Mod Journal for Throwing Stones RPG (throwing_mods) wrote in throwingstones, @ 2010-04-17 18:31:00 |
|
|||
Who: Evan Rosier, Rabastan Lestrange, Silas Selwyn, Roderick Gamp, Severus Snape, Aston Mulciber, Felix Greengrass, Walden Macnair, Constantine Travers, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black, Edgar Bones, Ted Tonks, James Potter, Lily Potter, Remus Lupin, Gideon Prewett, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Valere Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Jack Nott, Sabriel Mulciber, Solomon Rosier, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, Euan MacDougal, Albus Dumbledore
When: Saturday, 17 April, 1979; early evening.
Where: Hogsmeade, Scotland.
What: Bad things.
Rating: R.
Status: Completed log, part 7 of 7.
Inner Circle vs. Dumbledore Albus Dumbledore appeared suddenly and silently in the streets of Hogsmeade without even the faintest pop of apparition. His purple robes billowed around his feet as he moved, striding quickly into the fray, his face nothing but a grim mask of anger. A silver coil that couldn't be described as mere ropes flew from his wand towards the nearest Death Eater. A glimmering shield charm was erected between another and one of the young children of the Order who had fallen to the ground, protecting him from any further harm. Children, all of them. On both sides. "Gideon," Albus said, his voice low as he put his hand on the shoulder of the nearest Order member who was still standing. "Run to Hogwarts. Get Minerva and then help her round up the other professors and bring them here so they can get everyone to St. Mungo's. Quickly." A pass of his wand in front of his throat and a silent sonorous and when the Headmaster spoke again, his voice carried through the village, echoing in the air and drawing attention to himself as he stood in the middle of the street, looking more furious than anyone there could ever remember seeing him. "Those who call yourselves servants of Voldemort. You will not hurt these people any more today. This is your chance to take your injured and leave this place. I will not offer twice." Rodolphus looked up the Longbottoms, his eyes narrowing to little more than slits. Yes, he would know that voice anywhere. Dumbledore, the shining beacon of hope for all the filthy, incompetent, virile mudbloods to cower behind. He disregarded what was left of his battle, and moved quickly(ish) towards the voice. In transit, he healed any further open wounds, numbed anything that still hurt. Nothing was going to stop him from destroying that man, of striking him down and bringing his wrinkled old head to his Lord. He didn't look to see who else was around, only heard Bellatrix somewhere in the vicinity. He didn't believe for a moment that she would run. Around him, he heard a handful of pops, saw someone running towards the castle. Rodolphus didn't really hear them, didn't take notice. His focus was narrow and concentrated on the purple-robed figure as he came into view. He didn't wait, didn't hesitate for a second to raise his wand. With a slash, he fired off a killing curse. With a stab at the air, came a crackle of lightening, and then a fiery lash of a whip. He abandoned his more crippling, bastardised version of healing for the moment, too taken with the idea of maiming and destroying the old wizard who dared to stand against their Cause. How dare he. Bellatrix's attention was immediately drawn to the old wizard as his voice carried through the village, her head snapping around. The Longbottoms were forgotten and Bellatrix swept down the street in a flurry of robes, the hood of her cape falling down and revealing her long, dark hair. She did not care. She barely noticed, her attention was so fixed on the wizard who dared to interfere with their Lord's plans. The meddling Mudblood lover who thought that they would be cowed into submission by his mere presence. Who was about to be quite sorely mistaken in his folly when he came face to face with the most devoted of the Dark Lord's servants. There were no blasting curses or slashing hexes to be cast now. Bellatrix's wand was raised and she tapped into the darkest of magics that she knew. The magic that had been taught to her by the Dark Lord himself, that she now would use to vanquish his greatest enemy. To bring him to his knees. And it was with precisely that thought that she slashed her wand through the air, down and up, bringing black, spectral hands forth from the ground. Hands made of dark magic at their very core, intended to curl themselves around the old man's feet and ankles and legs, searing and killing flesh with every touch, intent on dragging him into the very earth itself. He had always been so terribly self-righteous, was Sabriel's first thought when he'd heard Dumbledore's voice over the din of the fighting. If there was one thing that brought on Sabriel's rage it was the mere presence of Albus Dumbledore, who proved to be Sabriel's main opposition in swaying the masses of the Wizengamot. He had no respect for the man who so insolently opposed their Dark Lord, or hampered his progress in the court where he'd weld his own power. Even now the Mudblood lover acted as though his mere appearance was commanding enough to put a stop to all of this. Fool Sabriel set his jaw, joining Bellatrix and Rodolphus without hesitation, the intention to heal the minuscule gashes upon his shoulder and side long forgotten. "Avada Kedavra," he blasted in quick succession to Rodolphus' own. Saul was content to watch his son play with the blood traitor, occasionally throwing in his own special touch. It had been his intention to stay there with Evan until the ungrateful child on the ground had expired, though his plans were cut short when Dumbledore's voice had cut through the sounds of the battle. Things seemed to screech to a halt and Saul glanced around at his cloaked comrades, and then he'd left his son to do whatever it was he felt he needed to do, and he joined the three Death Eaters that encircled the old man. He saw himself as some wise saviour, giving pardon to the soldiers who opposed him. He had no power here, despite what he seemed to think, and already three attacks were being made against him. Solomon did not step up just to watch, and though he could not meet Bellatrix's creativity he could certainly throw a killing curse with as much conviction as the other men, and that's what he did. There was no way the saintly old man could defend himself against such an arsenal and he was going to fall in front of his precious army of foolish children. Valere had just watched Lily Evans and some dark-haired vigilante disappear before him. With Lily's fingers in his pocket he wasn't sad to see them go. All the more time to play with her in the future. He was about to find someone new to torture (perhaps the mudblood's husband) when he heard a familiar voice calling across the grounds. Valere was not a man who ran often but for this chance at glory he took off in Dumbledore's direction, wand raised and already casting spell after spell from the very darkest of his magical knowledge. "Avada Kedavra!" straight at the Headmaster. Were it not for the expression on his face, it would have been easy to believe that Albus was nothing but the picture of calm as he found himself surrounded by masked and cloaked Death Eaters firing killing curses and all manner of dark magic straight for him. The expression on his face and the furious thunder clap that exploded from his wand a moment later, sending a shock wave of magic out and flying towards the Death Eaters. A shock wave that consumed every bit of dark magic it touched, jets of light and fiery whips and insidious hands turning to nothing more than harmless ash floating to the ground. Windows shattered and the walls of nearby shops seemed to bend under the force of the magic for a moment before it faded away. "You will not harm anyone else here today," the headmaster spoke, his voice clear and even. A long blue tendril of magic sent to one of the Death Eaters, seeking to coil and curl itself around the nearest body and pull them to the ground. And then another. Always to capture not kill. A chasm of earth torn open beneath the feet of two others, a pit for them to fall into. And a fourth sweep of his wand, a broad arc that brought forth a web of silver net, a magical spider's web to blanket over his foes. Rodolphus's face contorted furiously under his mask. How dare he tell them what to do, this hapless halfblood, who had no more say in this world, in this society, in his Society, than any lowly mudblood. He hardly had time to think though, before a lash of bright blue wound around his waist, the sting biting through the robes and into his skin. He found himself flat on the ground, mask thrown askew, and it was then finally, that he simply tore it off. Let him see. Let everyone see, so that they could all tell their miserable little friends who felled the Great Albus Dumbledore. Rodolphus didn't bother to pick himself up right away, instead whipping his wand back and then flinging forward a deep, purple-blue curse. From the very air came the birds, pitch black and smelling of decomposed evil. Around their caster, the web of light hissed and fell away, protective - the ones touched with the blue magic disintegrated, but Rodolphus was hardly paying attention. The remainder of them swarmed the old wizard, claws and beaks ready to scratch out tender eyes and arthritic old joints. Rodolphus pushed himself back to his feet, and in another heartbeat, transfigured the ground beneath the Headmaster to a black, sticky mud-consistency. That ate, burned and dissolved everything it touched. That all of their curses were consumed by light, didn't surprise Sabriel, but it had him clenching his jaw tightly nonetheless. He'd raised his wand, light bursting from the tip before the ground beneath him rocked and then fell completely away. The pit was hardly deep enough to trap, but Sabriel fell hard onto his knees, rubble littering around him. There was a hiss of pain and then deorientation when a large slab of rock broke off and glancing his left temple, causing him to buckle further into the hole Dumbledore had made for him. With unsteady limbs, Sabriel managed to right himself, blood pouring from the wound on his head, dipping past the mask and sliding slowly over his face. Irate, Sabriel casted a blasting hex at the ground before him, the rock bursting into smaller pieces around him, creating enough of a ramp for Sabriel to begin to climb, eyes searching until he locked on the Headmaster. Halfblood swine. A reflection of his own feelings Sabriel threw an "ebullisangius" the blood boiling curse, taking advantage of Rodolphus' barrage of spell, and lobbing a blinding flash of white light to hinder the self-righteous 'saviour's' visibility to follow. Bellatrix's heart was pounding in her chest, not out of fear (she would never cower before Albus Dumbledore) but from sheer anger and adrenaline. Anger and adrenaline that became that much more pronounced as the old wizard so easily did away with their attacks. As the wave of magic he used to devour all that they had cast collided with her slighter form and sent her taking several quick steps back to keep to her feet. The thought that perhaps they were outmatched did not once cross her mind. There were five of them. Five of the Dark Lord's greatest and most loyal servants. And one old, doddering wizard who had outlived his time. Albus Dumbledore would fall and even as she was caught in a coil of blue magic that tangled itself around her arms, impervious to every slicing and slashing hex that she cast as it pulled her to the ground, she was no less convinced of that fact. And even if she could not manage to free herself from the magical bindings, it did not stop her from pointing her wand at the old man, an entrail expelling curse, a pulsus latus and an Avada Kedavra all flying at him in quick succession before she returned her attentions to freeing herself from his trap. Saul had spent seven years in the house of Gryffindor, listening as his almost all of his housemates praised everything that Albus Dumbledore did or said. He was just the Transfiguration professor then, but people still loved him, which only fed his deep seeded need to protect those who didn't deserve protecting. He held the wizarding world in such high standing and yet he had no qualms about saving those who ruined it. It made no sense. Now his confidence was going to be his downfall. He thought that he could just wipe away magic and that somehow he would prevail against five Death Eaters. Five Death Eaters who wanted very much to see him dead, face down in the village just outside his precious school. Even thought Saul could see Sabriel losing his footing and could feel his own faltering, there was nothing he could do but brace himself for the fall. Though he was unstable, Saul couldn't let that be the end of it. His ankle was twisted and it made standing problematic, but he managed. Somehow. He made a large circle with his arm and the same fiery whip he'd used on Sirius shot from the tip of his wand and straight for the throat of the older wizard. No, Albus Dumbledore did not believe for a moment that he was invincible. If anything, he had a very keen awareness of his own mortality, more so, he would argue than the men (and woman) he was facing. But it wasn't his goal to defeat five clearly skilled Death Eaters at once. It was only his goal to distract those who were so tenacious that they would not stop until the entire village was razed to the ground, to pull their attention away from those who could not defend themselves, to buy them an escape. And in that he had already won. Every spell, even the darkest of magics had a counter in some form. A glistening silver phoenix sprung forth from his wand and flew for Rodolphus's darker, more insidious birds, colliding with them, the light magic consuming the dark until all that was left were a few ghostly, spectral feathers of both silver and black floating to the ground. But there were limits to even Albus Dumbledore's ability to deflect and destroy attacks when they were coming at him from all sides. The birds were destroyed, but the soles of his boots were as well, disintegrated by the dark magic under his feet before he had the time to react. At the first touch of searing, melting heat on the bottom of his feet, Albus stepped back, instinctively but futilely as he transfigured the ground so he was standing in a lush green field, cool and damp with morning dew. A broad sweep of his wand conjured a powerful, swirling gust of wind that circled around him, creating a cyclone of which he was the eye. This time drawing in the rest of the curses and everything else around him into his conjured, magical tornado even as he felt his body spike an immediate fever from the blood boiling curse. He had not been quite quick enough this time. Another broad sweep of his wand and the swirling, twisting wind spread further, seeking to pull the Death Eaters themselves into the cyclone as Albus apparated out of centre of the storm. The blood boiling curse's hold on him was broken and the headmaster reappeared a moment later on the other side of where the Death Eaters had chosen to make their stand, behind the ones who had not been swept up by the magical wind. The slightest flick of his wand and the tornado was gone, Death Eaters, rubble, the odd bit of merchandise left out by the surrounding shops for display all falling heavily to the ground. And again it was the earth itself that he used against them, conjuring thick, unbreakable vines from the ground to wind themselves around ankles and legs. Seeking to hold and capture rather than kill. Bellatrix looked disdainfully at the grass that sprouted out of the street and she could not hold back the sudden urge to see it destroyed. Liquid fire poured from her wand, spreading across the ground as if it were molton lava, scorching and melting everything it touched. Including, with any small bit of good fortune, the Headmaster himself. She did not have the chance to see the effects of her curse, however, as she was pulled off the ground by a powerful gust of wind and shrieking, she was sent spinning through the air. Her slight weight provided next to no resistance against the magical cyclone and she was powerless to do anything but hold her grip on her wand until she went crashing down to the ground minutes later. Another shriek, this one of pain rather than surprise as she felt shooting pain in her side, her ribs cracked from the force of the impact, but still she would hardly retreat. Instead it was another killing curse that shot from her wand before she slowly struggled to her feet. Rodolphus would just have to deal with it later. Valere had been the furthest away and thus it was the silver net that found him and forced him to the ground. Furious at the old fool of a Headmaster that he would not fight back as a normal man but with these parlor tricks against the best of the Dark Lord's servants. He lost valuable time cutting through the web, trying several dark incantations before realizing perhaps a Finite Incantatum would do the trick and watching the net dissolve over him. He was back up on his feet then, shooting fiery lashes at Dumbledore, when the tornados appeared but Valere was further away than their reach and suddenly another burst of magic had them gone along with Dumbledore. And then another spell, and Valere felt the ground beneath him become a snare as thick vines grabbed at his legs. "Avada Kedavra!" he cast again, turning on the ground as he saw that the other Death Eaters who'd recovered were now casting spells toward the back of him. He struggled against the vines and then used his wand to sweep the debris nearest him toward Dumbledore, setting it on fire as it flew at the Headmaster with full force. The shield charm Sabriel had erected only withstood the gale force winds for moments, and he was thrown back, glancing the edge of the pit he'd just come out of with a might crack. The excruciating pain of his shoulder dislocating itself from his body became a dull whine as he slid to the ground, hidden from the vines that Dumbledore had tossed towards them. Teeth gritting so hard his jaw ached, Sabriel nonetheless stood again, the blood that had been steadily pumping from the wound at his temple had all but completely covered his face. He'd toss his mask aside, but he would be seeing the bastard the next work day if they couldn't kill him now. With a rage he tossed two more killing curse, followed by a lightning hex that broke out into a dozen bolts streaking blue across the sky. Rodolphus was, for a moment, able to stand his ground against the rush of wind, against the vacuum of the tornado. But after a few seconds, his feet slid against the ground, and as much as he tried to dig his heels in, he was finally pulled off them, dragged towards the ground despite his best attempts to stand solid. He was a large man, this was no small feat in any capacity, and when he was pulled into the cyclone, there was nothing he could do but wait until he hit the ground with an earth-shaking thud. He snarled another Killing Curse at the old man, once, twice, and then another lash of fire before he finally started pushing himself to his feet. He'd landed on his shoulder and side, and later, he might thank his lucky stars that it'd only been his shoulder. Because surely otherwise, it'd have been his neck, and he wouldn't have been pulling himself up at all. The vines slowed his progress, wrapped tightly around his ankles and calves. It was with an enraged growl that he simply let the whole mess on fire, unmindful of burns as the fire did it's job with the earthy green vines. He'd deal with them later. For now, they were far from crippling and he was free a second later. Dumbledore seemed to have a solution to every attack put to him. Like the others, Saul was also pulled up into the swirling wind. He wasn't a light man but the cyclone didn't seem to notice as it easily lifted him from the ground and turned him in wild circles in the sky. As soon as the wind had come it was gone again, and though once held up by weather, Saul was now looking at the ground as it rushed at him as he fell. He hit the ground with a heavy thunk and he felt his arm break under the weight of his own body. He tried to ignore the fact that the fully snapped bone in his upper arm had broken through the skin, but it hurt. It hurt very much. He struggled to pull himself up to his feet and then there were vines wrapping around his ankles that yanked his legs out from under him. He landed on his chest, knocking his chin off the ground, and he could taste the blood filling his mouth as he had unwillingly bit his own tongue. He sliced the wines away from his legs with his wand and more effort than he'd wanted to use, and once he was free his lifted his wand at the older wizard and fired off silent slicing hexes and a killing curse. For a moment it appeared very nearly as if Dumbledore was going to become thrown and buried by a pile of burning debris, his attention diverted at the other spells flying at him, the flashes of green and red that were dissolved into nothing with no more than a wave of the old wizard's wand. So many spells, so easily dealt with and yet the slightest miscalculation was enough that flaming wood and stone were allowed too close, setting his purple robes aflame and sending him reeling back one step and then another. The slightest miscalculation but hardly a devastating one. For all of his thoughtfulness and consideration, there were times - perhaps including those when your arm was on fire - that instinct would always take over and Albus did not hesitate before he sent the entire flaming mess rocketing back towards its source. He lifted his wand again only after he had repelled the stone and wood, intending to dissolve it into nothing more than grains of sand when his attention was pulled by another streak of green, another killing curse that was turned to nothing. Fires were quickly extinguished and then more silver coils went snaking towards the Death Eaters still standing, to curl around their waist and arms and bind them where they stood. The sight of flame licking at the old man's robes cited momentary triumph in Sabriel's eyes, though it was shortlived as he found himself bound. With an almighty wrench, the coils pulled him to the ground, nearly severing his dislocated arm clean from his body. His wand was thrown from him, and Sabriel muttered a curse of irritation. Grunting against the pain and the blood now dripping through the eye holes of his mask, Sabriel wrestled against the magic with a fury rare for him. He would not let Albus Dumbledore pin him to the ground. His arm had gone completely numb from his efforts, but with a wrench, he freed his hand and grabbed for his wand. Valere had watched as his burning cloud of rubble flew toward Dumbledore and though spell after spell of his comrades' were deflected the debris that Valere had thrown managed to get the man. He only had a few seconds to rejoice however as he felt one of the vines wrap tightly around his wrist and force his hand to the ground. His wand was pinned to the earth as he saw all of the fire and stone he had sent toward Dumbledore flying straight back for him. He pulled desperately at the vines but they only held him more firmly and within seconds he was buried beneath a ball of fiery stones. He screamed and struggled all the harder but his wand was useless to him now as his robes caught fire in twenty places at once, going up fast and catching skin and hair and Valere in their heat. He was burning, a torch on the landscape, and there was nothing he could do but close his eyes and pray that his Lord would come. That Voldemort would appear and save him. His last thought as the heavy smoke and stench of burning flesh filled his lungs was that he had fingers in his pocket-- fingers and a heavy conscience. And then there was nothing. Rodolphus once again found himself bound with the old wizard's ridiculous magic. He snarled his displeasure, defaulting to two or three growls of perculsus before he was dragged down. He only just managed to keep his wand hand free, struggling against the magic as he tried to manoeuvre away. And it was then that screams filled his ears, and for a moment, he didn't know where they were coming from, who could possibly be making that noise. Until he finally saw the sick pyre, finally recognised his father's voice. He could do nothing but stare for a moment before he struggled again, a wild animal caught in a trap. In the few seconds he'd taken to stare, the magic had wound itself tightly around his chest and abdomen. In that moment, Rodolphus didn't care. He turned his wand towards his own body, slicing violently through the magic and unmindful of just how he did it. He could fix himself later. Blood spilled down his robes as he desperately fought his bonds, until finally he rolled away. He could smell burnt flesh, and his father was no longer making noise. He stared for a moment, stunned. And then when his eyes finally shifted, they were to the old man and his face contorted in rage. His wand slashed through the air as his legs took him towards the old wizard. "Percsulus, scindo internum, avada kedavra, visanaer, percsulus, pulsus latus, aduram virga." And then he was on top of him, his wand forgotten in favour of fists, of destroying and tearing the murdering swine apart with his bare hands. He struggled for leverage, to keep the old man pinned at whatever cost as his fists swung, choked. Rodolphus was blind to the rest of the world. Albus had not meant for anyone to die. The sounds of Valere's screams had his attention and he was trying to pull the weight of the rubble from the other man's body in between deflecting the onslaught of curses still flying at him when the sound of his screams came to an end. Even for a man as corrupt and evil as Valere Lestrange, Albus Dumbledore still could not help but feel a pang of grief. Grief and guilt and it was in the lines on his face. And there was the son in all of his bulk charging towards him with murder and hatred in his eyes and Albus met his gaze with the knowledge that a man deserved to look his father's killer in the eyes. That did not mean he was going to allow himself to become a martyr and even as he held Rodolphus's gaze, a powerful, rippling cheild of magic glew up between them, sending each and every one of the curses and spells that the Death Eater cast ricocheting back towards himself and his fellows. The only movement on Albus's part was to clear himself from the path of the killing curse, taking his eyes off the larger man for the briefest of moments. Enough time that he found himself flat on his back a moment later, a hand around his throat and a fist against his face over and over again. Even as Rodolphus swung at him, as each breath became more hard-fought, Albus reached up and rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I am sorry," he said quietly. Whether it was for his father or what he was about to do next or both was impossible to tell, but Albus pressed his wand into Rodolphus's side and a moment later a silent blasting hex had the larger man flying off of him and back through the air. Albus pulled himself back to his feet - slowly this time - and was bent over with his hands resting on his knees for a moment before he drew himself up to his full height. "Take your fallen and leave this place." Rodolphus didn't pause his attack, barely stopped to breath. His own hex had sliced him wide open, through the muscle, skidded off the bone and he didn't even care. He could fix it later. He wanted to destroy Dumbledore. He wanted to tear the old man's limbs off his body and give them to Bellatrix to display in front of the whole country. How dare he apologise? He was not sorry, not yet. Rodolphus would remedy that. The blasting hex caught him by surprise and somewhere in his mind, he was dully aware that he couldn't get a full breath. And yet that was little more than a peripheral thought before he picked himself up, at least as far as his hands and knees. He slice at the air around the old man's legs, snarling an old, amputation spell, and then throwing himself at the old Headmaster once more. He did not get to decide when this was over. This would not be over until the old man was dead. Rodolphus would see to it. Sabriel finally managed to free his hand and grasping his wand and the coils were severed from his body. He'd heard Valere's cries, but hadn't been able to see him from his position on the ground, so it was without understanding as he stood, that he took in the sight of Rodolphus throwing himself at the Headmaster. Looking for an answer he found it in the charred remains of his good friend. It was in shocked stupour that Sabriel nearly staggered towards Valere, but caught himself when it was clear from the smell of burnt flesh and blood that Valere was not within the realm of possibility to be healed. Valere was dead, and Rodolphus was prepared to commit murder by his hands alone. Sabriel's reaction wasn't one of blind rage, at the situation at hand he could not afford to. Necessity and clarity of purpose caused for Sabriel to cast his angered glare around the battlefield. Five of the Dark Lord's most trusted servants had proven unable to take down the halfblood Headmaster, and as violently as Sabriel wanted to aid Rodolphus in putting the man who dared kill their friend, and defy their lord, it served useless. They were at a disdvantage, and as evidence of Rabastan's blood soaked clothing, were posed to follow Valere if they didn't retreat now. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but Sabriel was logical. Eyes narrowed, and teeth clenched, he recognized that this was their best course of action. "Saul," his order snapped above the confusion, "take Valere's body. We are leaving--Rodolphus," he shouted as he turned from the body, but the younger man either chose not to listen or remained blinded by his murderous rage. "Rodolphus," his voice boomed tersely again, " enough, apparate now." It went unheeded, and as Sabriel bent to help Saul with Valere's body he called towards Bellatrix who hadn't ceased throwing curses for a moment. "Bellatrix, your husband," his tone left no room for argument "we are leaving now. Do not be foolish." Bellatrix saw her father-in-law fall, heard his screams and even if she had always considered him an absolutely insufferable, meddling old man, he was her husband's father. And more importantly he was one of the Dark Lord's greatest servants. And Albus Dumbledore would pay for what he did. As Rodolphus launched himself at the old wizard, Bellatrix continued to throw curse after curse, not caring how many of them were deflected or made to vanish completely into thin air. It was only the sound of Sabriel calling her name that caught her attention and her head snapped towards him. A retort on the tip of her tongue, that Rodolphus was more than capable of taking care of himself. And a glance towards the man to prove the point, but the sight there was not what she had expected. Not Rodolphus towering over Albus's form on the ground, but rather her husband picking himself up, blood soaking through his robes, open wounds across his chest and stomach, insides visible where they should not have been. There were very few things that could have pulled Bellatrix away from this fight. That could have stopped her until Albus Dumbledore was dead and unmoving on the ground. But the sight of her husband was enough to give her pause. A glance to Albus, another to her husband and a decision made. Two quick strides, one last, defiantly snarled killing curse flying towards the Headmaster and without a ward of warning, her hand closed around Rodolphus's arm and she apparated them to safety. Saul somehow managed to pull himself up from the ground, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He flinched at the broken bones in his arm and he spat a mouthful of blood and spit onto the road. Valere was dead and quickly the Inner Circle seemed to be spiralling out of control. Unsure of what he should do, he quickly latched onto Sabriel's order and followed the other man towards the burning pile. With Bellatrix and Rodolphus now gone, Saul had no qualms about following suit, so he dealt with the burning rubble and he and Sabriel took Valere and left Dumbledore standing alone, not caring whether or not the old man felt victorious in the wake of the murder he'd committed. |