had just arrived and was on fire. That couldn't be good for Marlene's condition, being near that sort of thing. Hestia turned back to Marlene with a grim half smile. "I'll get you home, Marlene, I promise. Let me just see how badly you're hurt." She kept her voice calm and conversational, as they always did in the hospital. From the tone of her voice, they might have been talking about the weather or chatting about blokes over drinks at the Leaky. It was important to keep your voice that way, to make sure that the patient was calm and didn't get overly panicky, as panic could only ever make things worse.
Carefully pressing her hands against Marlene's abdomen (which seemed to be in working order) and noted the hideous wounds there and on her shoulder and arms. There was blood all down her face, and her nose looked askew. What was more, Marlene was concussed...she was out of focus and looked nauseated. From the way she spoke, Hestia guessed that there may have been some further broken bones, but she was more concerned with the concussion and whatever injury was causing Marlene to cough up blood. "Where is home, Marlene? I can take you back to my place, or to Kingsley's empty flat if you can't remember, and then I can take you home once you're feeling better." Though she didn't say as much, Hestia was feeling more than a little concerned about apparating somewhere she didn't know with a patient who really should have gone to the hospital.
"No, I need to go back to James's house. Remus'll be there, and... oh, that's home now," Marlene clarified for Hestia, squeezing her eyes shut for a second in attempts to concentrate. Her head was pounding. "It's in Godric's Hollow, we all live there. Did you ever get to come over to go on Sirius's bike? It's there too," she rambled, figuring that made perfect sense.
"I just don't want to go to Mungo's," Marlene added softly after a moment, wincing as Hestia pressed into her stomach. People went into Mungo's and didn't come out. They hadn't been able to fix her brother after he'd been attacked, but she'd always been fine after home-remedies and rest. "If we want... well if you want to have us go somewhere, if you can like... fuck, make me stop bleeding, I don't care, but I need to get back to the Potters' after. Please," Marlene threw in politely, figuring no one likes a cranky bleeding person. "You need to apparate onto the top step though. Otherwise the wards'll go off and we'll get eaten."
"...eaten?" The concussion must've been pretty severe, though Hestia had no idea whether or not Marlene typically rambled this much. She wasn't making very much sense, though that may have been more related to the fact that Hestia didn't know anything about Godric's Hollow or the Potters' house or even that Sirius had been talking about a bike when he offered to take her flying. She'd assumed he meant on a broom, like most people used. A flying bike would certainly make things interesting...
Hestia clenched her teeth, determined not to get distracted again. "You're hurt very badly, Marlene," she stated carefully, wanting Marlene to understand the situation. "We're going to apparate to my flat so that I can get you stabilized and feeling a bit more coherent, and then I promise, I will take you home. I don't want to risk splinching both of us trying to get to the top step of a house I've never seen before. Is that alright?" Please let it be alright, she begged silently, knowing that a splinch would do absolutely nothing good for the situation.
Part of Marlene wanted to refuse, that no, that wouldn't be alright, because if they went somewhere else, that meant that Marlene would need to force herself to stay awake until Hestia was done doing... whatever it was the Healers do to heal people. (Why hadn't she ever paid attention when her mum had talked about Healer things? Why hadn't she ever looked into it on her own time?) She needed to get back to James's. She needed to know that everybody else was okay. But Marlene was really not in any position to protest at the moment, given that she was pretty much sure she'd lost more blood in the last few minutes than could possibly be healthy. Well, of course it wasn't healthy, but sticking around where they were just for the sake of being stubborn certainly wasn't going to do her any good. "Okay," Marlene replied groggily, nodding slightly in agreement.
"Okay." They were going back to Hestia's flat. Hestia knew that Kingsley was here; he'd gotten the call as they were taking their first swigs of beer to celebrate the end of moving day, and she hadn't seen him since. Hopefully, that meant he was alright and not lying facedown in a ditch somewhere, but Hestia couldn't worry about that now. She had to get Marlene back to her flat as carefully and as quickly as possible, and the best way to do that was to pick her up and to apparate.
"Marlene, I need to pick you up right now so that we can apparate. I'm going to be as careful as possible, but..." The sentence didn't really need to be finished. In her condition, Marlene was sure to feel pain no matter what Hestia did. For lack of a better idea of how to get the girl off the ground, Hestia took her by the arms and, as gently as possible, hoisted Marlene over her shoulder. "No more pancakes for a while after this, young lady," she huffed teasingly, trying to keep Marlene's attention. "Stay with me now. We're almost there." And she turned on the spot with a pop, reemerging right behind her sofa (now Kingsley's bed) after a constricted instant. "Still there, Marly? Still awake?" Hestia asked, now breatheless both with the relief of no longer being on the battlefield and with exhaustion. She shuffled towards the bed to lay Marlene down on what was probably a more comfortable space than the grounds of Hogwarts, at least.
It was at that moment that Marlene decided that she really really did not enjoy apparating while hemorrhaging blood. She was still awake though (barely) as Hestia set her down on the bed, determined to stay awake. If she didn't stay awake, she wouldn't be able to go home when this was over. She did have to admit, though, that it was an incredible relief to be inside a house, away from the screaming and the fly-by curses that had haunted the night, somewhere where she didn't feel she was about to be jumped simply for existing. "I'm going to get the bed all gross," Marlene said, her small laugh barely a whisper before it turned into another burst of coughing.
"It's seen worse," Hestia dismissed Marlene's worry, glad that she was still alive. She flicked on the lights as quickly as she could, and realized that yes, moving Marlene had been the best idea she'd had all night. It was quiet here, there was more light, and she could actually see the extent of the damage, the depth of the wounds and the fact that Marlene was only slightly less pale than a stereotypical vampire. Blood loss. Hestia swore under her breath. She wasn't surprised, but it was still something that she'd hoped she'd only have to deal with minimally. From the looks of things, however, Marlene would need a lot of replenishing, and quickly.
But first things first. Replenishing blood would be worthless if she still had gaping wounds on her arms, shoulder and abdomen (and, Hestia noted now, on her back). She set to work cleaning and sealing the wounds as quickly as she could, with what stitching charms she knew. "I'll fix these up more properly later," Hestia explained. "Suo derma. But first, I want to stop your bleeding so that I can replenish your blood and hopefully get you feeling a bit more aware." She'd heal the concussion, too, before they headed out. The harder work could wait until they got back to James Potter's house, which seemed to be Marlene's first priority. "Lovely night for it, really," she added conversationally, trying to keep Marlene engaged and awake, at least until they reached the house. Not that Hestia wouldn't have been perfectly content to do all of her work right there, but she knew that Marlene would rest and heal better when she was at home.
Marlene winced as her wounds were sealed up, trying to keep her whining to a minimum. The pain wasn't that bad, she tried to tell herself. She'd been crucioed twice within five minutes of the last, and bitten and mauled by werewolves all in one night. She could handle having her shoulder stitched up. She was just used to being unconscious when this sort of thing was happening, rather than attempting to force herself to stay awake. "Yeah, perfect night for nearly dying," Marlene scoffed in return, trying to stay focused. "You didn't um. See anyone else you recognised at the fight, did you?" she asked, although it was clear that Marlene was prying for information as to if Hestia had noticed any more of their friends at the battle, or worse, if she'd noticed that they'd been injured. "Also uh, can I have some water please? I was kind of... screaming. A lot."
"At least it wasn't raining," Hestia pointed out. "Let me get you a glass."
She returned after wrestling with the faucet for a minute, and handed Marlene the glass of water. "You'll need that. You've lost a lot of blood," Hestia stated, now in Healer-mode. "And not to hurry you, but I do want to replenish at least that before taking you home. Blood is never a good thing to be without."
She was purposely avoiding the question of whether or not she'd seen people she knew. The truth was that the faces had all blurred together by that point...if there had been someone brought to the triage group that Hestia would otherwise have recognized, the exhaustion and chaos had made a marvelous disguise for them, and Hestia didn't want to either give Marlene false hope or cause her undue worry. "Once I've replenished your blood, we'll go back to James' house and I'll heal you more properly," she repeated encouragingly.
"I think something was growling in your plumbing. Did you win?" Marlene asked in reply to Hestia returning with her glass of water, trying to pull herself into a sitting position up against the bedframe and taking the glass with her right hand (since her left arm would probably be dead for another week again, fucking werewolf bites). Water -- that was a nice thing that Marlene didn't think she would get the chance to enjoy again after the way the night had been going.
Once she finished the glass, she set it on the corner of the bedside table (nudging it more into the center with the tip of her wand, not wanting the glass to topple off and break), and nodded. "I know." Marlene was well aware of the fact that she'd lost quite a bit of blood, both from remembering quite vividly how it happened and still feeling extraordinarily lightheaded and cold. "Kinda ironic. I think the only thing I didn't get attacked by was a vampire, even though those were there too," she explained, feeling a bit more coherent after the glass of water and having her wounds closed up. "Have at the blood replenishing... thing."
"It was a small, but decisive victory," Hestia confirmed with a genuine smile for the first time that night. "My faucet is a pretty formidable enemy...only for a true friend will I wrestle with it." She took Marlene's right arm and touched her wand tip to the hollow of her wrist. "Now, just to warn you...this is going to feel very odd, but you'll feel worlds better afterwards. You're not wetting yourself, you're not on fire, and you're not going to explode. The blood in your body is just multiplying." She pressed the tip of the wand a little bit harder into Marlene's skin, against one of the veins there, and spoke the incantation to replenish her body's supply of blood. A soft blue glow lit under the skin of her patient's wrist, indicating that the spell was working, and Hestia sat very still, concentrating. Blood replenishing like this wasn't ideal--even wizards appreciated the ease and superiority of transfusions--but it would work for the time being. The spell required a lot of concentration to hold, though, and Hestia guessed that it would take a couple of minutes to work completely. She glanced up every thirty seconds or so to check Marlene's color and when she finally saw the color return to her friend's cheeks, relaxed and let the spell fade.
"Merlin I hate that spell," she commented aloud with a sigh. "How are you feeling now?"
Marlene jolted back against the bed at first, not sure what she felt like beyond very very weird. The blood-multiplication spell was extraordinarily strange feeling (for lack of a better term), and Hestia had been right. It did sort of feel like she was about spontaneously combust or burst into flames or something. "I'm feeling like I just wet myself," she replied honestly, taking a quick glance down at her jeans just to be certain, even though Hestia had warned her it would feel that way. Even though her body was still aching and sore -- unfortunately, blood-replenishing spells did little to quell the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse -- she was feeling slightly less nauseous, which Marlene took as a good sign. "Well enough to head home?" Marlene asked Hestia hopefully, wanting to get back to the others, hoping that they'd all come out of the fight better than she had. "Thank you for not letting me die, Hes," Marlene thanked her friend with a slight grin, feeling a tiny bit more like herself. A version of herself that was still in a hell of a lot of pain, and one that was desperate to appear better than she actually looked, but nonetheless still more like herself.
"It's the blood replenishing and your blood vessels opening up to give it room," Hestia half-quoted one of her textbooks. "This will help you heal faster, but you're still a royal mess. Once I get you back to James' house, I'll do the bulk of the work, but I know you want to be there, so yes. Well enough to head home, if you can give me very specific directions, and if you can let me gather a few things." Hestia didn't give Marlene a chance to argue as she stood and started collecting what supplies she thought would be helpful in her quest to fix Marlene properly. Various healing potions went into a bag with enchanted bandages and some painkillers. "Letting you die would be against my personal code of ethics," she called over her shoulder in light voice. "Besides, I rather enjoy your company, though moreso when you're breathing than when you're a stiff." Pajamas and a change of clothes, she added to her list mentally, grabbing them before returning to her bed.
"Now, tell me what I need to know."
10. 12.50a Dumbledore arrival & DE retreat
THREAD ONE - DUMBLEDORE ARRIVES (NARRATIVE)
The thought of leaving his school unnerved him, yes, but not wholly – the teachers at Hogwarts were competent enough to defend the castle walls. Urgent business took him away – it was not often, though it seemed increasingly so for this situation to happen. Nevertheless, his duty called; he would answer and wrap up the business as soon as possible so he could return to his beloved school and perhaps have another lemon sherbet.
And then it struck him, after the fifteenth "I’m terribly sorry sir; but he is unable to see you right now. It shouldn’t take too long – he normally isn’t like this. Will you please take a seat and have a toffee?" (though, undeniably, the toffee was rather delicious) that this was a ruse. There was more than this, of course – meetings here and there, people to acknowledge, people to ignore and pretend like he hadn’t heard their acknowledgment – yet all of it seemed so… busy. Times were getting darker, things were getting increasingly troubled. He felt unease in his bones – his left kneecap was particularly acting up. It could only mean tumultuous events were happening, or bad weather was approaching.
“I’m sorry miss,” he said, eyes crinkling with tenderness frequently found in old men. “Urgent business, unfortunately more urgent than Mr. Lee’s business, must call me away. I ask that you leave him my kindest regards – thank you.” And he left with a nod of his long pointed hat, hands waving for his broomstick to arrive. Flight would be the easiest method of transportation; nearly impossible to track and would offer him a bird’s eye view of the castle grounds.
And he saw it – the eyes that were previously filled with joy and elderly kindness was replaced with a fiery anger. He descended upon the school – in a few short hours it had been overrun – and judging by the masks and handiwork, he knew it: Death Eaters. Anger. Fire. Frustration. Fire. Emotions flooding an old man, rejuvenating him to defend his school. A placidity once present in old age now replaced with the energy of youth. Rejuvenated.
And that he could be so easily fooled! Old age – was it truly impacting his mind now? And that the walls of Hogwarts would so easily fall! Has the strength of its walls become so weak?
And he descended, his anger and his spells making him seem fifty times larger than normal. “You shall not pass,” were the simple four words he uttered, and though it seemed like four simple words uttered in normal, if not heavy, intonation there was a strength and will behind it all that seemed as if he were yelling. His words resounded, as if the echoing in the chambers of his mind and of Hogwarts increased the amplitude of the sound waves, ever increasing, ever increasing, ever increasing.
A wand! And in his hand – Dumbledore’s prowess as a duelist if not already well known, would now be of legend; well aimed and cast spells shot down a few nearby antagonists, a few others would’ve healed some of the fighters. All there was was anger. Pure, unbridled anger. No Death Eater aiming to destroy Hogwarts would leave without the remembrance of what dangers would occur if they targeted his school.
THREAD TWO - DES RETREAT WITH AURORS/ORDER ON THEIR TAIL
She was running. James had to be somewhere, and in the case that he might have been hurt by someone... She clung to her wand, her left shoulder giving her a sharp jolt of pain with each movement she made. The cuts and scratches from the Pryce's also made her cringe, but she was determined to do more damage. Lily Potter was not done.
A hooded figure caught her eye and Lily immediately stopped, held her ground, and shot a ball of fire directly at it. This was no time for playing games.
The fight was more chaotic than he'd originally assumed, although what he'd originally assumed was a little unclear. The attack caught him by surprise and he cast a quick aguamenti to extinguish the flames that caught the shoulder of his robe, turning and snarling, "Saevio Verbera," sending purple fire blooming against her arm.
Lily's left arm caught the flames and her eyes opened wide at the attack. She moved her wand arm quickly, even if her left side was dragged down from the force slightly. "Tarantallegra!" she said, wincing as soon as she had cast the spell as she examined her arm with as much attention as she dared turn away from the fight. She could feel her bone crushing in her left side, the pain even more extreme than when Tabby broke her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed as she cast a stinging hex right at the face behind the hood, her feet planted not only because she wanted to stand her ground, but because she knew she would be in more pain if she moved.
Oh, she was a clever little figment, but it would take more than dancing curses and stinging hexes to beat Antonin back. He cast Finite Incantatem almost lazily, taking a step forward and, once again smiling behind the mask, said simply, "crucio."
"An--ANGOR!" Lily shouted, just as she felt the beginnings of the crucio. Her eyes rolled open wide and her whole body shuddered under the effects of the unforgivable, but she fought to keep her sanity and her focus on her attacker, determined to come out the victor.
The problem with Crucio was that you needed to be concentrating to cast it, and the problem with concentrating was that it was hard to do when you couldn't breathe. It felt as though he was drowning --
-- "Toninya, I'm sorry, they drowned." --
"No."
The word was barely audible, and his concentration broke. Tsetsiliya and her daughter had drowned, had --
No.
Backing up a step, hands clutching spasmodically at his thoat even as his airways cleared again, Antonin was off-balance, unable to take advantage of their mutual shakiness.
Lily let out a huge breath of relief as the sting from the crucio diminished, and she watched as the figure tried to save himself. She wasn't going to let this time go to waste. She shouted out cutting curses, and even cried out, "Deprimo" right at his legs -- twice.
The cutting curses gouged furrows in his skin, straight and even like the incisions made during surgery and what could that mean, it had to mean something, it all had to mean something.
His train of thought was derailed rather painfully as the second of the Deprimos hit with a loud crack of breaking bone. Pain shot through his left leg, worse than when he dislocated his knee, and Antonin fell, keeping a grip on his wand only through sheer instinct. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood -- a little more, what difference did it make when this whole night was awash in blood, what difference did any of the pain make? -- he sent a silent crushing curse at her.
Lily felt the crushing curse again and fell down for a moment, wincing loudly before she regained her composure enough. "Deprimo!" she shouted, as it had worked well before, -- she aimed it right at his abdomen, as she stood taller, walking closer with limping steps. She was fine, she was fine, she told herself. She was fine. "Obscuro!" she said, hopefully before the masked man had managed to regain his concentration.
Antonin screamed, all but ignoring the darkness that dropped over his vision, coughing harshly and tasting the copper-tang of blood on his lips. Every breath sent pain through him, sharp and intense; some still-rational corner of his mind clinically diagnosed probable broken ribs, with likewise probable punctured lungs, if not other organs. This still-rational part of him noted that bone was sticking through the skin of his left calf, that breathing was becoming difficult, and that, given the circumstances, that was both deserved and unsurprising.
And that, if he was very lucky, perhaps the battle would not be over before he died, and he would see his wife again.
Coughing again, aiming from sound more than anything else, he said again, "saevio verbera," sending purple flames that he couldn't see at where his attacker -- attackee? When had the lines crossed, when had he become this? -- should, hopefully, be.
Not that there was much point. He could taste blood, thick and strong, and his questing hand found stickiness at his stomach, where something must have broken the skin.
Fitting. Fitting, indeed, that he dream a death of violence, having dreamed a life all too full of it. Theresa was a gentle woman, so lovely, she would be horrified at what his dreams --
-- No. No waking up, not anymore. --
But it wasn't, was it? It wasn't a dream. With the clarity that only comes close to death, Antonin realised that it was impossible for it to be so. Much as he wanted it to be, much as his mind had tried to protect him from the pain of having lost his wife and father so close together, it had ultimately failed; this was not a dream, had not been a dream since the day they put Theresa in the ground, the day his father died and a mind already unstable had broken. All the wrongs he'd done, all the people killed because they represented something, all of it at his own hand.
This could not be a dream. You didn't have this much pain in dreams, you didn't have this much lucidity. No lucid dream lasted so long, with such reality. Part of him had always know that. Part of him had always known that he was fooling himself, that one day he would wake up and know that this was reality, this was real. That Theresa was dead, and never coming back.
Never. She
-- hush, love, stop. Stop --
Dying would not be so bad. There were provisions laid out in his will for Anzhelina and recent additions for Barty; he would not be leaving either of them with nothing. No, dying would not be so bad. He just wished he could see Anzhelina one more time, really see her as herself and not some image of the perfect daughter that he thought he had conjured. If there was anything he regretted of the last ten years, the delusion, it was that he never saw his daughter as his daughter, not properly. And now there would be no chance.
"I'm sorry." The words came slowly, choked in blood, and useless to his enemy, unless she spoke Russian; they weren't addressed to her, at any rate. They were to the world, to Anzhelina, to everything, and to Theresa, to the memory that he'd destroyed in the name of love.
So long, thinking he was sleeping, not seeing the world as it really was. But that was over. That was over, and he was so tired, so tired of grief and pain and loss.
Perhaps now the real sleep would begin.
Lily barely dodged the attack, and drew deep breaths as she saw the hooded figure on the ground. She clung to her wand tighter, as though with it she could hold herself in and tight, sweat dribbling down her forehead into her robes. He wasn't dead, yet, was he?
Now what?
Here was her chance. She could kill him, and be done with it. Another blast, one right at his heart, and then he would be gone. She took a step closer, lifting her wand. Was she really ready? Was she ready to take a life?
This might have been the one who took her mother's life, her father's life...
Although it was unbeknownst to Lily, she was not presently fighting the Death Eater who had tortured and killed her parents; she was, however, fighting someone very near to said Death Eater. Barty had not come into this mission expecting it to be easy, as that would have been entirely foolish, especially given that not only was this monumental but that Mister Lestrange had warned them in advance of this mission's difficulty. Following the tide of battle, Barty moved within the crowd, firing off hexes where he could and getting hit with a fair few himself, and refused to stop -- that was, until he saw one of his own that he recognised as Antonin fighting with someone else he recognised as Lily Potter, knowing her from the night he had killed her parents. Barty missed the better part of her duel with Antonin, but he saw enough of it to hear her shout her spells and watch as Antonin attempted to hex her back and collapsed, visibly injured quite badly. He watched as the Mudblood Potter paused, no doubt thinking that she could do any number of things that Barty had no desire to see happen; had Barty been in her position, he no doubt would have been thinking the same things. Antonin was prone, badly injured -- killing him would have been so easy, for anyone who had the desire to do it.
No -- Barty's immediate shock at the situation before him caused him to stop, but it very quickly gave way to simple rage at this thought. No one hurt the people he valued without receiving some form of retribution, and Lily Potter would get hers right now. Advancing on the scene as she made her considerations, Barty screamed a raw, savage, "Deprimo!" not even bothering to aim it, except at that wretched, filthy Mudblood who thought herself decent enough to be the death of Barty's unofficial mentor. They would see how she liked a taste of her own medicine.
Lily heard the cry and turned, dodging just quick enough, the blast getting her hair -- she felt a boom and strands of her ginger hair fell onto her blouse. She touched her head automatically as she also called out a stinging hex, aiming carefully at the caster of the last Deprimo. Her attention was now pointed at him and she was not about to be caught off guard with another attack. She had gotten lucky. Afraid that the new combatant would fire back too fast, Lily cast another stinging hex his way.
Pain was something that Barty was no stranger too, and he was resolved to only allow Potter's Stinging Hex to serve as a temporary impediment. That wretch had chosen to attack the wrong Death Eater -- even with all of the shenanigans before this battle (or perhaps because of them), Antonin remained a person of great importance; a plague of stinging pain meant nothing, if Barty could just ignore it and do something meaningful. If he had to kill her, he would; it would have been nothing less than what she deserved -- but, before he killed her, he would make her suffer. Aiming somewhat better this time, he pointed his wand and shouted a brutal, "Incendio!" Normally, he would have at least had the presence of mind to attempt a nonverbal spell, but he couldn't be bothered now; besides, the cruelty his voice had on the battlefield gave him some comfort that he would remain unrecognised.