DISORDER (disorder) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-08-31 14:30:00 |
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“Shut up, you mudblood brat,” Bellatrix hissed through her teeth and grabbed the would-be student most within reach by the scruff of their jumper. As chaos unfolded around them, the witch had but one purpose — see to it that no one interfered with their plans. Unfortunately, the Order had gotten in the way of that, and in the ensuing melee, her new plan was to cause as much damage to their opponents as possible, vigilante and mudblood alike. Her wand jabbed into the student’s side just as a spell hit her from behind. Suddenly, the fabric of her robes changed from a practical and somber color to pink satin, which began at the bottom hem and sped quickly upward. Soon, she was standing mid-train station in a dazzling pink outfit that Dolores Umbridge might’ve envied. Whipping around, she located the spell’s caster darting past with a flash of bright red hair. Weasley. It must’ve been. And no matter which. A bolt of red light darted from the end of her wand, barreling after him. George was mid-laugh, but he felt something hot fly by his one good ear, exploding the nearby wall and he twisted around. It seemed getting this Death Eater’s attention had worked quicker than expected. Taking a breath, he squared up to face her. “I just really thought pink was more your color!” he offered to her, but his arm was already swinging around for something more debilitating as he released some blasters in her direction and gave her a winning grin behind the blur of his disillusionment charm. “Are you really going to make me bust out the old ‘pick on someone your own size’ chestnut?” He knew talking more than casting could get you killed in a duel, but George wasn’t just here to win the fight, he was here to get them away from the kids. As George’s curses came toward her, Bellatrix released her hold on the muggleborn, who scurried away pale-faced and wide-eyed. But the Death Eater’s attention was indeed on the duel to which she'd just been challenged. She dispensed with his blasting curses with ease, a snap of her wand extinguishing them mid-air. “You chose the wrong Death Eater, blood traitor,” she said and drew herself to her full, pink-clad height. With a slash of her wand and a beam of purple light, she left a trail of smoldering trunks and fleeing bystanders as she cleared a path to him. A second spell sent them all flying at him, each of them exploding on impact. There was a brief moment where George realised he probably should have taken more time with his ‘disguise’ but he wasn’t able to ponder it long before he was dodging debris and a trunk hit him square in the shoulder, knocking him off-balance when another exploded next to him, he landed on hard on his backside. Scrambling a bit now, he grit his teeth. “Not a fan of pink, then?” he bit back, but his expression had gone hard as he lashed out his wand again, pink sparks ripping at the Death Eater’s robes. “Buck up!” he called, sending a Tarantallegra at her immediately after. A growl rattled in Bellatrix’s throat as she put out the sparks on her robes and swatted his hex away with as much care as she might bat away a pesky fly. “Apparently pink has nothing on the rest of your childish tricks,” she sneered from behind her mask. “But not to worry, I’ll show you a proper attack.” And with that, she slashed her wand through the air. “Avada Kedavra!” George rolled aside with a grunt, the flash of green too close for him to keep up the jokes, and before he bothered getting up he lifted his want to return fire with the first thing that came to mind. A loud crack rang through the air and a new green beam shot toward the Death Eater, but this time a different shade than her Unforgivable. Hoping this was enough, the Weasley twin rolled back up onto his knees, already trying to get a shield spell in front of him for her next volley. While Bellatrix’s eyes were trained on her opponent, spells from other duels whizzed across the platform. One whose red beam she recognized came startlingly close, drawing her attention away from the vigilante as she cast a shield against it. But even with the cruciatus curse blocked, George’s spell struck her square in the chest and washed over her with a wave of nausea. She clutched her middle with her free arm and glared through the holes in her mask. What was that? She didn’t have time to stop and assess herself. As the nausea subsided, she struck out with her wand again, producing a blinding white light that sizzled the air between them. George cried out in pain as he threw an arm up to shield his eyes from the light, but his Protego charm wasn’t there to block this kind of spell. “Fuck,” he winced, finally back up on his feet but stumbling slightly, opening his eyes toward the ground and only seeing large splotches of color instead. “Fuck,” and just as he was about to try and take a few steps back, there was another explosion, debris cutting into his skin as he was knocked to the side. A loud crack was accompanied by a yelp of anguish upon hitting the ground. The Weasley curled in on himself, tucking his throbbing arm close to his middle and desperately trying to shoot another stunner at his assailant but he couldn’t see a damned thing. The spots that danced across Bellatrix’s vision were nothing compared to the spell’s impact upon George. Watching him struggle to cast another spell, a smirk settled upon her lips. “Not so funny now, are we, Weasley?” But no sooner were the words out of her mouth than a second wave of nausea hit her. Oh no, she thought, her free hand moving to her stomach again. Before she could make another move, she doubled over. Her shoulders heaved as she vomited right there in the middle of Platform 9¾. When one bout stopped, another began. It was all she could do to catch her breath. George paused in his struggle to get back to his knees when he heard the wet slap of vomit on concrete and the corner of his mouth upturned just slightly in relief. Squinting and blinking some more, he tried to discern where she was, and luckily enough it was only a few more lurches before he heard a frustrated noise and chanced opening his eyes to see a tall pink blob move away from him. Collapsing back into his fetal position and shutting his eyes tight against the burning, George let out a manic sort of laugh at his luck, making a mental note to start with the vomit hex before the mockery next time. With their muggle parents easily incapacitated and silenced, the young McLeod boys (fraternal twins, by Evelyn's best guess) made easy targets for the elder Death Eater. Ropes would do just fine; she didn't need anything showy to get these usurping brats and keep them away from the proper school children of Hogwarts. One of the boys dodged out of the way, but the other was quickly wrapped up in magical a magical cable just as the masked Death Eater felt an unexpected spell land far too close for comfort. She shifted focus away from the boys as she shielded herself and sought the source of the spell, spotting a figure some distance off whose wand was trained right on her. Evelyn shot a few fireballs off in the figure's direction. Hestia’s shield went up quickly, but not fast enough to protect herself from the first fireball, which landed solidly on her left shoulder. It was excruciating, but she gritted her teeth and swallowed the pain, staying silent. She directed her wand to her shoulder, spouting a quick stream of water to extinguish the flames on her robes, and then pointed it back at the offending Death Eater. Not a split second later, she sent several blasting spells at her opponent, her goal being to get them away from the children. Which didn't go unnoticed by Evelyn, of course. Though not as spry as she once was, she dodged the bulk of the blasting spells and forced herself not away from, but closer to the muggleborn students. One boy was now directly between her and his avenger. Evelyn hadn't intended to make this so difficult on these children (quick and clean was best), but if they were caught in the crossfire, so be it. Human shields were convenient. Perhaps it would make her opponent hesitate, even for a moment, and that could be enough. She sent a volley of arrows that flew over the boy and toward the woman. It worked; Hestia hesitated, and though she managed to put up another shield, an arrow grazed her wand arm. She bit back a cry of pain and held her wand tightly, advancing a few long steps. She aimed her wand at the dark wizard (or witch -- women can do everything, include being murderous monsters), just above the child’s head and just the other woman’s collarbone and sent not one, not two, but three severing charms in rapid succession before throwing up a shield and moving even closer, her goal to get the child out of the way. Evelyn laughed, though her mask muffled and twisted the sound. Dueling was always such a rush. The first slash rebounded off her shield, and the second's reflection managed to cut through the cables binding her would-be hostage, which was less than ideal. The third found its mark, or close enough to it, and red blossomed against her dark robes. Well then. Her response came in the form of a muscle-freezing fog. An old-fashioned spell and long-since out of fashion, a dark blue cloud crept in to surround her opponent and slow her down while Evelyn attended to more important matters, like her bleeding shoulder. Hestia had never seen the spell in action before, but she knew what it did and hurriedly shouted out a finite incantatem. Though it would’ve been worse if she had been slower in making her countermove, her reaction just wasn’t quick enough.The fog enveloped her left arm and shoulder, rendering them useless. At least she still had her wand arm. She was fighting an experienced duellist. Later, when she wasn’t preoccupied with matters at hand, she’d think it was very likely that they were an older Death Eater, maybe even Inner Circle. You just didn’t see magic like that anymore. Tired of being bested, she sent a gouging charm at her foe’s chest, not entirely caring if it landed. All she needed was a moment of distraction as she advanced quickly, reaching out, wand still in hand, to grasp the collar of the boy between them and yank him behind her. The bleeding was worse than Evelyn first realized. She would have to end this quickly. Deflecting the gouging charm hurt, and she wasn't as young as she used to be. She threw one concentrated blasting curse at the woman, then shifted focus toward the boys' petrified parents. The ring of fire that suddenly surrounded them should buy her enough time to make her escape, with or without a muggleborn hostage. Evelyn was a big believer in living to fight another day. The majority of the blast missed Hestia, but it landed solidly enough on her already paralyzed arm. She heard the sickening crunch before the pain registered, and it took every ounce of discipline and training she had not to crumple to the ground. But relief washed over Hestia as she heard the familiar pop of apparation, and was glad to look up to see that her opponent was no longer there. She was tired of getting her ass kicked. Taking a breath, she worked through the pain and made it over to the parents, extinguishing the flames as quickly as she could. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, a wobbly smile accompanying her words. It really didn’t matter if Ignatius was surprised to find a group of annoyances interfering with their plans for the other group of annoyances. If anything, he reveled in the opportunity for a fight, to have the adrenaline rush of doing the Dark Lord’s work while face to mask with those who dared oppose. The petulant sarcasm of those hiding behind their words was getting tiresome. After so many years in Azkaban, Ignatius was in the mood for a little revenge. He aimed his wand at one of the fleeing people, levitating them high above the platform and sending them quickly crashing into a nearby group who were trying to get away themselves. He thought it might slow them down. Lee was not proud of the high-pitched squeal that escaped his lips as he rose into the air only to be dropped down onto a group of terrified strangers. So much for guiding them to safety at an abnormally brisk pace that was slightly akin to running but totally wasn’t. With his dignity quickly shot to hell, he scrambled back to his feet, trying to regain some semblance of badassery. He knew he should have had that fifth cup of coffee. “Rude, sir! Or madam. I can’t tell under that ugly ass mask.” Subduing the urge to stick out his tongue he sent a binding curse towards the masked figure. “Please, do keep talking,” Ignatius insisted as he thrust up a shield against the binding curse. He’d learned the perils of monologuing long ago, but there was no reason the youth of the other side couldn’t learn their lessons. Painfully, preferably, as he aimed a flaying curse. Lee dodged the curse the best he could, sending up a shield that protected his stomach but left his side exposed. The curse tore through flesh and tissue, his blood warm as it began to drip thick and red down his side. “Fuuuuu” he gritted, gripping his wand tightly as he refocused. He sent a blasting curse towards the brick archway above the man, waiting for the debris to begin to fall before sending a second blasting curse directly towards the man’s ribs. Ignatius was, perhaps, out of practice. The shield he sent up blocked the worst of the debris above him, but it the blast aimed at his ribs sent him unceremoniously crashing into a luggage cart with his ribs in undoubtedly more pieces than they were ever meant to be in. The impact left him struggling to breathe and — more importantly — impaired his ability to aim an effective spell at the one who put him there. He shot off a wild slicing curse anyway. The curse was off target, but Lee zigged when he should have zagged. The curse caught him on the shoulder and Lee set off a series of curses in his head. This was supposed to be a tomorrow problem. He was supposed to get chicken. “Go fuuuuuck yourself,” he snapped, more and more conscious of his ongoing blood loss. He eyed his exits, not liking any of them a great deal. “Luxacaeci,” he shouted, sending a blinding light toward the other man as he brainstormed a better plan. “No thank you,” Ignatius managed, but it really wasn’t worth the effort to speak. He had a feeling a piece of rib was piercing something important and that combined with the blinding light made being efficient entirely too difficult. He shot off another wild slicing curse with the comforting thought that perhaps if it didn’t hit its target it might slice the neck of a muggle instead before apparating away with a pop. Just like that it was over, but as Lee looked around he could see the damage had already been done. Well, that sucked. Hidden behind her white mask Layla’s face flashed with confusion when the cries and outbursts turned more to those of a fight; spellfire was sparking in the air suddenly and the young woman cloaked in simple black robes twirled on the heel of her pivoted foot before taking a large step behind one of the brickwork columns in the train platform. She hadn’t seen where the attacks were coming from, but Layla had always possessed good reaction time, and always thought quickly on her feet. Craning around the corner, the woman shot a banishing spell at a luggage cart abandoned by one of the muggleborn students and sent trunks, along with an owl cage that still contained its screeching occupant, flying outwards from her position towards the voices. It wasn’t the DMLE. Layla was sure of that due to the lack of announcing their presence, and either way she wasn’t going to run from the fight. Following in the wake of her distraction, Layla stepped out from her cover, wand at the ready. It was out of the corner of her eye that Angelina, who didn’t look like Angelina at all at the moment, saw the flash of a white mask. She turned, sent a volley of jinxes at the mask’s owner, and went back to ushering a small family towards the exit in hushed, hurried tones. “Ignore them, go, run,” she hissed low so the Death Eater couldn’t hear her, a hand at the father’s back. She wished she’d had a moment to talk to Professor Lupin about what to do one more time. Like Layla, she was surprised to find the platform crawling with other people. She hadn’t expected to stumble across a Death Eater plot. The brown tendrils erupted from Layla’s wand and coalesced into thick ropes while traversing the distance towards the fleeing family. It was that choice to strike out offensively that had the witch unable to form a shield in time. One of her opponent’s spells slipped through and impacted her chest before her Protego shimmered into existence and sent a second spell deflecting off into a column. For the first moment nothing felt different, but then as quickly as the spell had come from Layla’s opponent she felt the growing pressure in her nasal cavities as if something were swelling and rising up from deep within her skull. “Fugh ooh!” Her words were hampered by her mask, her sudden burst of anger at what was happening, and the fact her nose was plugged not to mention the blossoming pain from the pressure. Nonetheless, the violent arc of her wand’s motion still cast a slashing curse aim at the intervening woman. It was then that the first bat bogey pushed and crawled its way out of the Death Eater’s nose, splattering itself with flapping wings against the inside of her mask with nowhere to go and and smearing itself to nothingness all over the enclosed space. A glob of mucus leaked from underneath the chin of the mask, stretched out while dangling precariously, and then dropped to the ground. The ropes bounced harmlessly off the shield charm Angelina quickly cast on the family, but focusing her shield on them instead of herself meant she had to wheel away from the next spell. She hissed when the slicing curse glanced off her arm. However, when she whipped her head up to glare at her opponent, she was met with, well, something she’d brought upon herself. “Mental note,” Angelina said in not-Angelina’s voice, staring in abject disgust at the Death Eater for a moment, “don’t use that one again…” But she didn’t allow herself to be distracted for long, pointing her wand at one of the signs lining the walls and casting a biting jinx on it before sending it at the Death Eater. Removing the hex from herself hadn’t made Layla’s face free of being covered in a thick layer of snot that was smeared along the inside of her mask, but at least the searing pain in her nostrils had begun to subside. A flick of her wand and she sent a burning hex right back while she advanced a step, feet nimbly avoiding the strewn belongings and blobs of mucus. The flicker of movement on her side had her sidestepping and yanking her arm out of the way as the vigilante’s animated sign’s new mouth and teeth snapped through the air, missing by half an inch. The Death Eater swore as the sign lunged forward unexpectedly again, outpacing her step backwards, and sank it’s sharp metal teeth into her forearm. Layla’s free hand was grabbing at the sign and pulling it off a second later, the teeth not coming easy and tearing through her robes and into her light skin, drawing blood that dribbled down her arm in rivulets. She tossed the sign to the ground and then stomped on it to keep it under her heel. And then she whirled back on her appointed, wand flourishing through the air despite her injury with a snarl escaping her lips. The burning hex had elicited a yelp from Angelina, but she was focused on getting the confused family out of there. As her opponent sent another spell her way, Angelina pushed the family forward with one hand and pointed her wand over her shoulder with the other. “Ebublio!” And as a giant, person-swallowing bubble burst forth from her wand, she pushed through the barrier to King’s Cross, jerking her wand down to hide it against her leg while she rushed them to one of the toilets so she could apparate them to safety. It was with another string of curses that Layla watched her opponent retreat with her quarry, popped the bubble with a stab of her wand, and landed on the ground. She then stalked off to assist her cohorts beat back the rest of the vigilantes and secure the platform. What was supposed to be an easy display of terror at the station was quickly turning into a fiasco and Lucius laid the blame entirely at the feet of the Order of the Phoenix. If they hadn't shown up and interfered with their plans, then he would have been home by now, spending Draco's last day before he had to return to Hogwarts with him and Narcissa instead of hidden under his mask and trying to find someone on which to take out his anger. The perfect target appeared within his sights a few seconds later, a woman who was ushering Muggles away, distracted for the moment, and Lucius wasted no time in sending a Banishing Charm at her. When things turned violent, Tonks immediately turned her attention to the children and families who’d been lured into this disaster. “Run!” she cried at the stunned and now terrified crowd, “Go!” she urged them, standing aside as parents got the message and began running with their children. Tonks stood guard over the panicking crowd, her wand at the ready to defend and fight for them. It was difficult to focus on both the fleeing families and keeping a lookout for any Death Eater threats. Even above the crying and chaos, Tonks heard the tell-tale whistling sound of a spell barreling in her direction and the shift in the air that came with it. She spun around, her wand outstretched. “Protego!” Tonks cried, but only managed to partially deflect the charm; it retained enough of its power to throw Tonks to her feet, knocking over a middle-aged father as she collapsed. Tonks didn’t hesitate, though--she jumped right back up, her wand raised and eyes locked on the spell’s caster--her mouth twitched in momentary disgust, but she retained her focus. “Expulso!” The abandoned trunk he summoned came too slowly to absorb the full impact of the curse and the force of the explosion sent Lucius into the wall, groaning as his back slammed against the brick. He hadn't expected her to respond so quickly; he wouldn't make that mistake again. Steadying himself on his feet, he stalked forward. "We don't need to do this the hard way," he said, through gritted teeth. "If you'll just leave, you'll be able to avoid some embarrassment." As soon as he stopped talking, though, he sent another trunk hurtling her way and a Blasting Curse following it. Tonks ignored him, that was standard Auror training--don't let them distract you. Still, her lips twitched in amusement at the embarrassment comment--as if. She flinched only slightly as the trunk came hurtling towards her, “Reducto!” she spat and the trunk blasted into pieces, though some of them spliced her face in the explosion. “Protego,” Tonks cast swiftly afterwards, not missing a beat, having anticipated that the trunk may have been a distraction. Tonks didn't like obvious distractions for the very reason that they were obvious, she preferred to slow the target down first before getting a second hit. Tonks swiftly pointed her wand at the Death Eater’s legs. “Locomotor mortis!” she said, then as soon as her wand was ready for another, “Oppugno!”, and she sent the trunk debris pelting at the Death Eater. Two things worked against Lucius: his desire to finish this quickly and his refusal to take this woman seriously as a fighter. He was well-versed in the Dark Arts, practiced it daily, and had years of experience with it — even if he was rustier than normal. Of course he refused to believe that she could ever gain an upper hand on him — his subsequent toppling shot a hole through that theory immediately. Landing on his shoulder, he heard the bones breaking and his hasty shield only stopped the last of the debris. The situation was getting away from him and there was nothing he disliked more than losing control of something. Once he undid the curse on his legs, he got up and dusted off his robes, despite the searing pain in his shoulder. He wasn't going to let her get to him. "I gave you a chance," he said coolly with his wand raised. "I'll be sure to send my condolences to your family. Avada Kedavra!" It was admittedly kind of hard not to panic at that one, but Tonks remained steady. She knew there were only two things you could do when there was a killing curse hurtling in your direction; you could dodge it and let it hit someone else--possibly an eleven year old child, in this case--or, you could block it with a large object and hope for the best. Tonks opted for the latter. Spotting a few pieces of luggage out of the corner of her eye, she levitated them all in a row in front of her, allowing the killing curse to blow the three of them up rather than her. Tonks was tossed backwards from the impact, and again, some of the shards of wood and other assorted objects hit her, but it was a hell of a lot better than dying. She knew the Death Eater would have written her off as soon as the spell was cast, so Tonks didn’t waste a second of that element of surprise, in spite of how rapidly her heart was pounding and how her skin felt clammy with panic. Tonks pushed that all aside and focused on her plan: Incapacitate him. “Locomotor mortis!” Attack him. “Confringo!” Make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. “Expulso!” Tonks shouted at last, blasting the Death Eater backwards into a column at the other end of the platform. She could have just stunned him--that might have been the more efficient thing to do, but he had tried to kill her. Hoping that was enough for her to at least get away, Tonks ran, still keeping an eye out for any lingering families. Impending battle never failed to fill Rabastan with a rush of adrenaline. He hadn’t anticipated the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix, but he was convinced it was only a minor setback. As terrified screams began to fill the air, Rabastan quickly scanned the periphery to assess the situation. The students and their families had scattered. His eyes fell on a vigilante trading spells with one of his compatriots; the scene made him smile beneath his mask. He was confident they could rid society of vigilantes and young mudbloods in one fell swoop. Rabastan’s attention honed itself on a teenage boy — he looked no older than Draco. Chains erupted from the tip of the Death Eater’s wand, grabbing the boy by the ankle and coiling up his torso. He levitated the boy’s body with a muttered incantation and a slash of his wand. His concentration was interrupted, however, by a vigilante’s spell. It only narrowly missed him, and Rabastan swiveled around, eyes searching the crowd for his assailant. Remus Lupin had always been of a double-mind concerning Death Eater masks. He respected the anonymity -- he could be duelling anyone. And the Death Eater was able to exist in society (albeit in an assuredly snotty and horrific fashion, he was sure) without too much legal blowback. In his youth he’d played with disfigurement charms and other spells to secret his identity from his foes. But the truth was, it never worked. And he was too tired for it now. Instead, he happily used the mask against the Death Eater. His spell (narrowly missed) had curved in from the periphery. With the Death Eater’s concentration wavering, Remus’ wand quickly went to the boy to vanish the chains and using a shield charm, he pushed him back several hundred feet down the platform and close to the wall through which he could get back to King’s Cross. He then turned his wand to the Death Eater and pressed his luck by stepping in several feet to shoot a jet of fire directly at that damnable mask. Sirius - at this juncture - would generally say something to the effect of “Eat soot, motherfucker!” … but he remained silent. Waited for his opponent’s next move. It was too late to dodge the barrage of flames, but Rabastan could still deflect. A shimmering shield charm slammed down in front of him with only a second to spare. He successfully blocked most of the blast, but not the blinding heat. His vision blurred and a small rivulet of sweat snaked from his hairline down the side of his face. The Death Eater took a few unsteady steps backward, eyes struggling to focus on the vigilante in front of him. Recognition dawned on him a heartbeat later: Lupin. Irritated at losing the upper hand — and his hostage — Rabastan muttered the incantation for the Stickfast Hex, then sent a volley of knives hurtling toward his adversary. Remus’ shield easily deflected the Stickfast Hex, though it had begun weakening when the knives started whistling toward him. He dove sideways, hitting his shoulder hard against the wall. One knife, hilt-deep within the meat of his arm, stood stark and he pulled it out to cast aside. If this one liked chains, they could play. A werewolf knew something of them. One long chain with metal weights upon the end of them flew from his wand to aim at his opponent’s neck. The other set was sent toward his opponent’s feet. Finally, from his crouch, Remus aimed a Blasting Curse at the Death Eater’s chest. Firmly held in place by the weighted chains, the Blasting Curse hit Rabastan squarely in the chest with a sickening crunch. At least one rib was broken, perhaps more, and the curse had burned through the fabric of his robes, searing and scarring the flesh of his torso. For one fleeting moment, panic overtook him, his chest laboring to draw in reedy breaths through clenched teeth. But his wand was still in his grip. “Not bad,” Rabastan managed, dissipating the chains with a flick of his wand. The pain was overwhelming, and he was more than a little unsteady on his feet, but his fury drowned it out. He took aim at Lupin and snarled, “Cruciatus.” The damn wand. Remus had been so focused on letting the chains do their work (then perhaps vanishing the Death Eater’s mask) that he hadn’t considered taking the wand. And as such, when the Cruciatus Curse met its intended point, he fell over onto the platform and clenched his teeth tight enough to draw blood over his lips. Swallowing, spitting blood, he writhed through the waves of the Curse (thinking always of Frank, always of Alice) before uttering three incantations in swift succession. “Confringo,” and a breath. Stronger now. Expelliarmus. He made it to a knee and shot a jet of hot sparks at the Death Eater’s mask. The first two spells were easily deflected, but the sparks broke through Rabastan’s shield and connected with his mask. The burning magic ate holes through the metal of the mask, sizzling and smoking, burning his skin. Alarmed, he used a gloved hand to rip it off and fling it onto the tracks. What did it matter? He was unashamed of his loyalty to the Dark Lord. “Hello, Lupin,” Rabastan said casually, as if he was greeting an old friend. “I’ve noticed you like Blasting Curses.” As punctuation, he aimed one directly at the other man’s chest. “Rabastan,” he gritted out, raising his wand with the intent to bring to aid the flagstones littering the walkway. But before he could, the connection the Blasting Curse made with his sternum delivered a staccato crack and he once again found himself thrown backward, into the arch, as he gasped for breath. A final attempt at deterrence -- a silent curse. Incarcerous. Rabastan’s wand arced through the air, transforming the ropes rushing toward him into clouds of confetti. His mouth twisted into a smirk, though it immediately shifted into a grimace as a wave of pain crashed over him. Every burn, bruise, and throb intensified with every moment. It was time, Rabastan thought, to cut this short. One final Stinging Jinx was lobbed in Lupin’s direction, but the Death Eater’s attention had already shifted to a panicked Hogwarts student frozen in place a few feet away. “We’re off, Lupin,” he sneered, hand shooting out to wrap around the young boy’s arm. One heartbeat later, the two vanished with a crack! The waiting had been the worst. The waiting was always the worst, but Rodolphus had known they would come: muggleborns leaving behind their families, venturing into a world they weren’t wanted yet again. Ridding them off their wands would be a first, important step. Along with his fellow Death Eaters, he waited at the station, cloaked and hidden away, until others started to arrive. It wasn’t just muggleborns. It became apparent moments in as unexpected duels broke out, the burst of light from different spells, shouting. The students started to run everywhere, terrified, shouting just as loudly. Rodolphus aimed his wand into the fray to immobilise as many people as he could, harsher spells used on those who had come to stop them. A tripping jinx landed on one of the students and Rodolphus watched the boy stagger and fall onto the platform, looking around with fear writ plain on his face. With a flick of his wand, he petrified the boy and walked over to him, levitating him up. He kept an eye on his surroundings but the first thrill of a victory twanged through him and Rodolphus started to move through the crowd with the boy. The sight of a floating child was enough to distract Fred from his distractions, abandoning his post and quickly making his way over to the Death Eater responsible, wand at ready. But he couldn’t risk breaking the levitation spell and having the boy drop to the ground so instead of aiming at the Lestrange he sent a quick cushioning charm at the ground before turning his wand back towards the death eater. Rodolphus could have walked straight by him. There were no offensive spells coming his way. He could have, but he didn’t: it was hard to tell where the next curse could be coming from and threats should be dealt with quickly. Turning his wand on Fred, he sent a blasting curse at his knees. Fred quickly responded with a shield charm, the blasting curse bouncing back towards Rodolphus, followed by the first hex that came to mind. Which, due to recent experiments with variations-on-a-theme with ton-tongue toffees (Honey Buns tentatively named Horny Buns) was the Horn Tongue hex. Rodolphus blocked rebound, flicking his wand, sensing the boy around to the other side of himself. Fred’s hex landed and moments later Rodolphus felt his tongue twisting and changing, a horn taking its place. His wand slashed angrily through the air, reversing the hex and sending flames shooting towards Fred. “Are you trying to call me devil tongued?” “Definitely not calling you sharp-witted.” Fred met the fire with water, though he wasn’t sure his eyebrows had survived the burst of heat. “Flipendo,” he followed up, hoping to knock Rodolphus off his feet and release the boy from his control. “That’s hurtful,” Rodolphus said, with a smile, blocking Fred’s spell. He stepped back, further, and a stray spell hurtled past, a bright light in his peripheral vision. “You’re not going to stop us, you know. None of them deserve wands. Nor do you for helping them.” It was a very pointed remark: the incantation for the wood allergy jinx left Rodolphus’ mouth, followed by a round of tripping spells. Fred dropped his wand in surprise as his hand swelled and a painful itch spread from his fingers. Unable to defend himself against the simple tripping spells, Fred fell to his knees, reaching for his wand again, grimacing against the pain. “They deserve wands more than you do,” he replied through gritted teeth, sending fire towards Rodolphus’ robes as a distraction, followed by expelliarmus, the allergic reaction spreading further up his wand arm. Flames licked at Rodolphus’ ankles, the ends of his robes starting to smoulder as the fire climbed up fabric. He inhaled sharply, turning his wand on the flames and sending a jet of water at them. The spray hit the body of the muggleborn boy in front of him, who Rodolphus had charmed to rock from side to side, and Rodolphus was fairly sure he could smell the flames, but the boy remained still and immobile. His use came when seconds later, the disarming spell hit him instead. Rodolphus’ eyebrows raised and he turned his full attention back to Fred. “You know,” he said, conversationally, “I’d think you were trying to hurt the little mudblood here. I thought that was against your type’s creed?” There was a self-satisfied curl to his mouth as he sent another spell, a shower of bright lights meant to temporarily blind. Fred staggered again as black spots obstructed his vision, multiple blinks doing nothing to clear them. If it had just been Rodolphus he would have started shooting hexes in all directions, not worrying if his temporarily blindness made them off-aim, but he couldn't risk hitting the muggleborn again. “This one has a kid,” he yelled into the chaos instead, hoping another order member could pick up where he’d failed. Rodolphus stepped away from Fred, his wand flicking at the boy, drawing him after him. As he walked backwards, his steps quick and hasty, he kept an eye out on the surrounding crowd: who had noticed the shouting, who was paying attention, who was free. The rush of it rolled through him. “No one likes a bigmouth,” Rodolphus said, sending a hex at Fred to seal his mouth closed and a short burst of blasting curses, before he grabbed hold of the muggleborn boy and retreated. At the very least, they had one. Vic thought the masks were stupid. Well, she thought the entire black hooded 80s cult music video they all seemed to be affecting with these robes, was stupid. It was lucky then that the mask hid such disdain at the best of times, and the nervous, anticipatory expression she slid towards her mother, at the worst of times. Don’t think about her, Vic warned herself savagely, absently taking in the pandemonium that seemed to be erupting on the platform at their entrance. She cracked her neck, wand firm in her fingers as she turned to the first Mudblood she could see; a mother and her son. “You seem a little lost.” Chains exploded from her wand, crawling towards the young boy like vines. Katie was unfocused already, craning her neck to see what was happening further along the platform. Panic was already starting to dictate her actions, her heart thumping as she snapped back to what she was supposed to be doing. No time for her to be scared now, she had to help the kids and their parents. “Hey!” Katie shouted in indignation as she saw one of the Death Eaters approach a mother and child, as chains were already closing in on the boy. She ran towards them, shouting out again in an attempt to get the attacker’s focus on her instead. Vic heard the shouts, but her focus remained on the boy. Weeping with fright, the Mother lunged (“Please, stop!”) for her young son, trying to bat away the metal snaking its way around the boy’s legs. “Fuck off,” Vic shouted back cheerily. She’d get one of these kids and her mother wouldn’t have anything negative to say about her performance or her level of commitment. Fashion tips from Briony? Vic let the mother and son collapse at her feet before firing a quick stunning spell at the annoying interloper. Katie’s shield charm was almost through gut instinct, trying to shield herself from the stunning spell before darting forwards towards the people being attacked. Firing a hex at Katie, ruining her little plans for heroism should have been easy, but whatever was going on on the platform, there was an explosion of brick that ricocheted into Vic’s back, sending her stumbling forward. Her spell cut harmlessly into the floor. It was in those few seconds that Katie got to mother and son. The girl clutched the boy’s arm - no time to explain, let alone try reassure the boy and his mother that she was trying to help - wand still at the ready. “Hold him!” She barked at the mother, no time to check if she'd done as she said. The woman seemed stunned but grabbed, and Katie didn't spare another moment for thought. Time to get out of there, and the poor kid and his Muggle mother were about to get a very rude introduction to side-along apparition. Vic heard the crack and made muffled snarl of frustration behind her mask. Damnit, she seethed, righting herself on the platform, her wand pointed at absolutely nothing. “Fucking damnit.” Shouts of panic echoed around her, reminding Vic that just because one opportunity had been lost, didn't mean there wasn't another waiting to be taken. With renewed determination, she went to find another. And maybe a vigilante’s face she could punch on the way. Sturgis, glamoured to look like a young twentysomething blond with impeccable hair, threw up the shield charm in enough time to prevent the Death Eater’s curse from hitting him. As much as he hated to admit, the group as a whole was filled with fantastic duelers, but that didn’t deter him. He himself wasn’t too shabby in a duel, though he was still going to have to get a bit more creative in order to save the child from capture. “Maybe you should go left and I should go right?” Sturgis asked his Order cohort with a small smile. Of course, what that really meant was that Bill was going to go right, and Sturgis left -- tricksters, this Order lot. Through his own glamour -- in his forties, bearded, dark -- the undeniable gleam of nervous excitement that had been there in his eyes that morning, before the violence broke out, was now a wary steeliness. To the Death Eater: "That child still doesn't belong to you." The robed Knight of Walpurgis turned, standing taller than either man, cloak billowing voluminously. Its mask was white marble, all but faceless, hollow black eyes alone in a blank slate. "No, it doesn't," it said, and its charmed voice was a poison susurration, thick but whisper-quiet. "I believe it belonged to this beast." A swish of the Death Eater's cloak, and the fallen muggle was revealed—his throat torn out with a vicious slashing curse, his limbs bent in four terrible and utterly different directions. The child screamed. His directional plan was abandoned upon seeing the deceased Muggle. As the child’s screams pierced through the chaos, Sturgis aimed his wand and cast Depulso toward the cloaked figure. One of them could make a grab for the child, but they had to get rid of the Death Eater first. A stunner shot out at a counter-angle to Sturgis' banishing charm, and then Bill darted forward, a shield blooming faintly before the two men as he tried to summon the shrieking, petrified child out of the Death Eater's arms. Sturgis's charm sent the Death Eater flying backward, but Bill's stunner was deflected with a swish of the dark wizard's wand. Bill did manage to summon the crying child, who rocketed toward him to be caught handily in his arms. Arms too occupied, alas, to properly deflect the Death Eater's bone-shattering hex to Bill's right leg, sending him stumbling down, left knee catching the ground, with an undisguised groan of pain. It turned to glamoured Sturgis, then, a shield blooming before its black-cloaked form, and fired off a stupefy at the coiffed young blond. Concerned for Bill and the child, his attention toward the Death Eater faltered momentarily. He realized what spell had been cast too late to cast one of his own, which was how Sturgis found himself diving to the ground as the red light narrowly missed his body. Climbing to his feet, he fired back a lazy Bombarda toward the cloaked figure before stumbling toward Bill and the child. “We should get out of here now,” he said as he reached for the chain around his neck that contained the emergency portkey. The explosive charm rocked the floor beneath the Death Eater's feet, and it scrambled backward in a flurry of black cloth and dark magic, training its wand again on the two Order members and the muggleborn child. "Yep," Bill managed, biting the words out through a haze of adrenaline-dampened pain. His left hand was wrapped around the child's head, keeping his face downturned and pressed into his shoulder so he didn't have to see anything else; his right, tightly clenched around wand, lifted to brush, knuckles first, against Sturgis, ready to be transported out. "Right now!" he added as the Death Eater's approach cut into his line of sight. Sturgis didn't even bother to look back as he finally grabbed the portkey and transported the three of them away from the platform. Zenobia Bulstrode sneered behind her mask. "Next time," she promised the empty air. Turning on her heel, she stepped over the ravaged corpse of the muggle father and apparated away. |