She didn’t know for sure exactly where, but she still felt her aunt Roxanne’s presence as she and Rolf stepped through the shimmering hole Caroline’s runestone had started in the Lestrange stable wards and they’d finished. The smell of horses hung heavy on the air and she felt an array of somethings she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Mostly, it was sadness. Some of it was vindication. There was a bit of trepidation, a worry that their plan wouldn’t work and the Lestranges would show up before they made any progress.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically serious in the dark. And then, her trepidation speaking, “I’m sorry for not inviting you to that stupid party right away. I was being dumb.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Rolf replied after a pause, shooting Angelina a small smile. The party seemed so long ago — back when Layla and Graham were friends, not Death Eaters. “You had every right to be upset with me.”
The Lestranges’ had the nicest stable he had ever seen, and he had seen quite a few. As his gaze swept over the stalls, he realized with a sinking feeling that they probably didn’t have time to free all the horses. There were too many. Still, he approached the first stall with his wand aloft. “I can start on this side?” he suggested, his voice tinged with nervousness.
“And I’ll take this side,” Angelina agreed, stepping over to one of the stalls opposite. Her hand lingered over the handle of the door and she glanced over her shoulder at Rolf. “Actually, wait. I brought apples. In case I needed to bribe them. The winternet said that was okay, but…” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Is it?”
Rolf grinned. “Yes! That’s actually a brilliant idea. And a little sweeter than what I brought,” he added as he pulled a bright orange carrot from his pocket. He twirled the carrot between his fingers as he swiveled back around to the stall door. He took a deep breath — they were really going to do this — then gently pulled the door open.
“Oh, whoa,” he murmured, suddenly face-to-face with an oversized winged horse. He took a cautious step forward, mouth twisted into a smile, as he held the carrot out. “How do you feel about a new non-evil owner?”
Alicia Spinnet & Fred Weasley
Fred, disguised as one of Tonk’s spare IDs, was keeping watch and acting as distraction while Alicia set up the bomb at the dessert table. That he was also sampling the desserts was just part of his commitment to the disguise, giving himself a real reason to be hovering around the table, starting such boring or uncomfortable conversations with anyone who came too close that they decided they’d come back for dessert later.
“Done?” He asked quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Alicia while there was no one approaching.
Alicia smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt and gave him a brief nod. “Operation dessert is complete,” she said before she turned to fix the tablecloth she’d pushed aside when she’d crawled out from under the table. Her eyes landed on a half-empty plate of cream puffs she could’ve sworn was full before she’d planted the bomb. She slanted a smirk at her accomplice. “Thanks for leaving some for me.”
“Actually left them so when it explodes they get covered in cream as well, but I guess you can have one,” he joked, picking up one more for himself. His eyes scanned the room as he bit into it, moving closer to Alicia so they could talk more freely. “How many of them do you think are death eaters we don’t know about?”
“Half,” she answered as she lifted a scrutinizing gaze from the dessert tray to the rest of the room. There were plenty of faces there she didn’t recognise and she was sure she’d heard a couple of Italian accents when she’d made the rounds earlier. “Maybe this is just a front for them to use the imperius on a bunch of European purebloods.”
“I assumed it was just how they meet people who aren’t their cousins to marry. It is Valentine’s Day,” he only half-joked, finishing his scan of the room that confirmed for the umpteenth time that Montague wasn’t near any of the bomb sites. “But your thing makes just as much sense,” he added with a grimace, serious again. “We’d better get away from this table before it blows.”
“Good call,” Alicia said, still mid-grimace at the idea of them standing in the middle of some kind of pureblood courtship party. She turned away from the table only to turn back at the last minute. She grabbed one of the trays and grinned at Fred. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
Owen Dearborn v. Rodolphus Lestrange
Everything was in place. The Order had set up several magical bombs around the Benefactors of Traditional Cultural Heritage Valentine's Day Gala, and Owen was primed and ready to set them off. Not that Owen Dearborn was anywhere near the gala, of course. He was safely elsewhere with a clear alibi.
Now, Jacob Avon-Prewett from Accounting, he was at the Gala. He pushed his oversized, out-of-style glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he poked around the hors d'oeuvres table, having already eaten about thirty pre-peeled shrimp cocktail. It seemed a shame to let those all go to waste in the explosion.
But then he spotted Rodolphus, and the shrimp seemed less important. Maybe he could get him to sit on one of the bombs before detonating it. Taking a deep breath and pushing his charmed red hair out of his eyes, Owen made his way over to the man who had murdered his mother. "Oh my Merlin, you're Rodolphus Lestrange. In the flesh! Sir, it is an honour."
Rodolphus’s hand had been extended towards a mysterious pastry parcel. He was half sure that someone had mentioned what it was but it had been a waiter and Rodolphus hadn’t been paying attention to them. They’d got in his eyeline and he’d mostly been thinking about how rude servers could be. Now, he had to strike out on his own and be adventurous. He hoped it didn’t have some mysterious fish thing inside.
He was thinking about the likelihood of it when the man interrupted him and Rodolphus paused, glancing over at the man. The first thing he noticed was the red hair (not a Weasley, though). Rodolphus smiled, easily, and said, “I’m still flesh the last I checked. Good evening, Mr…?”
"And thank goodness for that!" Owen lied cheerfully. "Avon-Prewett. Jacob Avon-Prewett. Gotta get that double-barrelling in there so that the half from the continent feel included and powerful. You know how it goes." A well placed gasp of feeling like he'd overstepped. "I mean, not that you'd personally know, but I'm sure you know of other people who have. All that ladder climbing. I'm babbling, I'm so sorry. Are you enjoying yourself? If you haven't tried the shrimp cocktail yet, it's perfect."
“I don’t like shrimp,” Rodolphus settled on, because he wasn’t sure what else to say in the onslaught of information. He looked at the man — Jacob — and then reached for the pastry parcel. He hoped it was chicken, or beef. Perhaps lamb. Maybe they were feeling adventurous. “It’s a lovely evening. Almost a fifth of the people I even like.” He took a bite of the pastry and then glanced at Jacob. He’d leave it up to him to decide which he fell on. “I do hope you’re having a nice night as well.”
"More for me, then!" Owen said, taking another two shrimp himself. The pastry area wasn't as close to the bomb as Owen wanted Rodolphus to be, but it would have to do. It was time. He hit a button on his watch with his chin while putting the second shrimp into his mouth. "I know for myself, it's super exciting to be here rubbing elbows with the upper-" he continued, making sure to continue talking so as not to be suspicious clear through the bomb's explosion, letting the blast cut him off.
The force hit Rodolphus first in the chest, rippling from its source and sending him backwards. It lifted him from his feet, but he could see he wasn't the worst affected. The table by them had lifted up, food going everywhere. There were pastries in Rodolphus’ hair.
“What on earth,” he gasped out, trying to right himself, breathing harder. He could hear the sounds of panic and he glanced at the man he'd been talking to. “Bellatrix,” he murmured and turned to go.
What the fuck, he couldn’t just go and LEAVE like that! This wasn’t a part of Owen’s plan. Why didn’t his plans ever WORK anymore?? He struggled to stand up himself,having ended up a little more caught up in the blast than he’d originally intended, and grabbed the first thing he could find — an empty champagne flute that somehow managed to remain unshattered in the explosion.
Putting his old quidditch skills to the test, Owen wound up and sent it flying at the back of Rodolphus’s head. A few moments later, he went stumbling over toward him. “Mr Lestrange! Mr Lestrange, oh my Merlin, are you all right? We should get you to a healer!!”
Rodolphus’ shock was apparent on his face as he turned, though it quickly gave way to anger. He looked around, searching for who had thrown the glass his way. “Who was it?” he demanded, stepping in towards Owen. “Tell me.”
"I'm so glad you're okay; that was dreadful! Who would do something like this!?" Owen continued to emote dramatically, considering for a moment going in for a hug but deciding 1. That would be too far, and 2. He couldn't bring himself to go that deep undercover for something he knew wouldn't result in Rodolphus going to prison forever. "It was someone over there with dark hair," he said, gesturing into the sea of people trying to pull themselves out of the rubble, most of which seemed to have dark hair. "I don't know if that was intentional or not; people just seem to be trying to dig themselves out. Can I get you anything? An ice pack? A drink??"
“You can get me the name of whoever threw that,” Rodolphus said, voice low and slow, words dragged out. He raised a hand to the back of his head and felt blood. There must be some glass in the soft skin under his hair. Rodolphus frowned and withdrew his hand, looking down at it. He drew himself up, looking at the Oddball-Prewett or something like that. “Intentional or not I’ll —”
And, then, the glass didn’t seem to matter as much. Rodolphus felt an alert, a warning that his wards — their wards — were being breached. He had to go. “Tell Draco’s girlfriend the bomb show was terribly exciting.”
"Yes, of course sir, I'll definitely work on figuring that out," Owen lied again, despite briefly considering blaming it on another known Death Eater to try to stir trouble into the ranks, but also not wanting it to seem like he was lying. "Are you sure you should be leaving right now? You have a head injury. I mean, I'm just an accountant, but moving around this much when you have a head injury just doesn't add up." He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, taking a closer look. "Oooh, that's a bit of a doozy, too. How about we go find someone who's a healer to take care of that for you and you can tell me all about Draco's girlfriend."
“No,” Rodolphus said, taking a step away from the man. “Why would I do that? Look, there’s someone over there with a head injury. Go take care of them.” Rodolphus had other things to take care of. Other people, he thought. Whoever it was, he’d make sure they paid.
"So I can pass along your message to the girlfriend, of course! That's not really what's important, though. You're more important to the cause than that person and their head injury," Owen replied as he continued to follow Rodolphus, trying not to throw up in his mouth as the words left it. Maybe he could take up acting, since Auroring didn't exist anymore and the Hitwizarding thing wasn't really working out. "Who even is that, a minor Bletchley?"
Rodolphus decided to ignore the Shadow Prewett. It seemed his best bet as he walked away, aware of the strain of muscles that told him he’d bruised something in the blast. He couldn’t apparate away. He’d already tried. A mounting annoyance rose in him as he ducked and weaved, trying to lose the Prewett relation and also find someone. Bellatrix, preferably. Rabastan, Lucius, Narcissa.
The man was still talking.
Irritated, Rodolphus turned. “Why are you still following me?”
Jacob Avon-Prewett stumbled back a few steps at Rodolphus's quick turn, and Owen tried to look properly meek and chastised for it. "I just... You're Rodolphus Lestrange. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. And also if I let you just leave and your wife finds out that someone knew you were injured and didn't make sure that you got help that she'll be really... upset about it," he explained. "I don't mean any offense. I just want to help!"
“I don’t need your help,” Rodolphus said and then he softened it, just slightly with a, “You may go help someone else. Bellatrix knows I can take care of myself and” — and the wards were being breached — “I’m doing something important. I’m trying to anyway.” He was talking more to himself than the Prewett relative, turning. He stepped over a broken chair and nearly careened into someone who was crying about something or other. Rodolphus ignored them and made his way to the front door. Surely he’d be able to apparate outside.
"I mean, as long as you're sure!" Owen said, continuing to trail after him despite it. "If I see her I'll let her know that you had to go run an errand. Best of luck to you!!" He watched Rodolphus make his way outside, knowing that it wouldn't be long until he hit the perimeter of the anti-apparation wards. Instead of going to help anyone else with a head injury, like Rodolphus had suggested, Owen ducked into a bathroom and portkeyed out to safety, then immediately sent a patronus to Team Horse Freedom to let them know that Lestrange would be getting there soon. Hopefully they'd have enough time to get out of there before he arrived.
Keats Avery & Victoria Mulciber
“And then I said, ‘You idiot! Of course I have enough friends to play Dungeons & Dragons. Are you blind?’” Keats was saying. It was punctuated with a hiccup followed by him pouring some of his glass of wine on himself. He wrinkled his nose. “Oh no, I just bought this.”
Vic snorted into her own glass of wine, the glass so big that her face nearly disappeared into it as she knocked it back. Say what you want about pureblood parties, their tendency for ostentation and overcompensation worked in this lowly halfblood’s favour.
“S’ok,” she said airily, and patted the stain on his chest. “It was bloody ugly. Your dung— aw,” she cried in despair as she misjudged the location of the dessert table and slammed her hip into the side. Wine spilled onto the lovely white cloth. “I just filled this!”
Keats let out a decidedly undignified snort of laughter. “Wow, are you blind, too?” he teased, swaying as he made his way over to the dessert table. “No matter, though. More of that where that—hic!—came from—” He reached over to grab a fresh glass from a passing server and hand it to Vic.
“A lovely glass of wine for a lovely lady,” he said in a mock-charming voice, only spilling it on her a little bit.
“Don’t—” she pressed a hand to her chest to fight her own hiccup before patting her best friend affectionately on the cheek. Several times. Once against his eye. Spatial awareness was hard. “Don’t call me that. Hey,” she frowned at the glass, “this is white—”
There may have been a burst of sound that accompanied the bomb, but Vic didn’t realize anything had happened until she was staring up at the ceiling through frosting and strawberry cream filling, her ears ringing and her wine glass merlin knows where. “Oh, fuck,” she croaked. “What did you do?”
Keats likewise found himself on the floor, ears ringing, face smothered with a blanket of cake. “What—what happened? Vic? Vic?” he called out, until he dragged himself upright to find her right there next to him. He frowned at her. “You could have just told me to shut up. There’s no reason to do—” (he gestured at both of their frosted facades) “—whatever this is.”
“You think I did this?” she grunted, trying to bring herself upright, but her head was swimming, and something felt heavy on her arm. “This. Is. Strawberry. Ganache,” she wiped it out of her eyes. “Like I’d waste good strawberry ga—” she gasped. “You stabbed me!”
It was only then that Keats noticed the cheese knife sticking out of her arm. He made a face as though he was about to be sick. “Stab you? I would never stab you! Pull it out! Get it away!” He picked up a handful of cherries and whipped them at her in an attempt to get her to stop being so bloody disgusting.
Vic gaped, finding herself fending off cherry projectiles through a haze of custard while also fumbling with the handle of the crystal cheese knife. “You pull it—Keats,” she growled. Abandoning the knife in her arm entirely she lunged forward sloppily and shoved tiramisu into his face.
Keats let out an indignant shriek. “This is offensive!” he whined, reaching for a toppled bowl of fancy gelatin, which he grabbed and dumped over his assailant’s head.
Vic gasped, gelatin sliding down the front of her dress robes, cold and wet. “I’m gonna—hic—kill you,” knife handle still shining proudly from where it was wedged in her upper arm, she picked up a profiterole and smashed it into Keats’ eye.
Around them the ballroom had erupted into chaos of a much more serious kind, but the two drunk Death Eaters were oblivious to the attack, far too concerned with pastries than perpetrators.
Aberforth Dumbledore v. Bellatrix Lestrange
Once the diversionary bombs had gone off, Aberforth Dumbledore, glamoured, had popped into existence at the BOTCH party ready, and eager, for his part in the plan: tie up known Death Eaters. Things were already in disarray when the aged man entered the main room, and he only did more to add to it. With a flick of his wand two toppled chairs turned into goats that bleeted, and then charged off in opposite directions, headbutting fleeing purists.
Another swish created more, larger goats out of a buffet table, as Aberforth scanned the room for familiar suspects. And then he spotted her: Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Hey, Lestrange!” he called, gruff voice magically amplified so that she’d hear it over the chaos.
Bellatrix had her wand drawn and her eyes shrewdly narrowed as she scanned the crowd for the source of the chaos unfolding at the party. In the corner of her vision, she watched bucking goat reeling into a group of bewildered witches, but before she could put a stop to it, she heard her name.
Her spine straightened and her gaze snapped toward the voice. It belonged to a man she didn’t recognize, so she stopped just short of sending a side splitting curse at him. Instead, she snapped, “What?”
“Your robes are on fire,” Dumbledore commented, another flick of his wand to ignite the hems. The plan was to keep them here, not get into a full scale duel that’d ruin the whole place.
For a moment, bewilderment registered on the Death Eater’s features before she snapped into action and extinguished the flame. Inwardly chiding herself for her hesitation, she whipped her wand toward a table full of empty champagne glasses and sent them flying at her assailant. “You picked the wrong party to crash, phoenix.”
The glasses stopped mid-air for and trembled for a moment before shifting, elongating into throwing darts which then whizzed towards the Death Eater. “I’m saving you from this bloody rubbish.”
“Do I look like a damsel to you?” She spat the question as she forced the the darts to a halt by raising her hand. When she dropped it, the darts followed suit and she didn’t miss a beat. Two flashes of red erupted from the tip of her wand, but the spells were harmless stunners — for the benefit of the purebloods scattered around them.
The spells splashed over a shield Aberforth had erected between him and several other scrambling guests… who were still dealing with the rampaging goats he’d set loose. “Not a chance.” Frowning a bit at the relatively minor spell choice by his opponent, Aberforth flicked his wand to animate a rug to wrap around her legs.
“Oh, enough already.” A snap of her wand shredded the rug, leaving what was surely a handwoven piece of art in ribbons at her feet. She several steps closer to the vigilante, planning to put an end to this once and for all. But before she could, she stopped dead in her tracks, all but frozen by the loud ringing in her ears.
The wards, she thought, and opened her mouth to demand an explanation just as one of Aberforth’s goats headbutted her in the rear. She pitched forward, tumbling over a chair and upsetting a table of hors d'oeuvres on top of her.
“Atta girl,” Aberforth complimented the goat while he whirled to where Bellatrix was extradicting herself from party snacks. Prissy little things, really, not even real food like he served at his bar. He raised his wand, ready to end this, and —”
“Out of ze way!” a foreign invite screamed, running from a goat and knocking into the aged wizard so that his aim was helplessly off.
The spell struck the floor several feel from her, buying her enough time to shove the table and scraps of food off her. She got to her feet and glowered at the old man. The ringing in her ears was only growing louder and she’d lost any interest in engaging him.
“Yes, out of the way,” she sneered, but when she made to disapparate, nothing happened. With a huff of impatience, she shoved her hand in her pocket to locate her portkey instead. It wasn’t the exit she wanted, but she was soon swept away, leaving nothing but a cloud of cracker dust in her wake.
Aidy Jugson & Noëlle Zabini
“When are you free for lessons?” Noëlle asked, swapping her empty champagne glass out for another fresh one as a server walked by. Aidy had already easily convinced her to take up yoga; she spent so much time making sure her face remained youthful but she needed to take care of her body too. “I would absolutely love to work with you.”
"I'm thrilled to hear it," Aidy replied, lifting her glass of water in the air as a toast to their new wellness partnership. It was all well and good for the purists of the community to know that they were a cut above the rest, but if they didn't also take care of themselves in the process, they were wasting their potential and potentially cutting their lives shorter.
Of course, the vigilantes were probably more of a threat to that than a lack of yoga.
The bomb on the stage wasn't the first to go off. There were a few seconds in which Adrienna heard the screams from elsewhere in the room, which immediately grabbed her attention. It probably wasn't serious -- the help must've tripped and spilled something staining on someone's dress. However, she'd barely finished the thought before the blast on the stage erupted behind her and Noëlle, sending flames and debris their way, and sending Aidy flying off her feet and into a pile of rubble and smashed chairs and the exploded podium.
Noëlle screamed as she too went flying into the rubble, a sharp pain as she landed heavily, and then another shriek when stray debris wedged itself into her cheek. “Adrienna?” she called out, voice quieter, more unsure than usual, shaking from the shock. “Help.”
Aidy's training with the Death Eaters, as well as her own work at her studio, had helped her get used to being tossed around a little, but she certainly hadn't prepared or braced herself for this. Preparation was half the battle, and she hadn't had that opportunity. And the blast had ripped her dress. "I'm okay," Aidy replied, despite clearly not being okay. Her arm absolutely was not supposed to bend the way it was bending, and she was ninety percent positive that the stain that was blossoming over her gown wasn't fruit punch. "Are you okay? Can you stand up?" she asked, despite not being sure if she could do so herself.
Physically, soreness and a few cuts aside, Noëlle was fine, but she had no experience with things like this. She looked over at Aidy, face growing paler at the sight of her injuries. She took a deep, shaky breath and pushed herself to her feet. “I can stand,” she answered, taking a couple of wobbly steps towards Adrienna and trying to ignore the blood she could feel trickling down her cheek. Oh, Merlin, she was going to be scarred for life and no one was ever going to want to marry her again and she’d wasted her last good years on a marriage that hadn’t earned her a knut and a friend who didn’t believe in marriage.
“Your dress is ruined,” she let out a misplaced sob, not at all used to being caught in the crossfire like this.
"I'll need to see if one of the better house elves can do anything with it," Aidy replied, trying to make a joke despite the very serious situation. She struggled to push herself out of the rubble with her one good arm, only to fall back into it. "You know, this seems like a good spot to meditate, actually. Are you sure that you're all right? I have some…" she stopped short, trying to think of the best way to phrase what she was about to say to someone like Noëlle, "...calming supplements in my purse. They're all natural and promote inner and outer healing."
“That sounds perfect,” Noëlle agreed, “But we should get out of this dirt first.” She took another deep breath and reached an arm out to Aidy. She could do this, she’d grown up in Knockturn after all. She was just no longer desensitised to such things after so many year of luxury. But as long as the blood still spreading on Aidy’s gown didn’t touch her own dress, she’d be fine.
"I'm sure I can find somewhere else to meditate that is slightly more comfortable and less dirty," Aidy agreed, reaching out her good arm to Noëlle. Once she was back on her feet -- unsteadily so, but still standing -- she turned to thank her. "I would give you a hug but that can come later. Or at least a free class, after we find a Healer." She winced a little as she moved her clearly broken arm. "I'm probably going to have to cancel this week's classes."
“And I’m going to have to cancel my modelling career forever,” Noëlle mourned, reaching up to lightly touch the easy to heal cut on her swelling cheek. “We’d better find that healer as soon as possible.”
"You won't. You still look beautiful," Adrienna replied immediately, both because it was honest and because she knew this wasn't the time to mention how unique features occasionally could strengthen a model's book. "And once we're finished with the Healer, I have some deep breathing exercises that we can both try together which help facilitate blood circulation to jump-start the skin's repairing process." Which wasn't necessarily proven to work, but that wasn't important right now.
Noëlle didn’t believe her, but a quick glance at Aidy’s torso put it the slightest bit further back in her mind. If they didn’t get Aidy healed, who would supply the calming supplements? The attack seemed to be over, at least. “Can you apparate?”
Adrienna nodded that she could, only to try and find that she couldn't. "...Actually no. Although I don't think it's injury related," she frowned, growing more and more irritated that they hadn't seen this coming. Blowing things up and making places unapparatable was their move. The vigilantes weren't allowed to just steal their thing! "Looks like we're walking."
Remus Lupin v. Rabastan Lestrange
Anti-apparition nets took a modicum of concentration necessary to expand the ward past oneself, past the walls of a room, past the entire building, then within the grounds itself. And Remus, in the desire to buy his cohorts as much time as possible, cast the ward to cover not only the building but a fair bit of the grounds as well. “Now,” he breathed. “You get to feel anxious like the rest of us.”
The only issue, of course, meant that it had to be timed just right. As the bombs planted at the gala began to explode, Remus held his wand aloft and began to cast the ward, pushing it past the room, past the building, and out into the grounds to ensure that Purists, Death Eaters and all within the vicinity would not be able to simply pop out and go see to their wards.
As someone who hated formal events, Rabastan was somewhat delighted by the cacophony of explosions. He plucked a crystal cut champagne flute from the tray of a fleeing house elf with as he twirled his wand in his other hand. He drained his drink, smiled at the back of a familiar vigilante, then dropped his glass. It shattered with a sophisticated tinkle, and he stepped over its glittering remains as he raised his wand.
“Crucio,” he said, almost lazily, uninterested in a proper greeting. A red flash of light hurtled toward Lupin.
Though distracted, Remus hastily erected a shield which caused the curse to ricochet and sizzle a cart full of dessert. “You’ll have to get your jollies some other way, I’m afraid,” he intoned, turning his full attention to Rabastan. With wand thus flourishing, he aimed a Stunning hex at the Death Eater, then whipped around to Transfigure the arms of a chair just behind him into long, looping limbs that stretched out, longing to embrace him.
The stunning spell was deflected with a flick of Rabastan’s wand, but the chair’s arms encircled his waist, tugging him closer until the Death Eater collapsed backward into the chair. Two can play at that game, he thought, aiming his wand at the floor beneath Lupin’s feet. It bubbled and hissed as it turned into scalding pitch, slowly spreading across the floor. Meanwhile, a hastily muttered incantation broke the curse on the chair.
Remus wasn’t quick enough in skittering back and found one of his feet burnt by the pitch but by effecting a freezing charm, he was able to stand his ground. Weight supplanted, leaning on one foot, he sought to disarm Rabastan with a silent Expelliarmus! -- though he knew that in a fistfight the other would win handily.
Rabastan swore violently as his wand flew through his fingers. Fury bloomed in his chest as he stomped forward, one hand reaching out for the collar of Lupin’s shirt as he pulled the other back, his fist aimed for the vigilante’s jaw—
… and the punch landed, cracking bone as it went. Remus felt blood well in his mouth, trickling down his throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he’d later consider the beast. And he would later consider the blind rage that welled up in his breast and dictated the curling fists at his sides.
But the cooler man prevailed. At point-blank range, Remus managed “Petrificus Totalus!” through a gore-streaked mouth.
The Death Eater was defenseless as the curse struck him squarely in the chest, his whole body going rigid as he tipped backward. He landed on the floor with a loud thud, his eyes roaming around wildly as he tried to glare up at Lupin.
Crouched close to Rabastan, Remus gripped both wands and offered a broken smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he mumbled, and touched a charm on a chain around his neck. The charm activated the portkey and Remus vanished.