Alastor Moody is always watching. (sapience) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-08-05 23:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-08] august, ! npc, alastor moody, beth frobisher, doris crockford, lucinda greengrass (née yaxley), sturgis podmore |
Wednesday, 05 August 1980
WHO: Doris Crockford, Beth Frobisher, Alastor Moody, Sturgis Podmore as well as Lucinda, Stewart and Daphne Greengrass.
WHAT: Burning down the house.
WHERE: The Greengrass Manor in Lancaster.
WHEN: 05 August 1980; late evening.
RATING: PG-13
STATUS: Complete.
From the safehouse, Moody was among the first of the Order members to apparate onto the Greengrass' property, just outside of where the wards would have been if they had not already been taken down earlier in the day to make this as quick and easy as possible. Though he'd seen the Greengrass Manor before, he still took pause at the sight of it -- why anyone needed anything so large and ostentatious was completely beyond him. At least their target wouldn't be easily missed. He didn't wait for everyone to arrive before he started off toward the home -- there was work to be done and damnit, he was looking forward to it. Doris followed the lead of those who apparated first- falling a step or two behind Moody when she arrived on the property. She didn't feel quite important enough to deserve to stand beside someone like Moody (what has one leg and one eye and can still kick your arse? Alastor Moody, that's what) but bounced on her heels as she walked behind him (which was an odd way to walk, but she liked being odd), completely ecstatic to be doing something. Burning things was, perhaps, not her idea of a fun evening but hey, it was something. "Fancy," she said quietly, silently in awe of the manor before them. Beth was honestly not entirely certain why she'd chosen to come along on this trip. Burning down people's homes really didn't - well, she wasn't entirely comfortable with it, to be certain, but on the other hand, she knew these people probably wouldn't have hesitated to burn down their homes. Still, she clutched her wand rather tightly and was more quiet than she might have otherwise been. She would follow Moody's example, simply get in and get out and not think about the parts of it that made her stomach squirm more than it ought to have done. She looked up at the house in front of her and felt her eyes widen. She'd never seen something this elaborate before in her life. People actually lived here? Good god, these people had a moat. Who still had moats anymore, or needed a bridge to get onto their property? Not that it was going to do much from the Order's burning torches of righteousness, now that they'd picked their next target. Sturgis fell in line behind the others, taking care to ensure that they weren't followed, reconfiguring wards as they moved closer to the Greengrass's home. He couldn't fathom why these people needed houses that were this large, especially when only two people and a baby lived there. Maybe it was to keep the house elves occupied with cleaning dusty empty rooms. "Wards are down and clear," Sturgis muttered, keeping his voice soft enough so that the others could only just hear him. "We should have about 15 til the outer perimetre resets itself." "Good," Moody said, nodding over his shoulder at Sturgis as he made his way across the bridge and over the moat surrounding the manor. From below, he heard swishing in the water, and made quick work of turning his eye downward -- there was something there, though he couldn't tell what. The snapping of jaws and the low growling sound of breathing weren't very promising and Moody waved a hand behind him to hasten the group onward. Hopefully the Greengrasses wouldn't have any other interesting security measures featured on the property. Pausing outside of the door, Moody turned to glance at each of his three companions. "Quick and easy," he said, clenching his hand around his walking stick. "Get out as soon as you can and use your portkey if anything goes wrong." Beth nodded her hand feeling tight around the portkey. This was absolutely absurd, she thought to herself, as she looked at the moat and the bridge and the house that looked more like something Queen Elizabeth might live in, rather than something anyone normal might have as their home. She didn't think she wanted to know what was in the water below, and she wanted to just stay close to Moody. Her hand reached for her wand and she had it in her hand, waiting for someone else to make the first move. She certainly was not brave enough to do so. Doris let out a little cheer of excitement when it was "time to start", shooting off a few stray Incendios at the outside of the house. She stayed back a few paces when the others followed Moody's lead, levitating a few stray rocks and charming them into little fireballs. With a well-place Depulso, they went flying through a nearby window and she hurried through the kicked-in door (how a bloke with one leg kicks in a door, she wasn't entirely sure, but she wasn't going to ask) and started shooting fire at furniture and shelves and anything, really, that looked flamable. Sturgis wasn't typically one for fire spells, but he knew what things in ancient houses would burn, and following Doris's cue went straight in those directions. Purists always had a lot of documents and a lot of paper laying around, and they rarely stopped to consider what an incredibly fire-hazard that was! A few moments and an Incendio later, nearly the entirety of what Sturgis assumed to be a Study was consumed with red hot licks of flame that quickly burned their way out of the doorway and into new corridors. Beth gritted her teeth, feeling rather as if she ought to be having more fun with this entire thing, but as she wasn't going to force herself to have fun actually. She was just going to do what she had come here to do. "incendio!" she followed the others lead and her wand shot fire into the house, which was regrettably rather beautiful, she thought for a moment - if still ostentatious. There were few methods of destruction that Moody preferred to fire and none of them quite so convenient in a mansion with dozens of rooms. After setting the carpets and drapes alight, he ventured into the dining room in search of something else they could use. The first thing that caught his eye were the tapered candles scattered throughout. With a sweep of his wand, he lit them all and with another sweep, they rose from their places and shot through the house, finding the furthest rooms where they would ignite the corners of the house. There were only four of them and they could not hope to burn the entire thing down without any help. Afterward, he returned to the sitting room and began blasting holes into the walls with fireballs emitting from the end of his wand. If Moody had his way, there would be no Greengrass Manor left to salvage when they were through. The dream that had not come in a week or so came again, as it was wont to do. Thankfully, it had been a bit less constant in its coming than it had in the beginning, but still it haunted her as awfully as it had the first time it had come. For some reason or another, Lucinda found herself in her nightgown in the building of the Daily Prophet, watching it burn down around her, watching Ben duel some unidentified terrorist; never able to do anything. Her screams and warnings always reached deaf ears, and every time in this dream, no matter what she did, the terrorist won and escaped safely while Ben burnt alive in front of her eyes. Lucinda could never truly understand why she had this dream. Certainly, part of it was about missing Ben, wishing he was still here, but why did she have to watch him die? What was the point? She had not been there, and though she was certain her cousin had dueled bravely and to the best of his ability, perhaps against even more than one terrorist, she truly had not the slightest idea how the entire night had played out. In fact, every time she had this dream, the scene played out differently, despite its same, horrible ending, but it always left her the same: lonely, desperate, and deeply saddened. Tonight was no exception, in fact, it was perhaps more true. There had been something about the fire in this dream that was so vivid, Lucinda could practically smell the smoke. She woke with a start, tears forming in her eyes, somewhat short of breath. She inhaled deeply to regain composure, but then paused. She was awake. She was back in her bedroom. Why did she smell smoke? She began to wonder if this was a dream within a dream, and even pinched herself momentarily to see if she was awake, but no, this was real; there was smoke wafting through the house. "Stewart." She hissed, giving her sleeping husband a gentle nudge. He rolled over, but did not wake. "Stewart!" Lucinda repeated, a bit louder, but to no avail. For this third time, Lucinda put a bit of force into the nudge, making it more like an aggressive shove, than something a proper wife would give her husband. "STEWART! FOR SALAZAR'S SAKE WAKE UP!" Stewart had decidedly not been haunted by such dreams. And if he was, he certainly would not have considered them nightmares. He did not miss the irritating presence of Lucinda's cousin. Barely her cousin, at that. He had been a fool of a man, a follower to the core. Stewart considered himself a leader. And so, his sleep was relatively untroubled. Until he was shoved and shouted at. "What?!" he snapped angrily, brow deeply furrowed as he glared through the dark at his poor excuse for a wife. This was what Lucinda dealt with on a daily basis. How her father had ever thought this match was a good idea would forever be beyond her comprehension. "Do you not smell that?" She questioned irritatingly, her eyes narrowing in the dark with thorough annoyance. Once again, she inhaled to make sure she was not hallucinating, but she was not; there was a distinct smokiness in the air. "Smoke." She hissed, still unsure why there was smoke in their house. Stewart frowned and shut his eyes, turning his back to her. "You were dreaming again," he said irritably, rearranging the sheets on himself. "Go back to bed." He was angry and tired at being woken up. He had an early day tomorrow, and he was not in the mood to placate his wife. About to protest, Lucinda stopped herself. What if Stewart was right? She shuddered at the thought, even if it would likely be the better option. She hated when he was right and she was wrong, especially when he spoke to her like a child. For a minute or so she pouted, willing herself to go back to sleep, but she could not get that smoke smell out of her system. This was not a dream. "This was not the dream, Stewart." She shoved her husband once more. If she was not going back to sleep, he would not either. "I can still smell smoke. Stewart! Something is amiss." "Stop!" he snapped, shoving the blankets off. With a flick of his wand, the room was lit and Stewart was looking quite grumpy. "There is no smoke, Lucinda, and nothing is wrong. Why do you insist on acting like a four year old?" His voice was quickly growing in volume and by the end, he was nearly shouting. He did not want to have this conversation again, let alone in the middle of the night. Lucinda sat up straight, glaring fiercely back at her husband. How could he not smell it? The scent was ridiculously pungent and tickled her nose each time she inhaled. "I am not acting like a four year old!" She protested, in fact, much like a four year old, arms crossed over her chest and all. "There is something wrong, I can sense it." "Oh, you can sense it, can you?" Stewart shouted. "You and your all-seeing eye? Has that worked very well for you lately? Saved anyone a stubbed toe, or an untimely death lately?" This was utterly ridiculous. It was late and he was tired. And his wife was being absolutely insufferable. And never mind that some part of his brain registered the smoke. He just wanted to sleep. "Oh you find yourself so amusing, don't you?" Lucinda screamed right back, pushing the sheets away so that she could storm out of bed. "This is not some joke, Stewart. It is a completely legitimate worry, but like everything else I say you brush it aside because it is unimportant. Nothing is important to you!" She huffed, "And further more, Divination is a perfectly respectable art; not something to be mocked!" Except by Ben. "If you didn't blather on about such inane things, I might be bothered to listen to you more," Stewart snapped back, shoving himself out of bed as well. "There are plenty of things that are important to me, but you'll just have to excuse me if I don't particularly care about what you think about hats or Salazar, your idiot cousin's photo albums that he so kindly bequeathed to you." "Leoben was not an idiot!" Lucinda legitimately screamed, her cheeks flushed with anger (and likely the heat wafting through the room). "He was a skilled wizard, a successful businessman, and devoted servant to the Dark Lord, which is far more than I can say about you. What have you done for our Lord aside from occasionally throw money at him like some sort of beggar? What have you done for any of us? Ben at least spent time with our daughter. She hardly even recognises you!" "I have an actual job to go to," he countered angrily, taking his nightcap angrily in his hand and throwing it to the ground in a rather unflattering temper-tantrum. "I will not apologise for keeping my family supported, as unwelcome as some of it is. At this rate, she's going to be more mature than you before she's even gone to school!" Stewart was, by now, feeling a bit warm, but he could hardly notice through the blind anger he was experiencing at being woken up in the middle of the night just to listen to Lucinda scream. "SUPPORTED?!" Lucinda let out another aggravated scream at her husband, her hand going for the small alarm clock on her bedside table. "Simply keeping a roof over your wife and child is what you consider supporting? You travel more of the month than you are home, and you do nothing for our cause. I have done more to benefit the cause, and I spent my days at the Foundation! What you do is not supporting, it is" She hurled the alarm clock at him. "a sorry excuse for an existence!" Stewart let out a frustrated cry, instinctively ducking as the alarm clock sailed toward him. It flew harmlessly past his left ear and he glared further. "You don't know what you're talking about, as usual," he said firmly. "And I'm not going to have this conversation in the middle of the bleeding night." With that, he turned and threw the door open. The action let in a blistering wave of heat, along with a burst of smoke... and the merry crackling of flames against wood. Stewart stared in horror and then slammed the door, looking, for the first time, scared. Once again, Lucinda was going to protest, not about to let Stewart simply storm off, but then her husband opened the door. Her first thought was not fear, but satisfaction, she had been right. There was smoke. But then the realisation set in, and Lucinda understood: their house was on fire. She released a scream, this time out of fear instead of anger, as she could feel the heat from the fire against her skin. Images of everything that could be burning at this very second flooded through her mind: her lovely dresses, her mother's pearls, the Yaxley photographic albums; Ben's photographic albums! Without another thought or look to her husband, Lucinda quickly grabbed her journal and wand from the bedside table and apparated to the last place she had used Ben's photographic albums; desperately praying the fire had not reached them yet. Upon her arrival to the room, she was relieved to see that in fact, the fire had yet to destroy it. But for some smoke wafting through the area, there was no damage as of yet. And there on a table sat the photographic albums Ben had bequeathed to her. Quickly, Lucinda went to them, pressing them to her chest for a brief moment before she heard something unexpected. Cries. Sharply, she turned around and realised where she was. Daphne's nursery. Daphne. She needed to get Daphne out of the house as well. Hesitant to put the albums down, but unsure how to take her daughter out of the crib without doing so, Lucinda placed them upon the changing table and reached into the crib for her sobbing daughter. "Hush Daphne." Her child was screaming right in her ear, and Lucinda was not sure she could handle it at this very moment. Warmth began to flood through the room, and without another thought, she pressed the sobbing Daphne close to her chest with one hand, took the photographic albums with the other, and concentrated deeply on apparating away from the fire. As she landed on the grounds, her daughter's cries louder than ever, Lucinda could only look at her burning manor in shock. The albums fell to the grounds as she frantically looked around her. Where were the elves? Where was Stewart? Where was help? And most importantly, why was this happening to her? "STEWART!" She screamed, receiving no answer. "STEWART!" This only caused Daphne to cry louder. "Ben." She gave a muffled cry, trying to calm Daphne by bouncing her, but it was to no avail. Utterly unsure of what to do, and incapable of thinking clearly with Daphne screaming in her ear, Lucinda removed her journal and hurriedly worried an entry. Someone would help them. Stewart barely responded to the absence of his wife. Typical that she would just run away when their house was burning to the ground. Stewart reached for his wand and then threw the door open, again, hit with a wave of heat. Salazar, his manor. He shot pathetic jets of water at the nearest flames, looking worriedly around. It was unbearably hot and smoke was starting to sting his eyes. Why was his house on fire? Shit, they had company. "Shit, we've got company!" Sturgis yelled at the others, a silent disarming spell shooting through the air and in Stewart's direction as he ducked back behind a wall, sweat streaming from his brow as the fire continued to swallow up the room, furniture and decor transformed into flame and ash. The man hadn't attacked first; hopefully attempting to disarm him was enough to clue the guy in that it would be a good idea to leave instead of trying to fend off the arsonists. Beth's eyes widened at the sight of Stewart Greengrass running towards them and she quickly shot an "expelliarmus," followed by a shield charm. A fight with Death Eaters - or probable Death Eaters anyway - had not been part of what she'd intended to get involved with. As soon as he heard Sturgis' warning, Moody's eye turned backward in its socket to look at the man struggling to put out the flames. It was a minor complication, but he'd been aware of the fact that there might have been people in the house when they did this. He was not particularly bothered -- the man was likely a Death Eater and the idea that they might soon have company if that were true was the only thing that alarmed him. Turning his wand upward at the man, Moody sent a silent Incendio in his direction. This was all quite a lot for Stewart and though the stunning spell missed, the disarming charm hit him full in the chest, throwing him into a mostly unburnt bit of wall. But of course, he'd lost his wand. A burst of flames shot toward him, and Stewart dropped, throwing his arms around his head as he hit the floor. "What are you doing?!" he shouted, half-panicked. "Put my house out this instant!" "No," Moody said, twisting his mouth into a smirk. Even if they did put out the flames, there would be more damage than simple magic could fix. The man's cowering was almost embarrassing to witness but he felt no sympathy -- the Order had lost far more than their homes. The ceiling over the man's head was already being actively devoured by the fire. Moody was sure that it would fall on him at any minute, but since he didn't feel particularly inclined to wait for it to happen, he raised his wand and sent a Blasting Curse toward it. Doris was half-inclined to tug on Moody's sleeve and tell him they should leave already. They couldn't get trapped there, and the ceiling was looking more and more unstable. "We should get the hell out before we can't," she said, the fact that she had a portkey tucked in her pocket didn't seem to concern her considering if her clothes caught fire, the portkey would be history anyway. "Petrificus Totalus!" she shot at the man. Sturgis wasn't all that interested in staying behind in a burning building to fight off someone who was already going to be losing his house, especially since he was still hurting quite a bit from his duel and near-death escape with Marius Lestrange in Terror Tours earlier. He yelled an Incarcarous and a blasting hex across the room at Stewart before fumbling for the portkey in his pocket, letting it tug him out of the burning building and to the safety of the safehouse. Watching Sturgis leave, Doris decided that he probably had the right idea. This wasn't a good place to hang around for longer than necessary. "What are you going to do with him?" she mused, pointing to the man of the house. But she didn't wait for an answer, digging through her (magically extended, shh) pockets, she grabbed her portkey and was jerked away from the flames and back to the safehouse as well. Stewart had no wand, and even if he did, he wasn't very good with it. He was a politician, not a soldier. He'd never been interested in crossing wands and he only wanted to defend himself; an option that quickly became unavailable to him. Flaming bits of roof fell on top of him, despite his scrambling efforts of escape. He screamed and struggled away, wondering how in Salazar this had happened. His attempts to escape were smoothly cut off as a body-bind held him paralysed, rendering the following ropes effective, but ultimately redundant. It was so, so hot, and hysterically, he thought that this might be how a chicken feels as it's being cooked. In spite of Doris' urging, Moody waited to see the man fall before he was satisfied that they could finally leave. Not that their identities were a secret anymore, thanks to whoever had tipped Mulciber off and caused all of the week's earlier commotion, but it still did not sit right with him to know that the man would live with the knowledge. It didn't appear that they would have to worry about that in this situation. "All right," he said to Beth. "Our work here is done." And with that, he waited for her to to locate her portkey and disappear before doing the same himself, leaving the man alone with his crumbling manor. |