Blurred Lines Mods (blurred_mods) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-01-02 20:20:00 |
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4. 5.35pm The Death Eaters Arrive at the DMLE (cont)
Lach rescues Elle
As soon as he heard the distinct sounds of battle in the main room, Lach had abandoned the task of destroying files and moved on to the potions shelves, grabbing and shrinking as many different vials as he could. If he was going to be stuck in the firey pit then he was damn well going to make sure he had a way to heal himself of whatever wounds were inflicted. He managed to stuff a handful into the inner pockets of his robes when a body came flying through the door. "Fuck!" he shouted, grabbing the arm of one of the Healer girls and dragging her down as a curse flew over their heads. "CRAWL!" Not willing to make it any easier for the Death Eaters to heal themselves than was already possible, he waited until the girl and himself were away before turning back long enough to send a blasting charm at the one shelving of potions, sending the vials crashing. Well, that was one thing taken care of, now to just save his own neck.
The amount of chaos washed over him as soon as he entered the main room. Spells were flying in every direction, and there were a number of men and women already down, but that didn't matter. The training of his father came to mind - save himself, then he could come back and save others. First he had to find that good spot to be safe. He barely made it halfway across the room before a cloaked figure came dashing onto the floor. Immediately, the figure began casting hexes at Lach, who sent an incision-making charm back in his direction. Normally used for opening up old wounds to re-heal them, the cutting hex worked just as well for offensive attacks. The Scotsman's hip was throbbing within minutes and he was writhing on the floor in pain from the Cruciatus. Fuck that thing hurt! Left alone for barely a moment as the Death Eater started toward him, Lach rolled over onto his back and sent a bone-twisting curse in his direction. The man tumbled over in pain, writhing just as Lach had done not moments before. Unfortunately, he only managed to barely stumble to his feet before the Death Eater regained enough motion to offer a powerful "DEPRIMO!" square at his chest. Next thing he knew, Lach had been blasted back through a pair of doors and was on the locker room floor. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed with him laying there but the sounds of battle were still going on. At least he wasn't dead yet.
Wiping the blood trickling into his eye, Lach groaned and bucked at the bench pinning his leg. As soon as he could, he was gettign the hell out of the Ministry and never looking back. His hip seared with pain as he attempted to stand, stumbling toward the side wall. He needed to gather his thoughts before he went back out here. Taking deep breaths, he glanced about the quiet room and that's when he noticed it -- a leg, sticking out into the aisle. It was confirmed under slow and cautious inspection that the leg belonged to one of two bodies. Crouching painfully beside them, Lach quickly pronounced the male as dead and could only assume from her still position that the woman was as well. It would have been all too easy to leave it at that, but the damn Hippocratic Oath kept coming to the foreground of Lach's mind. Hang the day he had made that stupid vow.
Leaning over the torso of the woman -- whom he recognized as a somewhat mutilated version of his former Housemate, Auror Abercrombie -- he reached for one of her arms and felt for a pulse. Damn, there was one. Pushing back the sleeves of his robes, he hastily shoved the male off her body and began checking her over for injuries. The easiest to spot was the amount of blood pooling around her shoulder. He reached to the hem of his robe and stripped off a sizeable amount of fabric, doing his best to clean the wound so he could stopper the bleeding entirely with a charm. The same proceedure was done when he realised the small wound at the back of her head. Several scrapes were up and down her arm as well, and her eyes were beginning to puff and darken. First thing came first, that arm needed to be reset, the sooner the better, and what better time than trapped inside a Ministry with possibly seconds to live?
Setting her body as straight as he could on the tiled floor, Lach pressed the rag once more to the wound before prepping himself to fix the damage. "Deep breath, lassie," he muttered aloud, holding tight to her upper body and the dislocated limb, folding it at a ninety-degree angle over her chest. "Three... two...." Without counting the third (not that Elle could hear him), Lach sucked in a breath and began rotating the arm, coaxing it forcefully - and hopefully - back into it's socket.
Elle was peacefully dreaming of Edinburgh and playing with Neil's kids and a time before she cared about werewolves and wars and anything else. She'd never been much of an innocent child, but more innocent than she had been of late. She wanted to stay in that peaceful place, away from the exhaustion and fear and pain. She woke up with a start and a cry of pain, tears immediately coming to her eyes. It hurt more than when she'd been sliced open in June and she never thought that would be possible, "Sweet Merlin!" she said through gritted teeth, and then the memories of where she was and what happened came flooding back to her.
Immediately, her eyes went wide and landed on who was manipulating her arm in the most unpleasant way possible. She was a bit panicked, afraid she had gotten into the wrong hands, but no... it was Kirke. She'd never been quite so happy to see one of the floor's medical staff as she was right now. Minus the fact that he had just put her rather excruciating pain.
"What's..." Fucking fuck that hurt, "what's happening? Have they gotten here?" She glanced around and her eyes landed on Aaron's lifeless corpse. Well. Fuck. That had happened.
"Easy," he ordered, forcing as much pressure onto Elle as he thought was safe to keep her still. "If ye don' stop moving ye'll make it worse." That was the last thing he needed right now - to drag about some broken Auror when he should be getting the fuck out of the building.
Dropping her arm, he placed a hand at her side and one behind the newly-placed shoulder. "C'mon." Moving her was most likely not the best option in the world, but he needed to make sure she stayed awake for the sake of the head wound, not to mention he had no idea when the cloaked figure would barge in to make sure he was dead.
She gritted her teeth and breathed hard to keep from crying out in pain again. Unfortunately, as soon as she got to putting weight on her ankle, she whined in pain and had to sit on the bench, unable to move any futher. She shook her head, which was was not the smartest idea - the movement cause the room to swim around her, "I.. I can't. Fuck." She pushed him away as much as she could in her condition, "My ribs... my ankle... Fuck."
The sounds of the fight beyond the door continued and she winced in frustration. She wanted to continue to fight, not be taken down by one lousy werewolf. But even completely stationary, she was in excruciating pain. "What the fuck is happening? Have they completely..." She stopped and pressed her good hand to her eyes, "Fuck, my head hurts."
Damn it all, she really had gotten herself bloodied up. Lach allowed Elle to push him away far enough that his hand left her side although he didn't let go of her completely. Moving the other down from the shoulder to support her upper back, he attempted to hold her up on the bench and crouched in front of her. "We're not dead yet, are we?" The answer was meant to come out as a statement but ended up a question anyway. Who knew how much longer any of them were going to be alive?
He had just started to press his fingers lightly against her ribs when he heard the exclamation about her head. "No, no," Lach moved his right hand up to pull her hers away from her eyes, his own glaring. "Look at me!" He paused a moment in the hopes of getting her attention. "Ye're not gonna fall asleep. Ye need to stay awake for me. Do ye understand?" If she passed out on him now then he was going to hang the blasted oath and just leave her.
She had a hard time focusing on him, but she managed to at long last. She was so confused as to what was going on, and the confusion grew ever more. It felt like she was in some sort of dream, where nothing around her was really making much sense... like it wasn't even real.
Her nose was running. Why was her nose running? She wasn't sick...
She reached up and wiped her nose, and there was a clear liquid there that was definitely not mucus. What the hell was happening? She was in so much pain... and she was so tired, but her heart was beating so fast. None of this made any sense, but she had a lingering feeling that it should.
"I'm not sleeping." It was all she could say and the words slurred in her mouth, which made her furrow her brow in confusion.
Good, she was focusing, or at least attempting to do so. Lach went back to work checking what was wrong with her ribs when he heard her voice slur. "Finella!" he growled, squeezing her shoulders. "Stay with me." He didn't have time to keep jostling her awake every ten seconds. Hell, neither of them had time, at all, for anything other than getting out with their lives if they were fortunate. Glancing back up at her face, he noted the liquid dripping from her skull. Cursing aloud, he fumbled with his free hand to the hem of his robes and lifted it to his mouth, clenching down tightly with his teeth to tear the fabric. When that didn't work, he let go of her long enough to switch his wand to it's proper hand, catching her as quickly as possible before performing a spell to cut off another strip of his robe. Once done, he botched up the fabric and dabbed at her nose before blotting at the blood covering her arms. If there was any severe wounds on them, he needed to know fast.
Elle cried out in surprise and pain when he squeezed her shoulders... most notably her right one. She winced and watched him; she slightly swayed while the room spun and her confusion mounted. He tended to her wounds and she wondered if she was ever going to get out of here alive.
WAVE 3
Alecto, Atticus, Peggy Vs Angelica, Justin, Higgs
And... here we go, Bertie thought as he heard the first crash of death eaters on the floor. He had a fairly roaring fire now, throwing files in as he went through the drawers in his office. It was a good things he kept things organised or else this would be a much more daunting task. But especially important things had been tagged in the first week he'd been in the office. The rest could go. He kept a careful eye on the door, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he flipped through another file before throwing it in with the rest of the burning parchment.
That was, anyway, until he heard a crash closer to his office. Enough of this, he thought, dropping one more file in before he grabbed his wand and took three quick strides onto the floor.
He knew a hag when he saw one. Mercilessly, he swished his wand and sent a conjunctivitis curse at the thing.
While no one could claim a hag had the heightened senses of a werewolf, Peggy O'Nell was most assuredly spry for a nearly-seventy year old woman. But of course, that was because she wasn't exactly a woman, she was a hag.
She saw a wizard out of the corner of her eye casting a spell in her direction. Putting up her hand, a flash of light came out of it, and the curse was deflected. "Eh heh heh heh heh," she cackled, turning toward the wizard. She hated men especially, and would have fun killing him. He wasn't quite plump enough for her taste, though, but she expected the carnage to provide more than adequate a meal for her, so she didn't give it a second thought.
She put her hand out again, casting a spell that caused burning. "HAAAA!"
Bertie growled "Protego!" to protect himself from the spell. He circled around her, jaw clenched as he surveyed for a weakness. He saw nothing at first inspection and finally simply flicked his wand and muttered "Expulso!" Perhaps he could get this over quickly. If the entire damn Ministry was under attack, then he couldn't waste all his time fussing with a hag.
Peggy turned, keeping herself facing the wizard at all times. His shields were strong and quick, and Peggy knew she would have to do her best to act quick (something not always the easiest for a hag, though certainly better for her than had she been human) if she wanted to win this. So the moment he blocked her burn, she tried for another, but nothing.
She hissed at the wizard as his spell came toward her, angry hers did not work. Hag magic never would quite match wizard magic, for all she could do. Instead she could only throw herself to the ground as the spell hit her shoulder. She cried out in pain but did her best not to lose her senses. Blood appeared through her shift-dress, dark red and darker than any human blood. Her other arm went out, sending a spell meant to trip him. If she could get him down on the ground she could likely reach him quickly enough, and then she'd have the advantage. A hag's teeth were her best weapon.
Bertie felt a stab of satisfaction as his spell connected. Still, he couldn't afford to get too cocky. It was never a good idea to underestimate your opponent in battle. And while he may have been sitting behind a desk for a few months, he still prided himself on being a god damned good hit wizard when the occasion called. The occasion was calling.
He eyed her shoulder and then gave another curt flick of his wand, ready to exploit the weakness. "Incendio!"
For all his caution though, he was slow casting another shield charm. It was weak and did little to protect him from the hag's jinx. Bertie managed to stay on his feet, but he was off balance, his attention suddenly shifting away from the battle to keep himself upright.
Peggy used this opportunity to scramble toward him, since she knew she was at an advantage if she was closer to him. She would rather not risk using her magic again (since it didn't always work, even for as long as she'd been a hag), and anyway, she was hungry. She had enough experience (and knew well enough of others' mistakes) to know to go for the arm holding the wand, since it was much more difficult for a wizard to hex when the arm he uses to hex is the one with teeth in it.
She bared her teeth and lunged at his arm, hands outstretched to claw his chest as she did so.
He just about had his balance she barrelled into him, making him trip all over again. He landed hard on his back, and let out a roar as he felt her teeth sink into his right forearm. The claws seemed almost incidental in comparison, though they too, tore through his robes and shirt and down his chest.
Bertie made sure to grip his wand, but brought his other fist down on the hag's face with as much force as he could muster. He had to make her let go.
Peggy was enjoying herself immensely when she finally found a fist in her face. It had been a while since she had eaten live flesh other than birds, and even when she did get a chance to taste human flesh it wasn't often still actually alive - just recently dead. The taste of his arm was amazing, and she was rather upset when she had to take her attention away because the wizard was fighting back.
She took her mouth off his arm long enough to see his attacking arm and try to claw at it. She hissed at him again, wanting very badly to eat his entire arm, and tried another burning spell, this time right into his chest.
Bertie growled and got his feet under her. With a grunt of effort, he kicked her off of him. From the ground, he was rather exposed. But... nothing seemed to happen when she cast a spell at him. And he wasted no more time. He threw a strong stunner directly at her chest, for now ignoring his throbbing arm and the warm trickle of blood on his chest.
It hit Peggy square in the chest and she flew backward a bit, where she, still stunned, banged her head against the wall. She wouldn't be out long, but for now she was out cold.
Bertie lowered his wand and climbed to his feet. There was enough adrenaline in his system to make him want to keep up a fight. It wasn't as if he'd have to look far.
Atticus vs. Bertie and Angelica
He turned his attention to the nearest masked face. His arm was drizzling blood, but Bertie only tightened his grip on his wand. He didn't want to waste time with this one. With a mutter of "Stupefy!" he threw a stunner at the death eater.
Despite the months spent listlessly in France, despite the importance of this fight and the battles raging around him, Atticus still managed to be the picture of calm as he walked into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While others might rush into battle, gleeful at the prospect of a fight, Atticus simply saw it as another task to be accomplished. His eyes scanned the room from behind his mask as he looked for a fight when one came flying at him in the form of Bertie Higgs's stunning spell. Well that made the decision easy.
Atticus threw up a quick protego as he turned to face his opponent more fully. Although he wasn't the most skilled of the duellers in the ranks of the Inner Circle, he had more than his share of experience and he tackled the fight with the same ruthless efficiency that he had towards most tasks. Determined to incapacitate Bertie as quickly as possible, Atticus sent a bone shattering hex at his leg.
Bertie felt a stab of frustration as his hex was deflected. He couldn't possibly be that out of practise. But his chest burned and his arm was absolutely throbbing. It was making him slow. His shield charm went up just a split second too late. And the man went down with a cry of pain, his left femur shattered. Bertie crumpled to the ground, holding his leg.
It was excruciating, the bite in his arm forgetten and blotted out for the intensity of broken bones. It was only pure luck that he was still hanging onto his wand. With a grunt of desperate effort, Bertie growled "Confringo!", hoping the blasting curse would buy him some time. Not that he was entirely sure how he was going to get out of this one.
Should have gone for the arm, Atticus mentally lectured himself as Bertie sent the blasting hex flying at him. And this was why he didn't particularly relish duelling. There wasn't enough time to think and consider possible strategy when curses were flying all around you. In the midst of mentally berating himself for forgetting the most obvious way of effectively disarming an opponent, he let himself become distracted for just a moment. Enough that he had only a moment to get his shielding charm up before he would have been hit by the curse.
Still, he managed to deflect it, if barely, although he took the added precaution of dodging out of the path of Bertie's curse as well, which just managed to make him look rather ridiculous as he jumped out of the way of a hex that never came. Righting himself, Atticus was frowning behind his mask and resisting the automatic impulse to take a moment to smooth out his robes. Instead he took the opportunity to correct his earlier mistake and sent a bone twisting hex at Bertie's wand arm.
Bertie wasn't exactly going anywhere. There was no way his leg was going to support him and the whole damn thing too hurt much to even think about moving. The bone twisting hex hit it's mark. Bertie dropped his wand, the bones through his forearm and in his wrist wringing themselves like sponges. A scream of pain tore itself from his throat and he clutched his arm to his bloody chest as the bones splintered. As if it would do something.
The entire department was full of screaming, on every side. Angelica had been battling her way around the DMLE, never engaging in proper one-on-one combat, but instead jumping in to lend a hand where she could, providing distractions and assistance. It was utterly chaotic, which she both hated and loved--the chaos was exhilirating, but the lack of order to the duels bothered her, and she was about getting fed up. It was like she was invisible--unable to really help because no one would engage her. Oh, to be sure, she could throw hexes and jinxes, but they weren't any of them distracting enough to cause someone to really start dueling her, and Angelica found it utterly infuriating. She was about ready to storm away, to take the lift up to the Minister's office and see if there was anything she could do to help there, when one scream stood out above the rest. She turned to see her boss, lying on the ground, screaming and bleeding and looking like shit and, what was more, there was an obvious Death Eater standing over him.
It didn't even take a half-second's thought for Angelica. In less than an instant, she'd thrown herself between Bertie and the Death Eater, casting an impediment jinx as she did.
Atticus had never been one for beating up on the incapacitated and Bertie Higgs was clearly not going to be doing any more fighting tonight. To continue attacking him seemed to be a pointless sort of indulgence that he had never been prone towards and so he had been about to turn off in search of a new task when the young blonde woman threw herself in front of him. As tempting as it may have been, he figured launching into an explanation of just how unnecessary it was for Angelica to protect her boss once he was already down would not be appreciated. Oh well.
He took a quick step to the side and ducked out of the way of her attack, letting her jinx fly harmlessly into the wall behind him. Although his mind was already starting to run through years of studied duelling strategies and tactics, Atticus forced those thoughts aside and instead made a conscious effort to simply act on impulse, as contrary to his nature as it may have been. With a slight twist of his wrist, he sent a silent confringo flying at the young hit-wizard.
Dueling was all about alertness, about picking up on subtle cues, the slightest jerk of the head or widening of the eyes that could give away a silent spell. Angelica watched the Death Eater in front of her flick his wrist in her direction and dropped to the ground, still shielding Bertie as she did, and the jinx hit the potted plant behind her, causing a remarkable explosion. Pieces of the pot grazed Angelica's cheeks and arms, but she still stood, largely unharmed. "Is that the best you've got, then?" she taunted, enjoying the way her heart was pounding and her blood was racing. She jabbed, flicked and waved her wand at the Death Eater in rapid-fire style, sending whatever jinxes she could think of in his direction, some verbal and some nonverbal.
Oh good, this one was a taunter, Atticus thought to himself with a slight, unseen roll of his eyes. Yes, it seemed to be a time-honoured duelling tradition, but it was not one he had any appreciation for and he had never understood precisely which aspect of duelling seemed to necessitate the ineffectual verbal berating of your opponent. "I assure you, it is not," he replied calmly as he threw up yet another protego and let several of her spells fly back at her before taking a few quick steps to the side to dodge out of the way of her remaining attacks. A quick glance over his shoulder was enough to confirm that there was now a rather impressive sized hole in the wall behind where his body had been just a few moments earlier and that was enough to keep him focused and prevent him from becoming overconfident as he launched his own retaliation. Attempting the same tactic that had worked quite well on the other Ministry employee, he sent a bone twisting curse at the woman's wand arm, followed quickly by a silent expulso and then a verbal, but still softly spoken sectumsempra. All right, so apparently there was some part of his brain that responded to her taunting after all.
Dueling like this was not a little like dancing. The Death Eater made his moves and Angelica responded, ducking and weaving, jumping and dodging, and throwing back spells of her own. Unsurprisingly, he was very good, and Angelica realized that she was probably outmatched, but she didn't care. The thrill of the duel was more than enough for her. Admittedly, she wasn't coming out of the entire thing unscathed--the Death Eater's final curse (she guessed at Sectumsempra when an enormous gash appeared across her side) caused her to pause for breath, but she wasn't down yet. Not by a long shot.
Of course, the knowledge that her boss was still on the ground by her feet gave Angelica pause as well. Bertie didn't seem to be doing too well, and she realized (as she sent a silent levicorpus in the Death Eater's direction) that she needed to focus more. It wasn't about just the duel, just the thrill of the fight. She had to get this freak out of the way so that she could get her boss (and herself) to safety. Thinking of that, she followed her levicorpus with a louder "Rictumsempra!" and a couple of jelly-jinxes. Ridiculous though they were, they would at least buy her some time.
Now that was just embarrassing. Atticus had successfully dodged or blocked every one of Angelica's attacks (of course the fact that she was managing almost the same level of defence was more than mildly irritating) right up to the jelly-legs jinx, which connected quite spectacularly. He was an experienced Death Eater, a member of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle and now he was wobbling around the Ministry like a complete and utter fool. Or was for a moment. Right up to the point that his now-useless legs gave out from underneath him and he fell hard onto his backside.
He had his own brief thought about just how absurd it was to use school-yard hexes in a proper duel, but then again it had been effective, hadn't it? Which brought him right back to how embarassing this was. Well there would be plenty of time to dwell and fixate later. Right now he needed to think strategy. Atticus fired off another expulso, this time aimed not at the young hit-wizard herself, but the ceiling over her head in an attempt to distract her. Next, a quick finite incantatem dealt with the jelly-legs jinx and he was back on his feet with his next attack. He went for the simple but generally effective spells this time, including an incendio right before resorting to a good old-fashioned stupefy.
"Oh shit," was Angelica's main response to seeing the ceiling above her begin to cave in. Her instincts to protect Bertie remained strong, and she cast a quick shielding charm above the two of them. It had the added bonus of deflecting the Death Eater's Incendio as well, and Angelica felt the force of both that and the stupefying spell against her shield. It was enough to knock her off her feet, her ankle twisting beneath her as she landed. That's going to leave a mark, she thought, and then, This needs to stop. I need to get Bertie out of here.
So she froze, where she'd landed, closing her eyes and letting her mouth drop open a bit. In truth, all that hurt about her was her ankle, but Angelica hoped that this Death Eater would think she was completely incapacitated and move on to whatever they were trying to do. If nothing else, it would give her time to get Bertie the heck out of there and save her own skin as well.
Had Atticus realised just what his opponent was up to, he likely would have been impressed with her - it was a rather nice, if age-old bit of strategy. But instead he fell for it, just as she had hoped. It undoubtedly helped that he wasn't trying to kill or maim the girl. His only interest was to simply take her out of the fight and the logical assumption as she fell to the ground was that one of his spells had hit. And considering the fact that she wasn't on fire...well it seemed to be a reasonable conclusion that she had been knocked out.
He hesitated for just a moment to ensure that she wasn't about to jump right back up and launch another attack but really even by the time she had hit the floor, Atticus's mind had already moved on. Leaving the two hit-wizards to lie where they had fallen, he turned and went in search of another fight, another project to be completed.
IT WORKED. Angelica barely breathed as the Death Eater hesitated, only finally letting out her breath in a relieved sigh as she heard his footsteps going in a different direction. Some small part of her regretted not fighting until she could incapacitate him, but when it came down to it, Angelica was more concerned with saving Bertie's life than with taking down this Death Eater, whomever he was. Had it just been her own life in question, she would've fought to the death, but as it stood, well...
She pulled herself upright when she was certain that the Death Eater wasn't looking and made her way over to Bertie. He looked like hell, and she had no idea if he could hear or understand her, but it didn't matter. "Don't worry, sir. I'll get you out of here."
Barty Jr vs Barty Sr
This was it -- Madame Lestrange had declared it so on their Lord's behalf, and Barty could almost swear that the coming change could be felt in the air. Even before donning the mask and robes, picking up his wand and following his superiors' directions, and charging in on the Ministry, the winter winds seemed to blow differently and there seemed to be some kind of dark charge surging through everything. Everything was going to be different now. All of their fallen, their incarcerated -- everyone who had suffered at the hands of Father's Ministry was going to see vengeance or a reward, and the faithful would be honoured beyond all of their earthly dreams. Barty's role in this change was simple, and it was clear: he was to be one of the Dark Lord's soldiers; he was to come into the Ministry, on the heels of his predecessors, and take down everyone who stood in the way of their just and glorious Cause. He was going to kill the one man who, from behind his desk and form letters, had single-handedly underminded all of the proper efforts for years now.
Finally, he was going to ruin everything that his father held dear and, then, only when That Man had seen the error of his ways, he was going to end that sham of a life.
How many people had he killed trying to get here? Barty wasn't sure. The path was a familiar one -- he'd been in and out of the Ministry, seeing his father, so many times before; it wasn't new -- but there were previously unseen obstacles, different turns to take. Barty had taken them diligently, taking lives where necessary and following the trail that, finally, led to his father's closed office door. Reflexively, he let himself in and took the surprise attack, shooting a Blasting Curse at his father and that wretched desk, a symbol of the man's horrific legacy. Quickly, Barty closed and locked the door, putting a shocking hex on the knob as well; this required utmost privacy.
It had been quieter since they had put people away and it seemed like things were beginning to look up. Things were getting better and they had a chance, and if Senior had been someone different, then he might have allowed himself some small chance of hope -- but he wasn't that sort of man and he wasn't going to allow himself that hope. He sighed, rubbing his forehead, as he heard his door open.
"Please kn-" he began only to be stopped when the spell caught his desk and set it flying backward and took him with it. It slammed into his stomach and he groaned drawing his wand and looking up. All he needed was to see the hood, and he sent a blasting curse back, pushing the desk back so he could move.
Retaliation -- Barty had been expecting that. Returning fire against the soldiers of the Dark Lord was the coward's way out of an altercation; only a brave man could see his death coming, accept it as an inevitability, and, resigned, allow his betters to perform a mercy killing -- and it would be a mercy killing with Father. Putting him out of the world's misery was a mercy not only to the servants of the Dark Lord, not only to everyone he had ever done wrong, but to all mankind. It was necessary, and it would be done, even if Father was insistent on fighting like a trapped animal first.
Barty took the hit from his father's Blasting Curse -- the man's aim was off, but he had been an Auror trainee before his shoulder injury had put him out of commission; he wasn't a bad fighter. For what it was worth, he was halfway decent at what he did, but Barty wasn't going to be stopped. His shoulder had taken the brunt of that damage -- how fitting; they matched now -- he could press on; Father's choice to move the desk only made it easier to aim at him. Raising his wand and his convictions, he roared and aimed another Blasting Curse at that man who dared to call himself a leader and a father.
The second blasting curse caught Senior's bad shoulder and he groaned as he raised his wand and cast a Cutting Curse, followed by an Incendio. Wand at the ready, he moved out from behind the desk
No doubt the Death Eaters were trying to take over the ministry. Which they would never manage to do because the ministry never fell. They would never manage to do that. The Ministry had been around for centuries, much longer that this ragtag group of ruffians who were using blood of all things as a reason for their actions. Morons the lot of them.
Fire -- how crass. How impersonal. The symbolism was fitting -- Father wanted to wipe out anyone who opposed his Ministry, to scar all memory of them from the earth, and to set himself on high, above everyone else as the One True Voice of Goodness -- and what better way was there to forge a new world than with fire? Or so would have been the misconceptions of a simple man, like Bartemius Crouch the First; his son knew better. Blood was the proper way to forge a new world: cleanse the impurities, cull the fold -- that was what needed to be done.
But, for all of its faults as a symbol, fire was quite a distraction, and Barty was not only faced with the fact that his father had cut him across the chest, but also the fact that the man had set him on fire. Wounds were all well and good; wounds could be healed, and physical scars would serve as a permanent memory of this fight, of this triumph -- but fire was extremely inconvenient. Allowing himself to ignore the fight for a moment, Barty cast a quick Aguamenti on the part of his robes that had caught fire -- on his shoulder; there would likely be damage to the skin, but it was nothing that he and Antonin could not handle -- and then whipped around, casting Levicorpus with the intent to let the man dangle, and then let him drop. Blasting Curses could only be interesting for so long, and even if Father would not fall a great distance, falling would still deal more interesting damage.
He felt pleased when he saw the fire run across the other man's shoulder his wand still up and he wasn't going to attack until he was attacked, not wanting to waste energy on fruitless attacks. He didn't want to kill the other person, he may have useful information, things that could help them later on when this stupid skirmish was finished. He saw the spell being cast and he threw up a Protego before it could hit him, blocking the spell and responding with a Levicorpus of his own. There was no point in using odd spells, following the same plan of attack the other man seemed to have at him sounded like a good plan to him, reliable, it gave him an idea of what spell to use and it was going to work.
Oh, that was good -- for as much as he hated his father, Barty could admit that the man had skills enough to hold his own. But he could not squall and avoid his death forever, nor could he continue to dodge the swift hand of justice. Barty got swept up and found himself suspended in the air upside down, but this just meant that Father was distracted, it was all the more opportunity to strike -- fast, hard, and like a viper. The first thing that came to mind was, naturally, the Cruciatus, but it was yet too early to waste one of the Unforgivable Curses; Barty had to revere those Curses and their power, to cast them you had to feel the hatred -- and he did feel the hatred. He felt it coursing, acidic, through his veins with each hard, furious, brutal pounding of his heart -- but it wasn't strong enough yet. This? Was temporary. The pure, unadulterated force of the years of loathing hadn't come up from their salted wounds yet, they hadn't yet broken the dams confining them, and it was not yet TIME to use the Cruciatus on this failure of a MAN--
A Bone-Twisting Curse, though -- it was the perfect time for that, and, with swift efficiency, Barty shouted the incantation -- "OSSIVERSO!" -- aiming right at the black hole where his father purportedly had a heart.
He heard the curse and his eyes widened slightly before he ducked, only he didn't duck fast enough as he dropped to the ground, pain running through his body as he groaned, pain blasting through his body, and he lost control of the Levicorpus and then a few seconds later he felt blessed relief run through his body and he wanted to just lay there, but he needed to finish this, needed to stun or kill whoever this insolent little idiot was so he could go home, go and see Demeter and then he could relax as he rolled over to his stomach, hands on the floor as he pushed himself up on shaky arms as quickly as he could, moving back to his knees as he raised his wand.
It only took a second of thought for him to decide as he cast a stunning spell, voice hoarse followed by another blasting curse, figuring that that was good for something. Right now he didn't care if he killed the other man he just wanted him gone.
Oh, but Father didn't actually expect this duel to be done and dusted that easily, did he? Apparently he had, but Barty had other plans: he'd given them the utmost privacy so that this could be on his terms and it was not over until he SAID that it was OVER. Following his father's previous example, Barty rolled onto his side and cast a quick Protego, laughing a cold, hard, cynical laugh when the red light of the stunning spell bounced off of his protective shield. A Stunning Spell -- how simple. How utterly and completely hopeless to defeat a soldier of the Dark Lord -- how could this man just press on, so content with the misplaced belief that he was right, everyone else was wrong, and the world was just going to conform to how he wanted it to BE?
That celebration of victory couldn't last long, though, and Barty refused to let it -- he had the greatest of murders (by his estimation, anyway) to commit; he had an entire world to liberate from the stench and defiling presence of his so-called father; he had the Dark Lord's Will to enact, as it had been directed. Aiming his wand straight and true, Barty snapped the incantation for the Throat Compression Curse: "ANGOR!"
He wasn't expecting it to work, it had been another one of those fool's dreams but he had tried and that was all that mattered as he glared at whoever it was, hiding like a coward behind his mask and robes. He raised his wand again to cast another curse, another stunner half on his lips before he heard the other spell and suddenly he couldn't breathe as he raised a hand, pressing it against his throat as he worked to draw a breath in and he couldn't, his lungs and body struggling but it was getting harder and harder and he needed to stop this now.
Raising his wand he pointed it at the other man and a weak incendio was thrown out, unable to fully form a coherent thought as he struggled to get air into his body.
Oh, for the love of -- luckily, it was only Barty's right arm (not his wand arm) that caught fire, but, unfortunately, this was distracting enough to mean an end to Barty's spell. Further misfortune came in the form of injuries: Father was getting, through the act of burning his son, his unconscious wishes of scouring all memory of the Death Eaters from the earth by means of hellfire -- but Barty was getting the primal satisfaction of vengeance and righteous fulfillment of his purpose. Even as he felt the fire tearing through his robes, even as he felt it spreading from his arm to his thigh, he had to watch his father choke and SUFFER, gasping for air like some fish and lowered from his human position as the king of beasts -- even as Barty smelled the burn spreading onto his flesh, he had to watch this...
And then self-preservation instinct kicked in; Barty broke his concentration of his father to whip around and cast several bursts of Aguamenti on his arm and thigh -- he would need a good deal of burn salve later, but he lived with Antonin. Antonin could fix this. If only Father had burned Barty's chest and cauterized the still-bleeding wound... oh, if only. Barely focusing properly, Barty attempted to cast Levicorpus once more. He was distracted, but Father was too -- and what was more distracting than nearly choking to death? Perhaps this could work now.
He gasped as his throat opened, his vision blurring slightly as spots danced in front of it and he ran a hand over his face, his eyes closing as he swallowed, shaking his head as he worked to clear it out, breathing deeply now, but he couldn't take longer than that, and even that had been too long as he felt himself being pulled up in the air upside down and this wasn't good as he raised his wand and pointed it at the other man. "Expulso," he said loudly, unable to focus enough to do it silently.
Barty saw his father's spell coming and, yet, couldn't move in time -- his concentration broke and he knew that this would send the man plummeting towards the ground, but he couldn't get any satisfaction out of that crash. He was much more preoccupied with the fact that, even though he dodged the brunt of the spell, Barty still got caught in the burst of shrapnel that had, until very recently, been a very nice floor. Part of the spell caught him on the same shoulder that Father had already injured, and, unfortunately, a "nick" from this spell meant that Barty's robes were torn and he was given a bleeding wound of decent size. Then came all the cuts from the wood, and the impact of falling -- what else was there to do? Barty hadn't hardly gotten up, all he'd needed to do had been escape the blast as much as possible, he hadn't needed to get up too much -- but even trying to duck the explosion from his low height, landing hard on the seat of a fallen chair was not friendly to Barty's stomach and diaphragm. It was even less friendly when he toppled off that and had to splutter and cough just to breathe.
...Pain -- he checked his palm -- no blood, no likely perforation -- sitting up was painful, but this was what was right. It was what was necessary. Barty needed to do this -- for Regulus, who had disappeared without a trace and, perhaps, had even been put to death by this Ministry and its insane plots to ruin their way of life; for Jacqueline and Julianne, who had lost Georgina and their father to this madness; for Aunt Chloris, whose husband had been unjustly taken; for Persephone, who had lost her father; for Madame Lestrange, Barty's greatest mentor, who had allowed her husband to sacrifice himself; for Mister Lestrange, who went to Azkaban willingly; for his mother, who had been kept bound to this man in emotional slavery for so long; for his unborn sibling, who deserved a better world than this one; for Evan and Georgina, who had been cut down in the PRIME OF LIFE because THIS MAN FAILED to understand WHERE HIS LOYALTIES SHOULD HAVE LAID; for the DARK LORD, who was the ONLY TRUE VANGUARD OF WHAT WAS GOOD AND RIGHT IN THIS WORLD--
Barty forced himself up on the elbow of his burned arm, letting the surge of pain fuel his purpose further as he aimed for his father and cried, full of religious fervor: "CRUCIO!"
Senior curled up when he felt the spell release and it stopped him landing directly on his head, but the pain that spread through his back and he knocked his head against the ground, feeling even fuzzier then before as he groaned and moved to roll over onto his stomach, not going to give up now. Things had changed slightly, before it was stun to question, and now the only thought was kill to get home and make sure Demeter was alright. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and moved to stand, his body shaking slightly and he could feel something wet in his hair and he shook his head trying to clear it.
Pain ripped through his body suddenly he dropped to the ground and screamed, unable to help himself as he tried to focus but anything he did was futile as pain just continued to come.
Barty laughed as he watched his father's face and features contort in the greatest physical pain imaginable -- only a few short years previously, he balked at the idea of learning about Dark Magic in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd read books in the family's library, of course he had, and he had known full and well about what Wizards could do to each other without the use of Dark creatures -- but the thought of people actually using these curses was unthinkable. They were called Unforgivable for a reason, and that was because they were wrong -- but now... Oh, now, now as Barty forced himself, shaking, trembling all over with the grand anticipation of what he was going to do (or possibly from his injuries; he wasn't quite sure), to standing, he saw all the ways in which he had been so unbelievably mistaken. He had been but a child then; he'd written off the study of Dark Magic as, 'Well, its only real purpose in study is so that one knows how to combat it' -- but, oh, now the veil had been torn from his eyes and he saw things as they TRULY WERE. Only the people who were too afraid and too WEAK to use Dark Magic dared to write it off in such terms, and, now, watching his father twist and writhe, feeling in physical actuality only a FRACTION of the PAIN AND SUFFERING that he had caused COUNTLESS people and families over the years...
This truly was the most beautiful thing that Barty had ever beheld in his life.
Slowly -- partly for his injuries (his legs had suffered in the fall and the attempt to dodge the explosion; his chest was still bleeding with each pulsation of his heart; his arms were shaking, his right one and its accompanying thigh were burned quite nicely, and his head had been thrown around quite a bit as well; and then there were the internal injuries to diagnose and, later, treat), partly for the fitting comparison that could have been made between him and a wolf advancing on its prey, and partly just for menacing theatrics -- Barty advanced on his father, keeping up the Cruciatus Curse for the entire duration. Finally, though, he ended it and, before the man could gather himself together, Barty hissed, "Incarcerous" -- making sure that the bounds were exceptionally tight. The didn't need any shenanigans from that man trying to escape. With that handled, Barty set his wand on an adjacent bookshelf and then, as he had done at the Quinns', just before killing Riley Quinn's Squib brother, he raised his hands to his face and delicately lifted off his mask.
His face, in any other circumstance, might have been as it always was. Now, though, a thin film of grime and sweat covered his features, and a manic grin danced across them as he raspily spat out, "Hello, Father."
He felt the curse lift and he almost relaxed before the Incarcerous was cast and he struggled, on his back as he tried to do something to get free but it was tight as he glared up at the other man, feeling his wand in his hand as he moved, working to get free somehow as he managed to twist the wand in his fingers and pointed it at the other man's feet. Of course any spells that he was going to cast were stopped when he saw the face of his son grinning at him and he frowned confused. There must be some sort of mistake, his son wasn't able to do anything like this, he was weak and useless and completely inadequede in all means of the words. There was no way that Bartemius Hallam Crouch, Jr was a Death Eater. Which left only one option, someone was illegally using Polyjuice and he noted that in the back of his mind for now, how did they get his hair, and who's else could they possibly have.
He needed to get free and to learn more about this person, find out what they knew. "Incendio," he said with all of the force he could muster followed by a cutting curse, hoping that at least one of them hit as he still began to work trying to get his hands free of the bindings.
The smell of burning robes caught Barty's senses immediately, and he knelt to put the weakling fire out, thereby putting himself directly in line with Father's Cutting Curse -- it only cut into his right upper arm, but Barty gasped and moaned -- oddly pleased; why was he pleased? Granted, he and Genevieve had hardly gotten far enough to try such things together, but pain and pleasure were opposing processes... except for this part where they apparently weren't -- at the initial sensation of the slicing, and then he shuddered warmly as the hot stream of blood coursed down the smooth skin and onto the burns -- In swift retaliation, he jolted back to standing and aimed a swift kick at his father's ribs, putting as much force as he could into that action. This wasn't pointlessly fighting with Demetrius and utterly ruining dueling practise; this was wreaking the Dark Lord's desires on a populace too stupid to understand its own best interests.
"That's hardly the reception I was expecting, Father," Barty taunted, a hard, mocking laugh sneaking into his voice. "Now, I know that we are on different sides in this predicament, and I know that you have never been satisfied with me or my efforts, but do try to feign some happiness for seeing your hopes and dreams fulfilled. After all, isn't this what you have always wanted? A useful, an effective, a strong son?!" Barty paused, properly positioning his foot and then bringing it down hard on his father's ribs. He added, practically bellowing: "ISN'T IT?!"
He gritted his teeth when he felt the kick as he looked up at this person who he still doubted was his son as he moved, working to get away, although bound it wasn't an easy thing to do. He frowned as he listened to the voice and it was wrong, and it wasn't right even though it was his son's face talking to him as his mouth drew into a line and downwards, eyes open and looking at the other man, although a little hazy with the blows to his head. He stayed silent as this impostor talked and let out a muffled groan as he felt the foot on his ribs again as he pointed the wand yet again, and cast a blasting curse at his feet, his voice stronger than before. He needed a fatal wound, needed to kill this other man so he could get back to Demeter.
The Blasting Curse caught Barty off guard, sending him backwards into a bookshelf in a blast of wood floor and desk remnants; the force with which he hit the shelf got a groan out of him and though he, luckily, didn't hear any cracking, he certainly felt the pain of hard, polished wood hitting a few of his vertebra and the back of his neck. It almost could've been comical as he fell right onto his tailbone and knocked several books out of their places, getting dull, thumping pains as they hit his shoulders, legs, burns, the top of his head -- and it should have deterred him, but, as a wild animal only fought harder in the face of pain, this only prompted Barty onward. Raising his own wand, he shouted, "Expelliarmus" and followed it with a quick, "Accio!"
Even with the pain in his right arm, he caught Father's wand in his off-hand and forced himself to standing once more. Once more, he advanced on his father's prone form and stared down into those blue eyes that were so identical to his own -- "That was most discourteous of you, father," he said, very matter-of-factly. "Here I am, I have finally and painstakingly made myself EVERYTHING that you wanted in a son -- and your response is to attempt a Blasting Curse at me. Now, you see, that pathology just bespeaks a compulsive need to be the very best, and I would say that you certainly suffer from that, wouldn't you? You won't even be a man and accept the consequences of your actions if doing so threatens your ability to be better than everyone else -- like, take our history together, for example.
"A son is certainly a consequence of your actions -- you had marital relations with your wife and impregnated her; the math certainly works, by my eyes -- but, rather than accept the notion that maybe your son is simply not cut out, for reasons both medical and psychological, to be an Auror, as your father was and as you wanted to be, until that shoulder injury of yours, you preferred to just discount me ENTIRELY. ENTIRELY, Father! Never mind that I have intellect and talent far surpassing those of so many people my own age -- far surpassing those of even some of your own, precious Aurors! Do you remember in July, Father? Some of your precious Aurors took George Goyle captive, and brutally murdered Evan Rosier and Georgina Wilkes, and one Death Eater got away, after significantly incapacitating Auror Proudfoot and Auror Guppy... I would be willing to bet that you never even considered the idea that, all this time, that Death Eater who escaped was right under your nose. You never thought, for one second, that, in order to catch this Death Eater who evaded your clutches, all you would have needed to do was tell him that his mother demanded his presence for supper.
"Which, by way of long-writ example, brings me back to my original point: never mind the fact that, not only did I have the skill to completely incapacitate two trained Aurors, and to outright escape FIVE of them -- including none other than the seasoned Alastor Moody and the darling Aurors Longbottom -- not only did I have the cunning and intellect to remain unsuspected by EVERYONE for SO LONG -- because it has been a decently long time, Father; Regulus and I joined the Dark Lord's ranks before we were even out of SCHOOL, before we had taken our NEWTs -- Never mind all of the capability that I possess, NONE OF IT was EVER enough because I didn't want to be an AUROR.
"Well, it's for the best now, Father, because I've become better than those low aspirations you had for me. You would have had me meet my death while fighting the people who truly want to make our world what its people DESERVE, a world that would have been WORTHY of our fallen heroes -- but I have seen the true light. I know for what I stand, I know in what I believe, and I have endured so. Very. LONG. just WAITING to get JUSTICE for all of the WRONGS that you have wrought upon our world -- and I am going to be rewarded beyond the dreams of men. I'm making the world great tonight, Father. You should be proud." Focusing hard, Barty bellowed: "OSSIVERSO!" without even waiting for the man to respond.
He made a muffled noise when the wand was suddenly gone and he began to move, still trying to get out and away. He was bigger than this person, if he could just get him to smack his head against something then he would be good. He was only half listening to the other man rant until things started to make sense when they shouldn't. Few people knew about his shoulder, few people knew about his aspirations for his son and few people knew that much about his relationship with the boy as he stopped squirming, having half turned and a look of realization crossed his face as he looked up at his son the stupid boy. "How da-," he managed to get out before suddenly he couldn't breath again and it was his son, except now he found he didn't care. The boy had been working with those people who had sent that hand to his wife and that was enough for him. His son was dead as far as he was concerned.
Gasping still he needed to get his breathing back as he moved, squirming around slightly and it wasn't graceful, but it got the job done as he managed to bring his legs up and kicked towards Barty's kneecaps, wanting to at least break his concentration, broken legs would be nice as well.
Senior's kick made its mark quite effectively and, this time, Barty did hear at least some kind of cracking sound -- but it was no matter. Even as he fell to the floor, landing, once more, on his tailbone, and even as his kneecaps screamed out in pain, it didn't matter. He had won this altercation, even if his father had not yet realized it, and all the pain did was give him cause to fight harder. As he fell, Barty simply laughed -- cold, manic, and almost more like spasms than actual laughing -- and as he sat there, both of their wands in hand, he just kept laughing. "You ought to be PROUD OF ME, FATHER!" he half-cackled/half-barked. "PROUD that I realized which side was right and rose about YOUR PATHETIC EXAMPLE to become the BETTER MAN! And when I marry and have children -- because Anzhelina may have rejected me; she jilted my attempts to court her, and that is fine with me; because another girl has come into my life, and she adores me, and I am going to wed her, and have several wonderful children, and, in the better world that I have given my BLOOD to build, I am going to LOVE THEM, regardless of what paths in life they choose. Be proud that I didn't follow in your footsteps, you worthless excuse for a man."
To Part 6