WHO: Gwendolyn Vane & Ian Travers. WHAT: Ian pays Gwen a visit... WHEN: 11 April. WHERE: BGC flat, Tinworth. WARNINGS: Violence.
Ian had heard enough whispers about the happenings at Hogwarts to understand why some students hadn’t returned after the Easter holiday. But the law was, unfortunately, the law. No one could break it, not even the sister of one of his coworkers. The housemate of another coworker.
A coworker who would probably hate him for what he was about to do.
He pushed that thought aside as he approached the front door of the flat Chelsea shared with Gwendolyn Vane (and Angelus’ irritating former coworker.) All three Vane siblings were missing in action and Ian didn’t think any of them were going to turn up anytime soon. But he still had a job to do. He kept his wand at the ready as he rapped on the door, his stomach tight with dread.
The problem, of course, was that Gwen didn’t want to go into hiding. It sounded so dramatic, like something out of a story that wasn’t hers. Her sister wasn’t back in Hogwarts, but she was so much older than her. How was she to know? How was she to do anything, but stop going into work and not really leave the house?
Unfortunately, it didn’t extended to not answering the door. Especially when she’d ordered some thai from a nearby restaurant (muggle). She grabbed a twenty off her dresser and ran for the door, flinging it open, with a grin on her face.
It fell off quickly. Her spine straightened and Gwen said, cooly, “Can I help you?”
“Ms. Vane,” Ian replied, placid tone and expression set for nominal courtesy. “I have a few questions for you about your sister, Romilda.” There was a pause as he looked past Gwendolyn, as if he expected Romilda to be hiding in plain sight. “We can talk more once we’re at the Ministry.”
“Who?” Gwen asked, eyebrows lifting. She looked past Ian out on the street, as if half expecting someone to turn up. She wanted someone to turn up. “I’ve never heard of a Vane in my whole life. If you’ll excuse me,” and she went to shut the door.
“Ms. Vane,” Ian interjected, stepping fully into the entryway to prevent the door from closing. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. “Please don’t make this difficult. It’ll be much easier for everyone involved if you come along peacefully. But—” He aimed his wand at Gwen’s chest. “I will use arresting chains if necessary.”
Oh no. Gwen swallowed, hard, cursing her own stupidity as she looked up at Ian. Her wand was in the next room. She reached for the first thing by her and flung a coat right in Ian’s face before she started running. There was a cork message board on the wall too: that went behind her.
The coat — rather comically — slapped Ian right in the face, though he managed to pull it off just in time to freeze the corkboard in mid-air. He sprinted after Gwen, skidding across the floor as if he was Tom Cruise in Risky Business. “Ms. Vane, this is a really, really bad idea,” he shouted as he fired off arresting chains.
The momentary distraction was enough that Gwen could duck behind the sofa, the chains flying wildly, knocking into a bookcase as she pressed against the floor. An ornament toppled and shattered onto the ground. This was not at all what Gwen’d had in mind. She’d just wanted some noodles.
Instead, her heart was beating in her chest and her wand was still just slightly out of reach. She crawled forward. “Being in my house is a really bad idea!” she shouted. “Chelsea’s gonna come home and kick your ass for wrecking her looks-just-like-Toby ornament.”
The hitwizard winced at Chelsea’s name, but that didn’t stop him from firing off a stunning spell that only narrowly missed the top of Gwen’s head. (And if his aim had been deliberately off-center, well.) “I don’t think Chelsea is going to blame me for trying to uphold the law,” he half-heartedly yelled back, and there was another one-two punch of stunning spells that flew dangerously close to Gwen.
Heart hammering, Gwen pulled herself towards the end table where she’d left her wand, the spells flying past her. Turning, she looked up at Ian and scowled. “I don’t think you know her very well,” she said, sending a tripping jinx at Ian.
“Maybe you don’t know her that—” was all Ian managed to get out before he face-planted into the floor, swearing violently. He held his arm up, and bright flashes ricocheted around the room as he wildly fired off stunning spells and confundus charms.
“OH MY GOD,” Gwen yelled, arms going over her head as she fired off shield charms as quickly as she could. This wasn’t her forte. She wasn’t a dueler. She was a journalist, who occasionally liked to pick (verbal) fights with people. A stunner hit her shield and she caught her breath.
“Get out of my house!” She flicked her wand at the curtains; they tried their best to go after Ian as Gwen stumbled to her feet. Where was she going to go? Ian was a hitwizard: she’d only be able to distract him with household goods for so long.
Ian scrambled back onto his feet only for the curtains to coil around his neck and arms. He rolled his eyes as he transfigured the curtains into glitter (which, of course, went everywhere), then aimed his wand at the floor beneath Gwen’s feet. A moment later, it was coated with thick ice.
She went down quickly, feet slipping underneath her. Gwen’s head hit off the ground and she swore, the pain lancing through her head. She sucked in a breath and blindly fired off slicing spells. The hitwizard’s shield deflected all but one of the slicing spells, and he hissed as blood seeped out of the gash on his stomach.
“That’s really quite enough, Ms. Vane,” Ian declared, as if they were simply having a tense discussion. “Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as you cooperate.” Arresting chains erupted from the tip of his wand, hurtling toward Gwen— who, seeing the chains coming straight for her, took the opportunity and apparated out with a loud, ringing pop.