Karl stared at the Doors. They felt familiar – mildly – but alien at the same time. Objective knowledge confirmed he'd been in their combined presence many times in the past, but in his current state, at this specific point in time, the sight of multiple doors set in a massive circle felt brand new. Blending familiarity with utter alien nature was a unique sensation, one that had not been in Karl's experience. At least, he couldn't recall it ever happening before, in all the temporal-related chaos going on.
"Jamais tu," he muttered.
"What?" the red-haired boy asked. "What'd he say?"
"Jamais tu," Karl repeated himself. "The opposite condition from déjà vu."
A blank look rewarded his explanation. The boy's head was bandaged, and sanity appeared to have returned to full operating capacity, but Karl still would've preferred the entire group return home. Yet Harry wouldn't leave without finding the other two missing individuals, and the rest of his group refused to leave without Harry. And Karl had more than enough trouble on his hands than to duel a group of hormone-filled teenagers with better reflexes than sense.
He shuddered at the thought; especially after that blonde Lovegood came on the scene. All any Lovegood needed was a sniff of the stew, and they'd come piling through any crevice. Forget seeking the authority of the ladle; if a Lovegood found a secret, they wanted the entire stewpot. And the ingredients. And the recipe. Miss Granger's reaction seemed typical, as if she were used to the blonde walking hazard. He pursed his lips; better her than him. Not very chivalrous, but that little mannerism died when Equal Rites became the demanded norm.
"What time is it …." he checked he watch. A colored dot hovered over the potential terminal point a few short minutes away, pinpointing the first – and only – terminal region. After it passed, things could start getting to normal, perhaps he could shake the splitting headache pulsating like a grudge-laden dwarf wielding a mallet behind his eyes. It gave him a thankful excuse. "Thank Merlin. We're getting you out of here."
"Neville and Gin—a" the dark-haired man started to object, but Karl overrode him.
"I'll go back for them, but you are just slowing me down. I'll get you to the exit and then return. Understood?"
Defiance gleamed in Harry's eyes. "Can you take on that many Death Eaters on your own?"
"Hah." Karl grimaced; he hadn't meant for the sarcasm to escape. Its toxic vapors drained their already poor morale like a sieve. Casting about, he made a tactical snap-decision, selecting an option no Unspeakable was supposed choose with an outsider: tell the Truth, or most of it. "I've killed over two dozen in the past two hours. Now let's go."
Heaving a sigh of frustration, the young man followed him to the door. Like a group of disgruntled, mystical ducklings, the other three followed.
The door opened into darkness.
Karl frowned. Exits from the skepsivore holding room, whose tank now practically shuddered under their collective ramming behavior, lead to decontamination chambers. The Department had studied skepsivore's for decades, nearly a century now. But until they received a clean bill of health, every Unspeakable was to undergo standard decontamination protocols when leaving.
In fact, he now remembered there had been no such chamber between the Time room and the Live Samples chamber. That meant errors in the portal-doorways, setups normally dormant unless ….
"Rookwood." He growled the name. Why hadn't he applied a general-purpose Room Cleaner sooner? Yes the explosions would've messed with the already odd temporal issues, but the room would've been cleaned of Rookwood's existence before forcing the mini-Jumps. Plus everything else, but no solution was perfect.
"Wha-a?" the brunette – Hermione – asked. She sounded nervous.
Karl checked himself; the students weren't accustomed to the voice-warping characteristics of his hood. "Apologies. I believe Rookwood, a former Unspeakable, sabotaged the Portal network, altering the usual halls network. Damn him to the coldest pit of Hel. Pardon my French."
The soft contact of hardened leather on marble brought his attention back to the darkened room. More footsteps, clattering, but in partial light showing multi-colored robes, entering in staggered patterns, covering each other on the other side of the next-nearest entrance. Karl relaxed a hair; Death Eaters wore black when on missions, and the closest set of robes were a fashionable blue.
"That was not French, Monsieur Inexprimable," a voice with a familiar, lilting accent spoke from the darkness. "I should know, yes?"
Karl took a long step through the doorway, holding his back to it, preventing as much visibility towards the school children as possible. "Miss Delacour? Is that you?"
"Not just her; what am I? Chopped liver?" another voice called out. Nymphadora came into view, a wide grin on her face, and a positive rainbow flowing around her hair. It settled on a placid green, yellow highlights streaking through its length. "Unspeakable Fifteen, may I introduce you to a few friends of mine. We got your call for help about the same time as … uh … well … another call for help. Have you seen Harry? Little guy, sexy green eyes, messy black hair?"
The young man pushed past, a bemused look on his inexperienced face. "Tonks? Wait – Fleur? Is that you? What are you guys doing here? Is Sirius –"
This time Karl made sure to step aside, blending into the shadows as a tall, gaunt man jumped out of what looked to be a small combat-ready militia. The wizard looked as if he'd missed more than a few meals, perhaps half a lifetime's worth, but the wiry strength proved more than sufficient for seizing an – also scrawny – teenager in a massive full-body hug.
"Hey, uh, Operative," Nymphadora matched his retreat, the silvery-blonde Veela close behind. "Everything went alright after we left, right?"
Karl glanced at the teenagers off to one side. The red-haired lanky one was enveloped by a short man bearing Ministry-approved hardware, while the others were grouped in an awkward huddle, undergoing a form of interrogation by another two older members, one with an odd mustache and the other a witch with a large set of glasses. But one of the remaining wizards, Shacklebolt, was walking closer. As the Auror's footsteps grew nearer, Karl's Occlumency started flaring, last-moment warnings of non-sapient assault.
He ducked ba –
Pain swelled in the center of Karl's forehead. It struck, merciless agony sinking into the barriers dividing his separated thoughts. Partitions folded, collapsing like walls of a condemned warehouse, spilling their contents across every surface. Searing reflections of that agony penetrated the best barriers he could formulate, tipping their anchor points over, cascading into further key anchors, an unending domino effect rippling through his mind.
The sheer pain couldn't be described. Karl could find solace only in seeking the purity of numbers, calculating variables, probabilities of his sanity remaining intact. The odds of retaining everything in his mind without error lay vanishingly small, diminishing by the second. Fortunate it was, that each second passed with agonizing slowness, magnifying the fire burning at his nerves.
One fact drifted into his consciousness, and almost drifted out again before he noticed its presence. It floated back into focus, contents expanding into equations.
Karl's identity was not limited to the single variable defined as Unspeakable. His skills lay in that region true, but he held one deeper secret. One that had kept him alive in scenarios other Unspeakables had not. Leaving it unused right now did not compute, not when it could negate the pain, save his mind.
His arm rotated at glacial velocity, sleeve tumbling back. It couldn't fall back far enough, necessitating a cutting charm to sever the material. Below lay the tattoo, the one that had stored his wand during the Ritual-enhanced Time Jump, Department Approved no less. Shifting its presence away through bodily-change was impossible; runic tattoos worked like curse scars, uncaring of how many magical properties resided in its habitat. But there was a single caveat to that rule – if used at the application of its creation, a portion could be hidden. Somewhere between the trans-dimensional space alterations and pure physical depths, the final component to the Ritual he'd almost completed rose to the surface.
A moment of happiness at his own sheer brilliance penetrated the agony. This was the critical value of Rituals: they could be held in suspension if designed aright, waiting conditions before completion. Wards could be considered Rituals in static form, expressing actions under specific variables. Keeping his little secret this way was dangerous, but safe from all but a few esoteric detection methods. No one had ever suspected what could be accomplished by a Seventh Year student, blending a little Occlumency with Warding, and a Ritual designed during his last, painful year.
Karl's wand stabbed down, tip pressing against skin, just above the draconic eye-ridge. If ever seen, the dragon tattoo would draw admiring glances from many in appreciation for its perfection and grace. But one tiny part was missing, a miniscule but essential drop of ink, the absence of which prevented the Ritual from achieving completion. Now it answered his call, emerging from the pocket outside the tattoo.
The tiny dot of ink faded into existence, filling in the tiny blank space within the dragon's skull. While difficult to see, it rapidly assumed the same proportions as the other eye, swelling and changing color to match.
The immobile dragon blinked. Pigmented jaws opened in a silent yawn, whipping shut. It looked outward, long forked tongue flickering, before its body began to move.
Karl felt his entire self shake. Dormant energy, binding the shifting qualities of his inheritance broke free. He'd never been powerful, but devoting so much to the restraint of something as natural as breathing had reduced that meager quantity to almost squib levels. But now it was free, free to circulate, free to guide his body into motion. Liberated, his natural form could resume its unnatural powers, the most urgent task being to reduce nerve sensitivity, increase the vessel diameter in key portions of his anatomy, and above-all, stop undergoing so much pain.
As pain fell away, it was almost a relief to find himself back in a déjà vu false-memory, this time watching himself hand a note to himself. Rather than the covert methods used over a week ago Turned Time, this memory-self tossed the note across the room in a paper plane.
Insanity lay by such a vulnerable method. There lay a certain charm in that direction, but no one appreciated it. Well, except perhaps the Lovegoods.
Karl pushed himself off the floor, feeling an odd breeze brush his skin. Looking down, he noticed the fabric hanging of his arm in tatters, fingers still missing the glove. A multi-colored dragon tattoo swirled into sight, making a soundless roar before tumbling in a wingover that wrapped its length about his lower arm before vanishing higher up the sleeve.
"Cor …" Nymphadora's eyes were glued to his exposed skin. "That. Is. Wicked! Where did you get inked like that?"
He shook his head. Her priorities were just as he remembered. "Perhaps you should introduce me to the rest of your … friends?"
Ominous thudding sounds of wood on stone drew close, bringing with it new sensations. A grizzled man approached; his magic felt coarse, powerful. Where Nymphadora's magic resembled a fine sand, fluctuating with her ever-changing form, this man's magic felt like a golem made of rough diamonds, latent fury poised to its master's call. Karl – Merlin, the entire Department – knew of this man by reputation, but the whirling Artifact that settled in the older man's eye-socket lent proof beyond guessing: Master Auror Moody.
The grizzled veteran came to a stop, electric-blue eye darting across Karl's body. He gave a short nod. "Heard tell ye caught a few of the bastards. How many left?"
Karl nodded a greeting to Miss Delacour, then turned to face him fully. "Full count was twelve, reinforcements unknown. At present there are possibly less than a dozen, but they're Inner Circle, including Rookwood, Mulciber and Bellatrix. I can tell you two of Lestranges are dead. I also saw Lord Malfoy, without a mask."
Multiple heads twisted his way. "Malfoy?" veteran eyes of a thousand battles focused on his own, giving the uncomfortable impression of seeing through Department's best personal defenses. "Are you sure boy … Unspeakable?"
Karl rolled his eyes. That certainly answered the question. He'd have to upgrade his hood again or abandon it entirely once out of the building. "Unless someone else is polyjuiced as Malfoy, retains Lord-level access to the elevators, and uses Malfoy's personal wand-cane, yes it was Lord Malfoy."
On anyone else, the expression blooming on Moody's face would be a smile. On his face, such an innocent look would have fled in a heartbeat. "Aye laddie, that would be quite the coincidence, wouldn' it?" He paused. "Would yeh happen to know where they are, right now?"
Shrugging, Karl lifted his wrist. "M.I.R.R.O.R.: Designate lifesigns at current position as friendly. Identify locations of non-friendly lifesigns."
A hungry look emanated from the Master Auror's gaze but remained only that.
"Sir. Individuals under current 'non-friendly' designation are in the Antechamber, Solarium, and proceeding towards the Death Chamber."
Karl growled under his breath. "M.I.R.R.O.R.: Verify Portal integrity."
A faint hum buzzed over the link. "Portal connections respond as intact and in good repair. Excellent work, sir."
"They're malfunctioning. M.I.R.R.O.R.: Make a log for extensive repair and de-bug protocols for the next shift. I went from the Time Room to Live Samples bypassing Decon."
"Logged. Recommend using extreme caution, sir. Alert: temporal variance contamination is approaching lethal levels. Suggested treatment: remove active Chrono-magi—"
Karl slapped the silence icon, removing the gauntlet's Time-Turner in the same motion. As he put it under his robes, he glanced to the others at his side. They looked at him with puzzled eyes, minus Moody, who looked resolute, but grim. After a moment the older Auror stomped away, muttering under his breath about 'damn kids' … or so it sounded from a distance.
"So," Nymphadora retained a studious, natural, tone, undoubtedly part of her training. "In English, Queen's English mind you, what does that mean?"
"Classified." Karl took in the accusing glares and reconsidered his statement. "Well … not exactly classified. Just less well-known. Abuse of Temporal magics often creates … less than beneficial side-effects."
"And in this case?" Fleur's perfect eyebrow arched high, inviting disagreement.
Karl gazed at the students, still gathered around the gaunt man and the pudgy fellow with the official Ministry markings. They looked worried, happier than before, yet still worried. "Hogwarts has a very powerful Chrono-latency … all those students, so much magic. It's a theory, but we believe Magic remembers its users. The Department employs more active esoteric magics and intermittent adult wizards from across the globe; it's more difficult to remember everyone. Especially," he gestured at the Time-Turner, hidden under his collar, "When someone keeps drifting in and out of sight. It's why we have to be so careful, no elephants for example."
"No elephants?" an interested voice cut in. Shacklebolt stepped a little closer, his purple clothing near-black in the darkness. "Why ever not?"
The entire group seemed to be getting ready to move on, so Karl checked his gear one last time. "What does everyone say about elephants?"
"They are big?" Fleur volunteered.
Nymphadora snickered. "Yeah. They have ginormous –"
"Memories." Shacklebolt interjected in firm voice. "An elephant never forgets, as I recall."
"Precisely. Elephants have gone extinct on seven separate occasions, a formidable achievement I'm sure you'll agree."
Nymphadora's giggle went silent. "I'll say. Most species only manage it once."
"Have you heard of Hannibal?" Karl slid his last remaining throwing blade back into its sheath and checked his sword. The chip was repairing itself, but very slowly. The repairing glyph had been the recipient of the damage, slowing the process. He ran his finger over the marking, checking its progress.
"Hannibal Lecter? Isn't that an American movie?" the multi-colored hair shifted into dark blue abruptly, a matching expression on her face. "Horror stuff. Didn't like it that much. Scared my date more than me, and that's no fun for snuggling –"
"Hannibal of Carthage, 219 BC," Karl interrupted. On the other hand, he'd forgotten about some of his former classmate's habits. Absence made the heart fonder, perhaps? "Took an army of elephants over the Alps, rampaged through Italy for fourteen years? Battle of Cannae in 216, single bloodiest day in military history?"
"Oui," Fleur agreed. "I know of him. What of it?"
The blade rammed home, lock engaging with a click. "No one knows how, but the Carthaginians managed to weaponize their … survival trick. Three dozen elephants should have died ten times over through the Alps, but they didn't. They managed to tie in that avoidance of extinction to their military campaign … a sort of reset as it were. If an elephant fell off a cliff, it would … reset, and remember to not step so close to the edge next time. This hasn't stopped."
Shacklebolt paused. "You mean to say that elephants possess an eidetic memory that can remember the future?"
"Immune to Obliviation," Karl counted on gloved fingers, "Memory charms, Milk of Amnesia, concussions … nearly everything involving memory. Even their body parts remember – which is why no Unspeakable will wear ivory."
The Auror blanched, his dark skin becoming a pale muddy color. "Did you say, ivory?"
Karl froze as Shacklebolt reached up to touch the ornaments on his rounded hat. They'd sat there without change that Karl could remember, little objects no one would notice. Little bone white objects that would escape a standard sweep, such as the kind Karl would use, covered in a varnish that did everything to protect from weather, but nothing to inhibit their effect on magic's chaotic eddies.
He felt another stab of pain down the center of his brain, somewhere from the frontal lobe to the cerebellum. "Oh bother."
The next doorway lead to a destroyed storage center. It should have taken them one chamber closer to the upper halls, and the elevators therein, but given the way things were going tonight Karl wasn't surprised.
Nymphadora was very solicitous of his condition, a fact that seemed to bother the militia member with the odd mustache. Her guilt complex seemed to be growing larger, although her logic seemed unfathomable to Karl's reasoning.
To his surprise, Kingsley Shacklebolt was bald, a fact noticeable now that his hat was sealed within the tightest containment field available. His own apology had been quite handsome, considering his lack of knowledge – understandable for the most part. Only the older families kept the Traditions alive, a tendency wiped out as Voldemort's chaos ripped through Wizarding society in the last Dark Lord's War.
Fleur, however, was happier than he'd seen in a long time. She strolled along humming, a little smile on her face. It would've been quite charming if they'd not been going through a half-destroyed storehouse.
"Sir," his wrist communicator activated. "I am detecting spellfire in the Death Chamber. Might I remind you that using magic in-"
Nymphadora was already sprinting ahead motioning wildly to the others. If the doorways had cooperated, they'd already be on their way back from the elevators. But whomever had reprogrammed the Portals knew what he was curse on Rookwood's treachery passed Karl's lips.
The group as a whole trotted faster, performing only the most cursory of scans as they approached each new doorway. Karl was able to give a rough assessment to the rooms' conditions, noting in his mind which places would be vulnerable to future attacks. Conscious memory would serve, but once he had access to his memory table … the resources acquired would go a long way towards building his own Department of Mysteries. Not as large, naturally, perhaps more of an Apartment of Mysteries? A Closet of Mystique?
Nymphadora glanced back at his snickering. "Wha-? Something funny?"
He waved her off. "Plans for the future."
A wide smile flashed his way, and her hair glowed – actually started glowing – a bright fuchsia. Beside him Fleur was smiling as well, but her motions were smoother, more controlled.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of contacting either of the two after the night's events. They seemed amenable to interaction, and would do well with the projects he'd envisioned. But then he reconsidered; the two were active members of what had to be the Order of the Phoenix. They were front line combatants in a war requiring power, something even his unlocked abilities lacked.
Unconsciously he adjusted his height, adding an inch to his stride. Just in time, as the next doorway opened to the sound of spells cracking against reinforced marble, and a high-pitched scream that would not stop.
Karl drove himself forwards, hands already in motion. One chose a vial from his bandoleer, the other took a reverse-grip on his wand.
Moody stepped aside, restraining the chubby red-haired man as he did. Some kind of body-reinforcement magic had to be involved, given the shorter man's frantic actions. "She has my daughter! I'll kill her! I'll eviscerate that –"
He sailed past, lofting the vial into the air as the doorposts moved by, and twirled. The reverse-grip was perfect for the Malay throwing spells, and the vial spun into the room like a professional shot-put. Bending low, Karl took another vial, his last smoke generator, and flicked it at the ceiling ahead and above. It shattered on stone dozens of feet above, dropping a screen that covered the interior.
Deafening noise erupted from his first throw, combined with the bright flash only his protective eye-wear prevented from causing blindness.
Then Moody let go, sending the entire group to rush in, spells on their lips and magic at their fingertips. They were obviously untrained in mass-fire tactics, coordinated movement, or even combat spellwork to Karl's eye, but compensated for their lack of quality in enthusiasm.
Nymphadora and Kingsley moved like the professionals they were, shielding each other and launching attacks in perfect synchronization. Moody followed the red-haired man, the two vanishing into the mist as it fell.
The screaming stopped. Other voices bellowed alarm; not fear. To the Death Eaters, this was unplanned, Karl believed, but not unexpected, habits of experienced campaigners. He ducked the next burst of flame going overhead, launching a weak repulsion curse back in its general direction.
"Here, over here!" the gaunt man loped past, an evil smile on his face. At his side Harry Potter charged, accompanied by that mustached man wielding unnatural reflexes. The older two were moving with the ease of long practice, eschewing shields altogether to send a doubled number of spells downrange. Harry kept up with them, hampered only a little as the brunette girl stubbornly stayed on their flank. Her spellwork was technically perfect, encompassing a wide array of spells, but possessing a little hesitancy in execution. Karl had to give her credit for one thing; she still managed to anticipate Mister Potter's movements with unerring accuracy.
Karl shook his head. The dynamics of group work never ceased to amaze him. Or confuse. Either worked.
"Monsieur Unspeakable," Fleur was there, a fireball warming the air, giving off faint lines of chaos. She fired a casual curse into the mist, eyes tracking something he could not see. "Where are they? Can you find them?"
He grimaced, checking his watch. Less than four minutes until the critical period was past. "I can, but Moody is better suited …."
She shook her head, long blonde hair twisting. "He is busy with that young girl, watching her father. There are more here, we must hurry!"
Grumbling under his breath, Karl tapped the eyewear, activating another filter. Through the enchanted smoke he could see individual fights breaking out, two on three, one on two, two on two – the chaos was indescribable. But he could also see two smaller figures huddled behind the Veil, where no thinking man would hide. Of course, that's precisely where young Potter was moving, slowed by a determined group of masked faces.
"This way," he paused, then grabbed her wrist. While her aim was precise, Veela sensed magical signatures in a way he did not fully understand. If her vision in the dark was negligible, it was therefore logical to keep from separation. Even if it felt like his life was being directed by a bottom-rate author of a bad romance novel. As he thought the wrist under his grip accepted the hold. Sensations such as heat and texture didn't go through treated leather, but her bone structure felt like a bird's wing; deceptively strong, but delicate and light.
He gave a mental shrug. She'd survived this long, she would survive a little longer.
Around them battle raged. The silver-haired Malfoy, disdaining his mask, was engaged with Moody, firing rippling blasts at the scarred Master Auror. Precision jinxes and curses sought weak points, skittering along protective shields and conjured barriers like St. Elmo's fire. The grizzled veteran fired back with devastating area-effect curses, bludgeoning the Death Eater with weaker immediate spells, but ones that held a cumulative effect over time. The Lord's hurried responses hinted at desperation – good and bad.
Something dark charged into Karl, snarling. He reacted on instinct, releasing Fleur to pull out the throwing knife and plunging for its jugular. Strategically speaking it was a poor decision. Throwing knives lacked the necessary hardware for true hand-to-hand combat; no tang to shield the hand and a blade weak to shock. But it was bespelled with the best enhancements he could devise, coated with aconite and made of cold iron.
His unexpected opponent grunted, spinning away, taking Karl's knife with him.
Nymphadora came from nowhere, a Black spell on her lips, shielding the two of them. "Wondered where you'd gotten off to! Shack! Help Moody!"
A fireball followed by a curse he didn't recognize came from Fleur's side, a smoking trail of destruction lining a trail back to her side. The clear visibility surprised Karl, one of the Death Eaters must have worked a Dispelling, banishing the smoke. That was fine, there was no need to cover a surprise attack … although the lack of visual improvements to the Death Eater masks surprised him. The Dark Lord's Inner Circle was renowned for cunning magic.
Rough sand smashed against Karl's body, temporal fluctuations warning, hinting, screaming danger. He could feel it, the raw power of ill-intent, a desire to inflict suffering on everything that lived. It felt familiar, the miasma of terrible energies not belonging to this plane. Specialists theorized the Veil was just that kind of gateway, an entryway no mortal could transgress. Corporal punishment via Veil was reserved for the worst of society for that very reason. Banishing an innocent soul to another plane never worked, and exacted dire consequences.
The sensation strengthened. Without knowing quite why he obeyed the instinct and sent an angled Banishing charm at the small figures just barely visible behind the Veil's lower half, a heavy powered version. They flew sideways behind an oddly shaped plinth, out of sight.
Half a moment later Fiendfyre exploded into the side of the Veil – a fool's tactic. For a moment Karl held his breath. The semi-sentient fire actively strained away from the hanging fabric, a substance tentatively identified as an ichor variant, masquerading as cloth. But the inherent nature of even demonic fire was to burn all that could combust, and a strand touched the dark material.
'Huh,' he stared as the entirety of fiendfyre blurred into a single tiny strand, sucked into the Veil's depths. It vanished, leaving the drapery sagging, quiet and still. 'That's something to put in the logs.'
"Karl! Head in the game!" Nymphadora's voice bellowed.
With a jerk he got his focus back, drawing the long blade at his side. He felt better than he had in days, as if his energy were coming back in one fell swoop. A wide grin, hidden by the hood, spread across his face. Four Death Eaters faced them, one wielding a melee weapon of some type, the others carrying wands. He focused on the axe-wielder, leaving his companions to try the others.
"En garde," he held its tip up in a formal salute, doubling as a guard position. The Death Eater closest to him took one look and laughed. His own weapon was a massive axe, chips along the cutting-edge holding streaks of darker stains in their depths. Certain creatures left that kind of residue
The Death Eater feinted, wide blade flicking out and back with unnatural speed. It too, must have been enhanced.
Karl set himself down, a professional Mur defense. He darted forwards, stabbing, using the colichemarde's length before resetting. The axe swung a short arc, probing before the Death Eater's height advantage led him to try ramming the butt end in a basic strike.
Such an error received a counterstrike, scoring a small gash along the Death Eater's arm. Nymphadora landed a bludgeoning curse at the same time, sending the Death Eater spinning. A shielding effect in his robes took the brunt of Fleur's borderline Dark cutting curse, spreading its potency across the entire fabric. The second Death Eater finished casting a longer spell, ducking back under the third wizard's shield as it detonated. Karl recognized the putrid gray coloration as it landed in their midst.
"Cover!" He tried to put up a shield, but the power requirement fizzled his attempt.
The aftershock threw all six in different directions. Karl landed on his side, blade flying out of sight. He rolled with the impact, fetching a leg against one of the stone benches, then his shoulder. The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending strange flashbacks to his time at the Tonks residence. As then he struggled to rise, curling behind a stone statue of something. It had teeth, ears and enough scales for a family of snakes, but its species eluded his prodigious memory.
Heartbeats thumping past felt like eternity, just breathing in and out. Normal existence responded, sound fading back into existence.
A hoarse shout brought Karl's attention over to Moody's position, where he and Shacklebolt were dueling Malfoy and what looked like Mulciber from the ragged boots and impeccable wandwork. The man was an offensive genius when it came to the mind, and backed it up with an appearance of dueling mastery – a faux bit of mummery if he'd ever seen one. The underlying skill level rested far below what the flashy display suggested. Moody's area-effect spells were taking a toll on them both, and Mulciber's mind magics were failing to engage over the practiced Auror's mental defenses.
Except Mulciber had dueled Auror teams before. Having had a week to do research, Karl knew that the wizard's most infamous work had turned five Hit Wizards against their own side. Granted, Moody was paranoid, and likely layered defenses over defenses, and not to slight Shacklebolt's skills, but why was Mulciber having trouble?
He took a look at Bellatrix. Her skills had not atrophied during incarceration at least. She was performing a long-range exchange with Black and Potter. Fair enough, their proximity to the Veil would discourage … discourage ….
What in the Nine Hells were they doing there?
"Nice one James!" he heard Black call out. Potter responded with an inventive use of the flipendo variant, targeting debris instead of wizards. Clever, but energy-sapping.
Karl lunged out of cover, hurtling into action. Already the Veil's tendrils were drifting outwards, fluttering in the light breeze precluding an attempt. Some theorized the Veil was a simple ambush-predator, that happened to straddle multiple planes. Most ignored that laughable hypothesis, but as he pelted closer, Karl could understand the thought's origin.
A mad laugh came from the mad-woman across the way. A long lance of light emanated from her position, lighting up her dark eyes and dirt-streaked face.
His shoulder rammed into the bony man's midsection, driving a great gust of air from the man's lungs, and the man himself down to one side. A shriek of rage pierced the room, followed by lightning-fast slivers of light.
Bereft of the enchanted blade, Karl was forced to resort to spell-swatting. Batting away individual spells meant diverting his mental energies, but was worth it. His entire focus came down to survival, splitting Occlumency barriers to finer and finer divisions, slowing perceptions to better identify each spell. Their properties were the darkest he'd ever seen outside of Necromantic rituals – and some undercut even that.
'Exta, Chariban, Dentes,' gray spells whistled in, deflecting off his wand. The first two felt like variations of the same curse. The third had a glittering sensation, like tooth-cleaning charms, but … Dark. 'Putredine, Intermiss,' where had she learned these? A few were almost certainly of Black origin, but he couldn't keep countering. Eventually she'd expend his admittedly limited knowledge. Spell-swatting with the wrong counter lead to mishaps on the order of spell creation. Bad. Very. Bad. He'd need to escape somehow.
Pain racked his mind, Occlumency barriers falling faster. He lacked power to force an escape, and Black was lying still behind him. Where was everyone?
"Sirius!" a young voice screamed out.
The spells continued, one slicing through Karl's bare arm. He winced, the distraction costing more time, then wasted another moment confirming the Event's imminent arrival. Wrongfooted, he caught another spell on the same arm. This one was a decay curse, kept at bay by his shapeshifting capabilities.
Then it stopped.
He panted, adrenaline and mental high poised for another attack. The room echoed silence, except for screaming going out the hall. His diminutive watch was chirping.
Karl froze, taking an instant inventory. Sword? Gone. Knives? Gone. Bandoleer? Two Room Cleaners and an air freshener. His wand was in combat ready condition, robes damaged, arm damaged, still operating on an adrenaline high, and surrounded by potential witnesses.
Green light caught his attention, arcing down from the upper seats. One of the Death Eaters – the rest were leaving in a hurry, some Disapparating, others making a dedicated effort towards running – had stopped to launch the Killing Curse at him.
Karl relaxed his mental hold, letting the pain rip through barriers until he had the basic single partition left. If he moved, the curse would strike the Veil. No one knew what would happen if that curse hit a structure surrounded by death. So much magic in the Death Chamber meant the end of a hundred projects, each one dedicated to monitoring the Veil's vitals. There were stories of things happening in proximity with the Veil … no sane man could name or would want to see. Of course that was during the same era as when the sight of women's legs was considered to incite demon attacks, but the principle remained intact.
Eternity beckoned, shining a brilliant green into his soul. Karl considered his choices thus far; had he done the best he could with what he had?
On the balance, there were places for improvement. All mortals had them; even the temporary immortals had their Achilles Heel's, with respect of course. But he'd managed to understand why an old friend had rejected him and made up with her. He'd removed the Ministry's lock on shapeshifting wizards, despite their understandable paranoia. In recent history he'd even built his own Time-Turner, met new and interesting people and killed them – some of them. So yes, he could die a happy man. Life had been fulfilling, and his actions had improved the world. Even in his last moments, he stood between chaos and civilization, preventing –
A massive weight smashed into Karl's torso, bowling him over like a bag of poorly-settled potatoes. He struck the ground for the second time in five minutes, skidding with a heavy, sweaty weight squashing him into the floor.
Above the vivid green Avadra kedavra curse vanished into the Veil, disappearing with a tiny slurping sound.
"Are you insane? Standing there like that?" Nymphadora's heart-shaped face was less than a handspan away from his. She had his full attention, not just for that reason, but because of the grip she held on his shoulders, shaking him at the termination point of each sentence.
"I just got you back and you were just going to off and die?" The last few words were punctuated by hard shakes that rattled Karl's hood off, leaving his face bare to the world.
Karl winced. "In my defense …."
The metamorphmagus silenced him manually, pressing herself against him in a decidedly non-Auror-standard hugging technique. He automatically shifted, the better to accommodate the sudden pressure, feeling her counter-shifting in response. The edges of his vision caught sight of hair coruscating a multitude of colors, flashing from red to violet and back. They also caught sight of the veela, who looked disappointed for some reason. Helpless, he just shrugged into the unfamiliar situation, and pulled his one-time friend a little closer.
A/N: Hate putting up more notes, but my fault. Accidentally loaded the chapter order wrong, as explained at the end of the last chapter. The correct order (and accidental omitted chapter) is back in place. Apologies for the confusion.
