WHO: Clement Max & Barnaby Snell. WHAT: A friendly meeting. WHEN: 25 April, late afternoon. WHERE: Hogsmeade. WARNINGS: Violence.
Clement had no idea where Nora and Rhys had run away to, but he’d taken a gamble that Barnaby would believe that he’d hunted down their location and turn up, as requested. He’d been very specific: be right on time or else. A minute late and he’d go after the Cadwalladers again. This was purely because he didn’t like to be kept waiting, even for plans of his own making. His eyes were trained on his watch, his other hand holding his wand at the ready as the seconds ticked closer to his requested meeting time.
Baz apparated to the park outside Hogsmeade with thirty seconds to spare, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest. He kept his own wand aloft as he approached Clement, keenly aware that the Death Eater could be the last person he ever saw. He hadn’t told anyone about Clement’s message and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going — he hadn’t wanted to risk Rhys and Nora’s safety.
Fear and anger played out on his face, but he tried to keep his voice steady as he nodded. “All right, I’m here.”
“Just in time,” Clement commented with a disturbing smile, lowering his wrist and bringing his eyes to meet Barnaby’s. Without saying anything more, he threw a bone shattering curse at the other man’s thigh, not wanting to give him time to start asking questions and figure out that he knew nothing about the location of the Cadwalladers.
The spell caught Baz off-guard and he didn’t have the trained reflexes of a duelist. Pain ricocheted up and down his leg as his femur shattered, and he almost dropped his wand as he collapsed on the ground with a sharp cry.
“What the fuck?” he ground out, just as he fired off a fireball in the Death Eater’s direction.
“All the healers are resigning,” Clement explained, turning the fireball back towards Baz and following it up with a blood boiling curse to go with the heat. “They need to be taught a lesson.”
Clement’s matter-of-fact explanation barely registered as Baz deflected the fireball, sending it careening off toward a nearby tree. There was no time to retaliate, as the blood boiling curse struck true. His skin was searing hot as he clutched his wand, too light-headed to think of a proper spell. “Are you surprised they’re resigning, you murderous dickhead?” he asked between rapid, shallow breaths.
As punctuation, he fired off the only curse he could think of: a banishing charm.
“Well, they do claim to care about the oath, you’d think —” busy talking, Clement was caught off guard by the banishing charm, his blood boiling curse stopping as he flew backwards.
“This will be much quicker if you don’t fight back,” Clement growled, pulling himself back off the ground, body smarting from the impact. He shot a bone twisting spell at Barnaby’s wand arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.”
That’s not comforting was Baz’s last thought before he let out a howl of pain. The bone in his right arm painfully wrenched out of its socket before it began to crack. Baz’s wand fell from his hand as he clutched his now-broken arm with his left arm.
It was almost too easy, Clement finching slightly at the sounds Baz was making. This wasn’t about hurting Barnaby, but about hurting Son of an Order Member, Former Healer Jeremy. And also slightly former friend Nora. Barnaby was just a pawn. A pawn whose cries of pain he didn’t want to have to suffer through.
“Stupefy,” He cast at the defenseless man, waiting until his body hit the ground before he cast a few extra injuring spells for good measure — nothing that would draw blood but plenty of internal damage. Then, satisfied that Barnaby looked suitably beaten up and would require extensive healing, he moved closer to the motionless man, grabbing his broken arm and apparating them both to Mungo’s.