Perhaps tripping over one's own feet was not the preferred method of entering a cursed chamber. It did, however, save her head from permanently losing contact with her neck. Pulling herself into a crouch over her scuffed combat boots, Nymphadora Tonks risked another glance at the scythe now firmly lodged in the upright doorpost. A few strands of bubblegum pink hair dangled from the blade, emphasizing the near-miss. Maybe Moody wouldn't catch them. Not at all likely, but still a girl could dream. Tying the laces in a double knot, she tucked them firmly behind the tongue in a futile hope that they would not loose themselves very quickly.
According to the intelligence obtained by the Auror Office earlier this evening, the cursed book resided in a well-warded room reached by some means along the westward wall. Tonks would never have been allowed on this mission, even with her mentor Mad-Eye Moody, but for two things. First was the need for immediate recovery before the current possessor's dark-minded friends came to whisk it away. Second were the legends whose truth had been mostly verified. Should any male come in contact with it, they would turn to stone from the outside in, while simultaneously burning to liquid from inside out. The resulting statues were rumored to have been treasured decorations spread about Morgana's house and grounds. One poor soul, his face turned towards the heavens, arms akimbo had even been in the bathing chambers, to hold towels and clothing.
Years previous, these limitations would have easily been met by a number of talented witches, but the battle against the Death Eaters had decimated the ranks of Aurors, leaving few to begin with and almost no witches at all who had been trained in the Auror-craft. When orders had hastily come, Moody paced - each step of his carved wooden leg a staccato echoing his bad humor. How that man could curse! Her eyebrows had raised enough to hide along her scalp at the creative and curious invectives falling from his battle-scarred face. In the end, though, there was no help for it. Whether ready or not, Probationary Auror Nymphadora Tonks was to be tested in a solo mission to find and secure the spell book of the ill-favored Morgana La Fey, a witch whose creative cruelty was still whispered about these hundreds of years later.
Staying under the shadow of the scythe, figuring that the dark wizard who had set this up would assume a body to reside here and, therefore, not have an enchantment in place, Tonks tried to purposefully think like batty Bellatrix. Towers of stacked furniture and random knickknacks piled around a central aisle that lead deeper into the vaulted underground room. They probably used a charm, as the knoll beneath the house wasn't that expansive. Most people in general would take the obvious path, but it was sure to be peppered with traps. Wizards and witches that had embraced the benighted side of magic tended to use light as a lure, rather than an assistance. Thus, she knew to be leery of any brightness in this lair. Darkness shrouded the nearest wall. If nothing lurked there, she would be able to slink along the shadows and obtain a better view of what was beyond the gilded cage and mirror nearest the west wall.
Quietly, she muttered "Lumos" and watched the stream of light overtake darkness. From somewhere in the middle of the room came a muffled "pop" followed by a whooshing. Quick reflexes born of a propensity towards troublesome situations had Tonks rolling to the side with a snappy "Protego" flung out on the fly. Bandages tried ineffectually to attach themselves about the hastily erected shield, another set joining the melee soon after the first. Ducking behind a nearby armchair, Nymphadora dropped the charm. Great flapping strips looking like avenging pterodactyls zoomed forward, capturing the plush brocade in their grasp.
Warily peeking around the now-still bandages and listening for her opponent's movements, Tonks pushed bright pink hair out of her face. Nothing. Stretching her patience as well as her senses, she couldn't distinguish anything to let her know who she faced or where they were located exactly. Dodging from shadow to shadow as stealthily as her clunky boots would allow, the Auror attempted to get a better vantage point.
Eyes, there were a pair glaring contemptuously at her from a portrait. Rather closely set almost black brown eyes crowded over a sharp, needle-like nose which in turn pointed the way to a full lipped mouth that should have been considered generous were it not pulled tightly into a sneer. The jewel-strewn talon-like fingers of her right hand aimlessly tapped frustration out on her persimmon shaded velvet robe. As she stood before the fireplace carved in the family's coat of arms. Tonks startled a moment, knocking loose what looked to be a cracked Remembrall from somewhere above, before coming to the conclusion that she must have no other portraits about if she simply stared instead of rushing off to notify others that the chamber was being trespassed. Layers of dust on the frame was proof that she obviously hadn't been a favorite, not if she had been relocated to the basement and never properly cleaned. Giving the painted lady a weak smile, Tonks continued onward, slipping on the cracked orb but catching herself before hitting the ground. Having no choice but to cross a well-lit expanse, Tonks lifted her wand to the ready and stepped into the light.
As soon as her foot moved onto the path, a brass cauldron flew from the wall of furnishings, bouncing off her head. Not that she hadn't been expecting an attack, but couldn't they have charmed something soft like gloves or maybe a cloche hat? Dashing into a crevice between towers of chairs and some very dated decorations, Tonks reevaluated her options. The cauldron had recovered its bearings to once again charge directly at her. Heart sounding loudly in her already ringing ears, Tonks let her gaze flit to the miscellany around her while keeping the troublesome pot in view. Remembering her first attempt at using a spell to get the dinner dishes cleaned and put away, Tonks searched for something large enough to cover the cauldron. Half-hanging off the secretary she had emerged from behind was what appeared to be a set of formal linens. Perfect.
"Accio linens" she thought out intently. Another pop and bindings appeared once again. Splaying herself flat on her back as the wrappings twisted themselves about the determined cauldron. Tonks kicked back to her feet just in time to catch the summoned tablecloth. Unfortunately, her passionate focus was more than the situation warranted. Five additional tablecloths barreled into her chest, followed by three table runners, fifty placemats, and what appeared to be an entire army of mismatched dinner napkins. Groaning under the pile of once neatly-pressed linen, Tonks heard the encumbered pot coming around for another attempt at stealing her consciousness. Throwing her arms out to ward off another head blow, Nymphadora tangled the original tablecloth around the ardently protesting bundle. Tying corners together, she searched out an appropriate place to secure the contrary crucible. Spying an armchair with enough delusions of grandeur to almost be considered a throne, she grinned. Using knots that would make a sailor proud, Tonks fastened the protesting bundle tightly against the overly embellished back of that upholstered bit of ego.
Turning back to her mound of rumpled cloths, Tonks pulled apart the attack. Obviously, the cauldron was animated in some kind of detection spell when she traversed into the light, but what was with all the bandages trying to ensnare her? Three times, in two different locations... she pondered a bit toying with possibilities and dismissing them one by one. All that was left was the idea that using magic somehow summoned the imprisoning strips. In a twisted sort of way, that made sense. Dark wizards would love to have a captive. Those could be tortured and toyed with for a virtual eternity, a dead witch wouldn't be worth as much.
Titiana's Bloomers! How was she supposed to find the secreted spell book of Morgana when she couldn't check for glamours or traps? Hopefully she could retrieve the horrific tome before any of these evil bastards could get here.
Stomping about in shadows probably wasn't the safest course of action. Mum had been quite candid about growing up with her psychopath of a sister; snares were the most innocent of the tricks Bellatrix had peppered shadows with. Finding a shatter-proofed jar in the magicked pockets of her duster, she sat it at her feet and piled some of the linens neatly, as her Muggle grandam had taught her, onto a snowflake covered square tablecloth that had been folded into a triangle. Pulling the center point up, over the mound of cloth, Tonks continued folding until she had finished what was a fairly convincing nappy. Holding it at the waist line, she cautiously lowered it into her pocket. Judging by what had already happened, miscellaneous linens would be a good resource to have at hand.
Quickly scooping up a spare covering, Nymphadora tied six knots, making an approximation of a man. Now to time it all just right.. Taking a deep breath, she cast bluebell flames into the jar and waited a couple of heartbeats before tossing the effigy high into the air.. Before it could land, the poor cotton man had become a cocoon.
Cradling the azure aura, Tonks scrambled deeper into the embrace of off-cast furnishings. Her steps punctuated fairly often with a litany of thumps and crashes, and though she winced fairly often she knew better than to try righting any of it. Heading west turned out to be much more difficult than she had originally thought. Virtual walls and towers of furniture kept funneling Tonks back to the lit path, all else was too tightly-packed to squeeze through. She must have somehow missed the entrance for the trail leading to Morgana's spells. Backtracking could be done, but would consume far too much time and might mean having to hold her own against some powerful witches and wizards. Pausing a moment to rub a now-contused wrist after tying an attacking bedpan in fancy linens and trapping it. This time she tossed the bundle into a wardrobe and fastened the handles locked with a dessert napkin, Tonks puffed out a sigh. This jungle of furnishings was a bit different than near the door, with more height and fewer upholstered pieces: mainly bedroom sets, it seemed. As Mad-Eye had often admonished her, Nymphadora decided to use her surroundings against the current problem. Spying a Tudor set with nicely heavy features instead of the delicate spindles on many pieces, Tonks shoved the fire-filled jar into a pocket and slipped her wand carefully into her custom-fit forearm holster, a gift from her parents.
One particular part of this pile had promise as a very novice cliff-climbers practice wall. In fact, the dressers and high boys might allow for a quick shimmy to the top if a few drawers were pulled out a bit. Placing herself in the path that ran between a couple of dresser stacks. Tonks pulled out drawers, alternating sides and jumping lightly back and forth until she was out of drawers. Clutching the carved-serpent finial on a bedpost for support, she pushed a lock of hair back out of her eyes and noticed that she was quite near the top, but on the eastern side of the chasm. Assuming she could find a good landing place, that shouldn't be a problem.
Swinging to the wooden serpent's partner, Tonks' cumbersome footwear sank and twisted a bit into what turned out to be an enameled urn. She shifted weight to her arms as her balance gave way and her legs twisted over the edge, searching for any perch available. A once elegant trinket box dislodged and tumbled, landing fully on a corner, shattering its beauty along with the mirrored top. Hoping not to find herself similarly broken, Nymphadora pulled with all her might until she was eye-to-eye and cheek-to-cheek with the mahogany snake, clinging more like a limpet and wrapping one leg around the post as soon as it was able.
No matter what the time constraints, the electric-rose-haired witch decided that pausing to get a sense of location might be in order. To the East, the well-lit main trail gleamed most hospitably, promising sunshine and lollies, it seemed. South-wise, the doorway could be barely made out, light glowing jade through the arched rectangle, reflecting the room just beyond. To the northwest was a faint turquoise tinge, not much of one, more of a tint washed away and faded. Who could tell whether it was a charm left over from a grand wizard's toying with spells or a light left burning to guide the homeowners to their goal. Just as likely was the chance that protective charms had caught and warped the light of her bluebell fire. She would never know without venturing forward, so forward it must be!