"Cissy! In or out?" Sirius asked, a dangerous undertone of vicious glee dragging Emma's attention away from the sickening anxiety which had hit as soon as Fleur was captured and Tienne's unnecessary explanation of veela mind magic. Despite being aware that Emma was speaking for the Blacks in the Wizengamot, her sister-in-law seemed not to realise that she'd gotten a rather extensive crash course in...well, everything to do with the magical world, over the past three months. She wouldn't say she knew everything there was to know, of course, but she really didn't need Tienne to explain that the ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to show the sky above them, or that the two dozen purple-cloaked Hit Wizards shepherding them back to the school were actually law-enforcement, not just members of the Order of Merlin who'd been part of their award ceremony. Her constant attempts to explain things she suspected Emma was unaware of, but which Emma was actually reasonably familiar with already, were one of the things which had been giving her a headache in the Great Hall, earlier.
Yes, she would admit that veela were somewhat lower on her list of priorities than political alliances, current events, and common, ubiquitous magics. In the normal way of things, she actually might not know anything about them or their magic. But Chloé and Appoline (and the rest of the Delacours) had been staying at Ancient House for the past two weeks (which Tienne knew, since she was also a guest at Ancient House, at the moment). Even if Emma hadn't had all that much contact with them (which she hadn't, Ancient House was huge, and Emma tended only to go there for pre-scheduled meetings with a specific purpose), they had met. Chloé and Appoline were both very self-contained adults (obviously they didn't look quite human, but if they hadn't said anything, Emma wouldn't have realised there was anything different about their magic compared to human mages), but they had thought it worth warning her about their natural emotion-projecting and -manipulating magic just in case she happened to meet Gabrielle, who was still learning to control her magic, especially when she was excited about something like meeting new people. They'd also warned her that Gabbie could be a bit overenthusiastic at times, and that Emma shouldn't hesitate to say something if she was being overwhelming, either magically or mundanely. (Appoline claimed that her younger daughter was capable of controlling herself and behaving politely, at least for short periods of time...if someone pointed out that she was failing to do so.)
Having now met Gabrielle (who had accompanied Harry and Blaise to interrogate Sirius about 'how that whole animagus thing worked' while Emma happened to be there to discuss the consequences of removing Dumbledore as Chief Warlock), Emma rather thought someone should warn Chloé and Appoline about Lyra — the excitable little veela girl reminded her quite a lot of a more innocent version of her daughter's girlfriend, less prone to go on long, somewhat disturbing rambles about blood magic tracking charms or attempt to stab Sirius because she was bored, and more friendly, outgoing, and easily entertained. If they thought Gabbie could be overwhelmingly energetic, they'd probably find Lyra to be somewhat alarming as well as generally exhausting to spend any extended period of time around.
Though, to be fair, Lyra couldn't make people around her feel whatever she was feeling. Even though Gabbie had clearly been trying to control herself and make a good impression on "pretty, sparkly Maïa's mother", she'd still made Emma a little nervous at first (because apparently someone had warned her that British humans who weren't mind-mages had a tendency to be racist toward her People, and even if that wasn't true, she'd never met a muggle before, and she assumed muggles would be more vulnerable to her magic than mages), and then (after Emma demonstrated that she was perfectly capable of keeping a level head rather than being scared or horrified and overreacting to being made to feel a bit nervous — accidentally, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just— these things just happen sometimes!) self-righteously annoyed, because all of the British people I've met so far have been perfectly nice and not mean or racist or horrible at all, and you're not even a mage! Not that I mean to suggest there is anything wrong with mundane humans, but I think mages must be more accustomed to magic and mind-magic than non-mages, yes? so if you aren't afraid of me, they should not be either, it just makes sense!
The bubbly little girl had quickly gotten over that though, and instead began projecting a sort of childish delight to see Harry so excited about learning to become an animal — Harry wants to learn how to fly like me, and I told him that is not possible, but perhaps he can become a different bird, so now we are doing that. He and Blaise, I mean, I'm just here because they are so cute, especially when Harry is letting himself be excited for something — which made Emma unaccountably nostalgic for the days when she'd been an innocent young girl herself, learning to ride a horse and exploring the countryside around Eden in the summer.
So, while Emma was automatically somewhat wary of any magic which could make her feel nostalgic over Georgia, she was already aware of what was happening here, thanks very much, Tienne, you can shut up now. (That wasn't fair, she knew her sister-in-law wasn't trying to patronise her, it just sort of inevitably came off that way when mages assumed Emma didn't know something. Even when she didn't know it, and especially when the mage in question was literally decades her junior.) She wasn't scared or disturbed by the magic affecting her (as in, distinctly from the foreign fear for Fleur), and didn't need Tienne's (annoyingly over-"helpful") assurances that Emma was fine, really, don't panic, she didn't need to worry. She did feel Appoline's anxiety as though it were her own, but she knew it wasn't.
Even if she had actually been scared (even if it were her fear, rather than Appoline's), she had enough self-control not to let it show in public, let alone panic. "I'm not worried, Tienne. Are you alright? You seem a bit edgy. I'm sure Lise will cast a calming charm on you if you need one..."
Lise had burst into snorting, half-suppressed laughter at that, in spite of her wife's cousin's anxiety seeping into the air around them.
Which was noticeable, her concern for her daughter tugging at Emma's concern for Hermione, though Hermione was reasonably safe, down in her fort. They'd weathered a freaking magical bomb being dropped on them perfectly capably, fought off the attempt to storm the walls, Hermione was fine, giving orders and organising her people, checking on Plant Boy (Augusta's grandson, Emma hadn't caught his given name).
Emma was handling it, taking deep breaths and reminding herself that the fear she was feeling was foreign and completely irrational, she didn't need to feel it. She pushed the emotion away, dragging it down, sinking it to the bottom of the still, deep lake which was how she'd envisioned her own state of mind and external presentation since she was a little girl — like Baxter Pond just before sunrise, calm and cool, not so much as a ripple to be seen on the surface, which reflected whatever her grandmother (or anyone, now) wanted to see in her, whatever they wanted her to be.
Anything at all might be going on under the surface — fish and crawdads and whatever else acting out their daily life-or-death struggle for survival, nature just generally existing, true to life rather than idealised and romanticised; Emma concerned about Lyra and Harry's safety (both of whom were in considerably more danger than Hermione at the moment) and generally disturbed by the fact that Blondie down there had essentially just taken a freaking bullet through the lung and apparently intended to keep fighting (though she and Lyra had just sat down for a quick time-out, which both girls clearly needed) — but as far as anyone on shore could tell, she was perfectly at peace, absolutely confident and self-assured (or, right now, appropriately excited by the buzz of the crowd, thrilled and awed by the kids showing off down in the arena; or amused, genuinely annoyed, and falsely concerned about Tienne's concern for her — whatever seemed to suit the moment). Appoline's anxiety bleeding over to her was fine, a rock thrown into the water, nothing more. She drowned the feeling in timeless tranquility, the waves of its disturbance fading away, experienced but discarded, dismissed: the rock settled out of the water, its effect on her person transient and ultimately inconsequential, lost in the serenity inherent to that pre-dawn moment.
Andromeda had noted, when she'd been testing Emma's ability to resist compulsions and attempts to steal secrets out of her mind and so on in advance of her taking on the Black Seat, that this was a surprisingly well-developed native occlumency technique, insulating her from external influences to a degree well beyond Andi's initial expectations. It hadn't taken much work at all to reach a point where Andi was comfortable letting her go out in public without a mind-ward amulet (which was good, because the amulet in question did stop Emma from being affected by compulsions and the common mind-reading charms, but it also made her feel tired and slow, like taking a strong antihistamine). It wasn't comfortable for Emma to deal with Appoline's second-hand anxiety, but she didn't have to let it affect her.
Sirius's question was still a welcome distraction, at least until Emma followed his nod and realised that the earlier brief commotion down in the Gryffindor section, wherein a handful of older students from one of the other schools had attempted to stop the Weasley twins from informing their team on their progress from up here, had broken out again in the wake of that cheeky little blonde no one had noticed before she suddenly appeared to make a shout-out asking the twin up here to tell the twin in the arena to tell Hermione that she needed a diversion. And this time, it wasn't dying down, more pockets of violence erupting throughout the visitors' stands.
Well...crap. I guess I am going to see a magical riot first-hand after all...
She wasn't really worried, she knew that the Blacks were absurdly well-trained in combat magics compared to practically every other magical family in Britain. Sirius and Andi, and even Cissa, for the sake of their alliance, wouldn't let her (or any of their group) get hurt. But other people almost certainly would, innocent bystanders who didn't have multiple highly-trained magical aristocrats who had been raised in a feudal warrior culture protecting them, caught in the crossfire. (Not bringing Dan? Definitely the right choice.)
It only took a few seconds for most of their group to realise what was going on, "David's" attempt to deny that he was in fact Dora Tonks and the tiny Charms professor's conversation with Sirius almost entirely drowned out of Emma's attention by the sudden increase in ambient fear as both Appoline and Chloé realised the danger their daughters in the stands might be in. Maëlie, already visibly anxious over her aunt's concern for her cousin, began to whimper, lower lip trembling, the entire Delacour party growing increasingly upset as they debated something intensely in the veela language, barely reacting when Narcissa ordered them out of their seats and vanished their chairs, and the risers began to flow beneath their feet, forming a level terrace about six feet wide rather than the three rows their seats had occupied.
The groups around them certainly did, panic spreading like wildfire and chaos erupting as people realised they were about to get caught between the Blacks and whoever might want to take this opportunity to try murdering one (or all) of them, and tried to get the fuck out of the way, a bit of space opening up around them.
"Draco, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Cissa snapped, glaring at her son, who had his wand drawn and was clearly attempting to imitate Sirius's suddenly serious and competent, batten down the hatches and prepare for battle attitude, glaring bravely out at the crowd despite obviously being afraid of the impending violence. Draco, from what Emma had seen of him, must take after his father. Whether it was nature or nurture, she had no idea, but there was a certain hardness to all of the Blacks (including Narcissa and even Andromeda) that the clearly pampered young man simply didn't have. She would have said it had to be from growing up in their clearly abusive household(s), but Dora had a bit of it, too, even when he was pretending to be a Russian cursebreaker rather than a DI with magical SWAT training. A sort of disaffected, roll-with-the-punches and laugh at anyone who doesn't, so what if you just saw me getting fucked over a desk, it happened, move on attitude.
She didn't wait for her son to respond, adding, "Get in the middle and keep your head down!" as she flicked the first incoming spell at what looked like a lighting rod that had just...suddenly appeared a few rows up from them, and off to house-right.
He knelt between Emma and Tienne, which was fortunate, because it meant Tienne couldn't continue to try to reassure herself that they would be fine by reassuring Emma that they would be fine. Not that she wanted Dan's baby sister not to try to keep calm, it was just that frantically calling attention to the fact that they were in danger and the fear pressing in on them from Appoline and Chloé made it that much harder for Emma to think past. And Draco's "Of course we'll be fine, Mother knows what she's doing and Lord Black is...a decent fighter, I understand," seemed to be far more reassuring to her sister-in-law than Emma's insistence that she wasn't afraid, because there was nothing to be afraid of.
And then Andromeda, who had of course stayed standing when Sirius ordered everyone who wasn't a trained battlemage to get down, out of the way (as did Greta, which was...somewhat unexpected — Emma knew she was an adult now, but she'd still thought the American witch was...well, younger than Sirius, certainly — she wouldn't have guessed the transfiguration teacher had any combat experience to speak of, but maybe she was a duelist or something?) and Lise had convinced Chloé and Appoline to go check on their daughters in the Beauxbatons section (and stay there, Lise, Doriane, and the Blacks would protect Maëlie, they would be fine, just go), which was almost like a physical weight lifting away.
Enough so that Emma, who truly didn't think they were in any danger — but you and Lise and Doriane and Draco can do shield charms around the rest of us, if you're that concerned, Tienne. I don't think it will hinder the others' footing or anything, so... — sat up enough to see what was actually happening beyond their little circle.
The royal party had already vanished, probably by portkey as soon as it became obvious that the fighting wasn't going to die down this time, as had Cavan and a couple of his people. Some of the others had conjured a wall between themselves and the majority of the fighting, so it was sort of hard to tell what was going on over there, other than that there were still at least a few people present. Someone — Emma couldn't see who — lobbed a firebomb in a high arc over the wall, flames exploding around it and burning away the conjuration.
As with the Blacks, bystanders had scrambled to get away from the muggles, pressing down into the student section, and off to house left, into the crowd of commoners who had been seated in that wing of the stands (but were now rising to their feet in a panicked wave). The handful of besuited diplomats remaining (she didn't know why they were still there, unless they didn't have any more portkeys after this morning) had been shielded by the magical IRA (not a strictly accurate characterisation, she knew, but she was calling them that in her head anyway), so she didn't think anyone had been hurt, really, but that didn't stop Síomha from charging into the crowd after the would-be bomber. Most people tried to get out of her way, too, but a good number pressed in, attempting to curse her for insulting the Order of Merlin or protecting her muggle Tánaiste or whyever.
The magical IRA seemed to have protecting their people under control well enough they didn't need Dora or Filius's help, so they ended up casting massive shield charms (palings, possibly? Emma wasn't entirely certain what the distinction was) to cover the fleeing bystanders pressing into the left wing of the stands from stray curses. Emma was pretty sure she also saw Dora stun a couple of people trying to push toward the fighting in the centre section, whether to attack one of the nobles or another, or to protect friends and family in the student section between the nobility and the judges, it was impossible to tell.
The judges, who were seated down at the bottom of the stands (still about forty meters off the ground, apparently this was the height at which quidditch matches were watched), nearest to the array of screens displaying the action inside the arena (which seemed like a miscalculation to Emma — surely it would be easier to see more of the screens at once from farther away?), seemed to realise that something was going on behind them almost immediately, but didn't seem to be able to get up, or even look away from the action of the Task for more than a second or two.
Emma was briefly distracted from the rest of the battle by Sirius swearing furiously in Goblin (from the tone — Goblin was even harder to pick up than fucking Irish, Emma didn't speak a word of it, but that was fine, Andi assured her most nobles outside of the House of Black didn't, either) and stalking out of the circle to literally kick a wizard who looked like he'd lost a fight with a giant spider through a still-smoking hole in the stands, deflecting a handful of other curses as he did so apparently without even noticing them.
"Was that really necessary, Siri?" Narcissa called as he retreated back to his spot in their little defensive wall. Emma was pretty sure she was trying not to laugh, her disapproving tone wavering a bit.
"What? The web's anchored, he's not dead. Just...giving him some time to re-think whether he wants to start a feud with me over something as stupid as his brother committing suicide at the World Cup."
"Interesting way to put, over me killing his brother. You're such an arse."
"Throwing Unforgivables around in a riot when you have no business being in a dueling ring, let alone on a battlefield, is suicidal, Cissy! House Wilkins will be getting an apology over my dead body, by which I mean they won't be getting an apology for poor innocent Georgie, or Nate, either, if he's stupid enough to challenge me to a duel!"
At that, Narcissa actually did laugh. "Great job running away from the House, Siri! How's that lordship treating you?"
"I refuse to dignify that with a response," Sirius pouted, glancing away from the crowd long enough to throw a spell at Narcissa while she and Andromeda were distracted.
Draco yelped, but his, "Mother! Look out!" came too late for her to stop the spells holding her hair in place from unravelling.
"Ooh, you little—"
She had to break off to deal with an incoming curse, which gave Andromeda time to say, "What happened to we're not hexing each other, that's maturity, Sirius?"
"Sirius is only fleetingly familiar with the concept of maturity, Andi, you know this," Emma reminded her, ignoring the appalled little glare Tienne gave her, like why are you making jokes at a time like this.
"Yes! That! Shite!" The last bit was directed at a trio of incoming spells, one of which went straight through the shield he put up to catch them. Greta conjured a mirror-bright sheet of silver to reflect it up into the sky, where it fizzled out harmlessly. "Cheers, Schmidt!" Sirius laughed, because Andromeda might be clearly on-edge, but none of them were struggling to keep up with the spellfire directed at their group, and he and Narcissa were clearly enjoying themselves. (Emma honestly suspected that Sirius, at least, considered this little upset to be a nice break from all the tedious politics and the subtle torture which was watching Little Bella have all the fun.)
And even Tienne had to be feeling more secure, the longer the riot wore on without a single spell coming anywhere near touching any of them. (Even if she wouldn't admit it, and would probably have something to say later about Emma being just as mad as the Blacks for joining in their bantering in the middle of a riot.) The four non-battlemages had put up a little square of shields around themselves, Maëlie, and Emma at her suggestion, but they'd all let them lapse at some point as they became more confident in the Blacks' (and Greta's) ability to protect them, which was as good as saying as much, in Emma's opinion.
Rather than attempt to justify not taking this situation very seriously (Emma would be concerned when Sirius and Narcissa were concerned — as long as they were still teasing each other, they weren't worried enough about the violence around them to give it their full attention, which meant they were nowhere near being overwhelmed), she popped back up to her knees to see what was happening out in the stands.
While she'd been distracted, the remainder of the Irish delegation had evacuated, and more fighting had broken out in the left wing, behind the "safe" line Dora and Filius had been holding. Emma didn't see either of them at a quick glance. Síomha had cut a path deep into that section, lower than the (former) "safe" zone in pursuit of her fire-bomber, only to be surrounded by at least a dozen other mages throwing hexes at her and slowing her advance almost to a halt. That, along with the new pockets of violence flaring up between (Emma presumed) Gaelic-independence-supporting commoners and British nationalists, had begun to push the fleeing spectators back toward the centre and top of the stands. There were no actual exits or staircases up there — they were all at the lower edge of the stands — so it seemed some of the more level-headed mages had started burning holes in the risers (as Sirius had done with Wilkins) and building their own slides and ladders to get the hell out of here.
Behind them, Emma caught a glimpse of Harry's face — a close-up showing wild, triumphant disbelief — had he taken out Krum? They'd been chasing each other around for the last fifteen minutes or so — before his eyes widened in panicked fear. The elf recording him popped away to show him catapulted through the air as his broom was snatched out from beneath him by a(n apparently unseen) tree branch. Emma winced in sympathy both for the pain he was about to suffer falling out of the sky and the embarrassment he would probably suffer tomorrow when he realised he'd done all that fancy flying, beaten his opponent, and then hit a tree. He disappeared into the canopy almost immediately (thankfully not one of the burning sections), the elf popping down to the ground in time to catch him flopping out of a tree, battered by branches and clearly unconscious, but apparently not irretrievably incapacitated since the elves left him lying on the ground instead of popping him out to hospital. It seemed he had taken out Krum, who was crumpled in a similar pile of unconscious limbs a few screens away.
Between those screens were three showing different angles on a quartet of Hogwarts students (she was pretty sure they were Hogwarts students — that one there was the cheeky little blonde girl, so, yes) charging out of the burning trees surrounding Durmstrang's camp, protected from the flames by what looked for all the world like giant bubbles, or clear beach balls or something. Whatever they were, they didn't stop magic passing through them. The three larger figures were casting spells wildly, blasting flaming branches out of the way and then, when they were clear of the fire, sending curses at the three Durmstrangers guarding their flag. The fourth broke her bubble shield thing and dropped to the ground, one of the elves following her as she crept around the clearing to steal the Durmstrangers' flag while they were, as requested, comprehensively distracted.
She knew she was being followed. After she captured the second flag and scuttled back to the tree line, fires dying out as the wizard controlling the wind eased off to concentrate on fighting the Hogwarts students, she threw an amused smirk over her shoulder at her camera-elf, slipped behind a large tree breaking line of sight, and to all appearances, completely vanished. The elf gave up looking for her after a few seconds and returned to the clearing to focus on the dark-haired boy — he looked younger than the other two, maybe Hermione's age — caught in a rapid exchange of spells with the young man who had been guarding the Durmstrangers' flag and clearly getting the worst of it, barely managing to shield and deflect the spells the older student was throwing at him — honestly, it hardly seemed fair pitting fourteen-year-olds against basically adult mages. The Hogwarts boy was wearing red, but Emma couldn't help thinking maybe he'd overestimated his abilities as he retreated slowly but steadily toward the trees.
The guard followed him, pressing his advantage until they were both well out of sight of the weather-mage fighting the two older Hogwarts students in the clearing. Then the Hogwarts boy apparently pulled the same trick as the little Hogwarts thief, ducking behind a tree and vanishing. In his case, though, the elf managed to catch his transformation on video, half a dozen spells cast on himself in a matter of seconds. With the camera trained on him, it was possible not to lose track of him entirely, a hint of a shimmer in the air where light bent around him, branches rustling as he brushed past them, sneaking around behind the Durmstranger to cast some spell that caused him to drop his wand practically at point-blank range, a pink spell dropping the older boy like a stone the second after.
He cancelled the charms on himself, used a few more spells to tie up the Durmstranger, and pocketed his wand (which meant that even if he did wake up and escape before the end of the game, he wouldn't be able to do anything, really), before balancing his own flat on his palm, and swearing when it didn't do...whatever he was trying to do. Show him the way back to Fort Hogwarts, maybe, since he looked around at the surrounding trees with an indecisive grimace before moving further away from the clearing which held the Durmstrangers' base, from which there was an enormous crack of thunder, a bolt of lightning crossing the space between the weather wizard and the Hogwarts attackers faster than blinking and blindingly bright. Yeah, Emma wouldn't go back for her comrades either, if she were that kid.
She caught a bit of commentary — the commentator, like the judges, seemed unable to stop doing his part to facilitate the Task — that the Hogwarts students' shields had been overwhelmed, they'd passed out from the backlash, not actually getting hit by the lightning, and therefore were most likely not dead. Though they might not have been too badly hurt anyway. Sirius had said, earlier, when Lyra and Blondie were throwing around lightning, that it probably wouldn't kill either of them if it hit them. Mages were more physically resilient than muggles, their magic reinforcing their bodies instinctively against impacts like Blondie throwing Lyra into trees. That would probably help a little, and the one time he'd been struck by real, actual lightning (flying in a thunderstorm, for fun, because the Blacks were insane), it had felt like being "lit up" (one mage giving another a little burst of magic as a sort of high, if Emma understood that concept correctly), but with far more energy than he could hold, the lightning more or less just passing through him to strike a tree, knocking him out with something like magical backlash as it did so. (After which, as Narcissa had reminded him, he'd proceeded to fall out of the sky like a moron, striking several other trees on the way down.) So it was entirely possible they wouldn't even be able to tell if the Hogwarts kids down there had been knocked out by the lightning or their spells failing.
In either case, though, the lightning-thrower was certain they were out, hurrying to the side of the girl who had been scrying the wind to keep the Durmstrangers apprised of the situation throughout the arena (magic just kept coming up with awesome new things to surprise Emma). She hadn't been hurt, but she was curled into a little ball behind a large-ish chunk of rock, hiding from the fight and apparently having a panic attack.
Emma's attention was dragged back to the stands and the riot (which probably should have had her attention all along, but the Blacks had it covered, and someone should actually see their kids win, right? — at this point, she was sure Hogwarts was going to win) by the entire structure shaking, ratcheting up the panic all around them.
Maëlie screamed, almost covering up Draco's terrified yelp and Doriane's alarmed "What the fuck was that?!"
"Seismic Rift Curse," Sirius answered absently. "Won't work properly on something like this, too many stabilising and construction enchantments, not enough direct contact with the ground, just wiggled the supports a bit."
"If they're attacking the stands directly," Andromeda said, "it may be time to consider actually retreating."
"What? But, Meda—" Sirius began complaining, but Lise broke off trying to soothe her terrified youngest daughter to cut in.
"Retreating is an option? Yes! Why the hell wouldn't we—"
"The House of Black has a policy regarding unnecessary retreats," Andi explained. "Namely, we don't make them. And the Terrible Two, here, are clearly having fun."
Narcissa actually flipped her off with her free hand, though she was clearly trying not to smile. "Shut up, Meda. We haven't exactly had breathing room to conjure a carpet and enchant it to get us down, Delacour. You, on the other hand, have been sitting down there with the children for several minutes, now. If you want to evacuate, go ahead. We're not stopping you."
"The aggression does seem to be tapering off," Greta noted, "at least in this area. It may not be necessary to come up with our own escape route, however—" She paused to transform the wood under Emma's knees, or at least some part of it, into a tightly-woven rug. "Do give us a heads-up when you plan to lift off."
Sirius, his face visible in profile as he intercepted a long slash of light, the magic absorbed into a shield spell which imploded with a small crackle, scowled. "It's not necessary." (Lise began casting spells at the carpet immediately anyway.) "They weren't really attacking the stands. That curse is obscure enough anyone who actually knows it would know it won't do shite up here any more than chucking a point spell at Mike from fifty yards this morning was going to take him out. They're just having fun fucking with people and trying to push this whole civil war thing into the open before the Gaels manage to strengthen their position enough to put up an organised fight."
Narcissa actually stopped to raise an eyebrow at his back. "When did he develop any sense of political awareness to speak of?" she asked...probably Andromeda, though she quickly turned back to flick a series of dart-like spells at an incoming murder of (probably conjured) crows.
"Piss off, Cissy. I spent twelve years with the fucking dementors thinking about exactly how the war went wrong, what Dumbledore should have done instead. By the time Bella and de Mort had the Death Eaters built up into an actual army, it was too late. Obviously, whoever's pulling the strings here isn't planning on making the same mistake with the Gaels."
"Damn it!" Andromeda exclaimed, clearly more concerned with whatever spell she was countering than the bickering of "the Terrible Two". (Emma was going to have an awful time trying not to think of them like that, now, they really were such children when they were in the same room...) "Why aren't the judges doing anything?" she demanded, refusing to take her eyes off her side of their defensive circle to look herself.
"Dumbledore, Slytherin, and Lovegood keep trying to get up from their table, but it looks like they can't, for some reason?" Emma explained, drawing everyone's attention to the fact that she wasn't keeping her head down below the level of the seats like a good little muggle.
"Emma, if you get yourself cursed, Little Bella will never let me live it down," Sirius warned her, glaring over his shoulder (though he was quickly distracted, eyes flicking to the screens behind her).
"Emma, if you get yourself cursed, Maïa will never let any of us live it down," Tienne added, tugging her down.
"I'm not going to get myself cursed," Emma snapped, shaking off her hand, but she did stay down, if only because she was right, Hermione (and Dan) would be horrified if she were to get herself cursed, even with something non-fatal. None of the attacks had actually made it past the Blacks, but it would be just her luck for the first one that did to take her head off or turn her into a ferret or something.
"I think they might be compelled to judge like the competitors are compelled to compete," Greta suggested. "If you three have the defence here under control, I'm going to help evacuate the younger children."
"Eh?"
As Gretchen pointed out the escape slides Sirius somehow apparently hadn't noticed, Emma's eyes drifted back to the screens, from the Fort, where the little blonde flag thief was wearing what must be the "crown" they needed to put on Harry's head to win (Hermione and the violinist exchanging an exasperated eye-roll over whatever she'd just said — the music had stopped, obviously, since the boy was no longer playing, but she still couldn't hear anything over the fighting in the stands); to Harry, the healer, and the twin racing through the trees, pursued by a single very determined-looking boy in red (possibly the one who had been guarding Beauxbatons's flag...which was now abandoned, and clearly not their flag, but actually a piece of the thief-girl's cloak, a symbol Emma didn't recognise painted on the grey lining); to the second Hogwarts flier, the handsome young man who had captured a Durmstranger's familiar before the Task started, now fighting a veela girl in human form, on the ground, one of her arms held close to her body, clearly injured; to the half-dozen screens where Lyra and Blondie were still going at it.
All the other conscious students had at least two elves following them, even the Durmstrang weather-wizard comforting his shaken schoolmate and the Hogwarts boy lost in the forest, but most of them seemed to be congregating around the remaining active players as the Task wound down, and since the two girls' duel was the most mobile, it seemed to be gathering the most observers, all posted at different angles around them.
As Emma watched, the lost Hogwarts boy froze, ducking behind a tree to cast some spell on himself before creeping forward again, clearly lining up to throw a spell at someone, orange light chased with green lightning gathering at the tip of his wand, when he broke off with a shout, instead casting a purple shield to catch an explosive ball of energy — the elves popped out to reveal that he had been lining up a spell on Blondie, and had been cursed by Lyra, much as the Durmstrangers had in their earlier ambush. Blondie followed up, knocking him out, and for a long moment, both girls froze, eyes flicking between each other and the unconscious boy.
Blondie said something — Emma wished she could hear! but the fighting was just too damn loud —which was followed by Lyra shadow-walking over to turn the boy onto his back, and falling into hysterical giggles. The girls exchanged a few more words, moving away from the fallen boy (presumably to avoid hitting him with any stray curses), and immediately went back to their fight, both a shade faster for the breather, so caught up in their own violent little world, Emma didn't even think they noticed the gong shattering the air a few seconds later as the Hogwarts thief, now outside the Fort with Hermione and the violinist, leapt into Harry's arms, moving the crown from her own head to his.
"Ahaha! They did it! They fucking did it!" Sirius cheered, breaking off from defending their party to steal a glance at the screens where Harry was spinning around, still holding the little thief, though he let her go as Hermione sprinted toward them, throwing her arms around them, the three of them bouncing in a small circle in an uncharacteristic display of ecstatic joy which was frankly adorable.
(Damn it, now she was wondering yet again whether she ought to have brought Dan, guilt that he was missing this moment welling up despite the fact that Sirius immediately had to turn back to fending off another fireball. The riot wasn't that bad, really, maybe she should have...)
After the gong sounded, things escalated quickly.
The judges, released from whatever magic was forcing them to pay attention to the Task, waded into the fray: Cassie headed up into the student section along with Maxime and Karkaroff, each to help their own schools evacuate (along with the teachers who had already been trying and failing to maintain some semblance of order down there); "Slytherin" and Delacour disappeared (maybe to help organise fleeing students and visitors after they reached the ground); Angel also disappeared, which was probably for the best. From everything Lyra had told her about her "older sister", Emma couldn't imagine the Dark involving itself in a situation like this would make it better.
She did have to wonder if whatever "bad thing" Hermione was so concerned about Lyra having done had something to do with the woman who was, according to Lyra, sort of a goddess of evil in the same way Lyra was sort of Eris (not the original, Greek Eris — the version of chaotic choice Lyra had dedicated herself to was a more modern, reinvented version of that idea) and, according to Sirius, probably going to be a bad influence on the little madwoman. (At the very least because, as Sirius was well aware, both he and Lyra had a tendency to...put less effort into not acting like crazy people when there were other crazy people around to play with, but also probably because Lyra clearly adored her and would probably do something stupid trying to show off for her.)
In any case, the riot didn't really need any help from supernatural evil entities to be quite destructive enough, thankyouverymuch. It was getting along just fine with just Dumbledore involving himself, turning to their section in a towering rage, furious magic washing over them, so hot and heavy Emma could feel it. She wasn't at all surprised that about a third of the people still attacking others immediately tried to flee. The rest of them, though, seemed to be spurred on by the appearance of the furious sorcerer in their midst.
Probably because, she thought, watching him advance into the mob — it was honestly difficult not to watch him, in the same way it could be difficult not to watch Lyra or Sirius if they were intentionally making themselves the centre of attention — they knew he wasn't going to start throwing around serious war-magic in the middle of a stadium filled with innocent bystanders, and if they were going to be arrested for rioting, they might as well actually curse the people they were trying to curse, first.
Not that there were actually that many aurors around to actually arrest people — Dora had reappeared briefly, Emma had seen her heading for one of the slides and therefore suspected that she was trying to maintain order on the ground as more people fled the stands. There might actually be more people down there than up here, now. Hopefully mostly people trying to get away from the fighting, not arseholes taking the fight down where there was more space to maneuver... Though if there were people fighting on the ground, too, that was all the more reason for Dora to have headed down, Emma supposed. But aside from Dora, she hadn't really seen any official law-enforcement, now that she thought of it, which... Maybe it was her muggle sensibilities speaking, but that seemed...sort of weird? Maybe the aurors weren't here (or weren't here in uniform) for political reasons?
Spells started falling in at their group (and at Síomha and the small knot of (Gaelic?) mages who'd gravitated toward her and were probably getting in the way more than anything, and toward Dumbledore himself) faster and harder. Sirius and Narcissa actually stopped teasing each other, which Emma considered a bad sign, but Andromeda apparently wasn't too concerned, since she stopped helping them.
"Oh, we are not doing this, Albus," she muttered, stepping back into the centre of the circle and casting...something that stopped the hot magic rolling off Dumbledore from reaching them.
Narcissa let out a tiny sigh, visibly relaxing as whatever it was took effect. "Thank you, Meda."
Sirius cackled. "Ooh, poor little dark witch finding it hard to hold her ground against the big, bad light Goat?" he threw over his shoulder without looking.
"Siri, do you want to be disembowelled again? Because I can make that happen," Narcissa shot back, equally blindly.
"You can try. We haven't fought since I realigned my magic, or since I finished coming into my power. And no, I don't want to be disembowelled again, so I think I'll just kick your arse instead."
"You can try. But you're still a sloppy, overconfident arse, so I don't think you will."
(Maybe things weren't so dire, then.)
Andromeda also took over covering their entire down-stands side as the Headmaster advanced, shielding them as he started throwing around mass knock-out spells like candy at a Homecoming parade. Since they were still taking heavy spellfire from both sides of the stands and Lise and Doriane were still working on enchanting the Escape Carpet (Emma, Tienne, and Draco trying to stay out of the way, shuffling around awkwardly on their knees), letting that self-righteous old bastard indiscriminately knock out the people who were trying to protect them might be a bad idea. Just maybe.
Most of the people who were still fighting were quick enough to shield themselves, too, whenever one happened to be aimed in their general direction, so he ended up taking out more innocent bystanders than anyone else, actually helping the aggressors, as he gave them more direct lines of sight. After a few seconds, house elves — most of them with their binocular-style recording devices still dangling around their necks — began popping in and out, taking the incapacitated civilians to safety, which was something, Emma supposed. (Though it did also give the fighters more room to maneuver, too.)
Andi, though, was not at all impressed, using a spell to amplify her voice so she could shout at him from across the crowd, quoting British law enforcement regulations and ICW statutes about dealing with non-combatants in this sort of situation (it sounded to Emma like stunning bystanders just to get them out of the way was technically assault), and Wizengamot decisions pertaining to the limitations of a lord's rights within his own lands after extending hospitality to a guest. The old man (unsurprisingly) ignored her, which Emma suspected meant there would be a massive legal case levied against him before Christmas, and after a minute or so, Andi gave up.
It took several moments longer than it probably should have for Emma to realise she had done so because the same wave of exhaustion and sleepiness which washed over her had come over Andi, too. And...everyone else, as far as she could tell, spellfire from all but the most stubborn mages trailing off. Even Dumbledore stopped throwing around his mass knock-out and tie-up spells, the commotion dying down enough to hear a single violin playing a lullaby — not one Emma knew, though oddly enough, she felt she recognised it immediately, the slow, gliding notes not themselves familiar, but reminding her of a certain record her grandmother liked to play on oppressively humid, lethargic afternoons, music associated almost instinctively with tired, boring, interminable hours spent lounging around the veranda, far too hot and exhausted to do anything productive, the inclination to simply laze absolutely overwhelming...
It took several moments beyond that to realise that the music was coming from the arena. There was only one projector screen still active, the camera trained on a trio of Hogwarts students: the violinist, of course, and the redheaded twin holding a concave shield behind him like the shell behind an orchestra, and Hermione, a foot-wide spiral of runes glittering in the air beside her, the same three over and over again, moving in a slowly widening circle, forming a cone as they moved away from her wand and fading out of existence after making several rounds — three rings around the spiral, from where the camera-elf was standing, directed up at the stands. Emma didn't know what it was doing, but she felt certain that whatever it was, they were trying to stop the fighting.
Almost as soon as the riot calmed enough for it to be audible, the music shifted, higher sharper notes and a more energetic tone lending a sense of waking up to the feelings it evoked, of fog burning away and air clearing after a storm, of looking back at the actions of one's former self and, with the clarity of hindsight wondering, what the hell was I thinking? The short, bright melody repeated twice, tempo slowing slightly each time, before the violinist abruptly cut off, gesturing for Hermione to stop her spell.
She did, though the last runes hadn't quite faded away before he said, "That's it. I'm done in. If that didn't do it, you're going to have to wait for Dumbledore or whoever to stop the fighting..." his voice carrying to all of them the same as his music had, trailing off with the last of Hermione's runes. He collapsed to the ground, completely exhausted. In the last second before the final screen went dark, Hermione turned to look up at the stands, biting her lower lip, frowning anxiously, eyes tight with concern.
Needlessly so, because that had done it.
Everyone had just...stopped, abruptly coming to their senses, broken out of their panic and rage. Even Dumbledore, looking around at the carnage with almost palpable disappointment and world-weariness. Even Síomha, who had finally caught her man (or at least, Emma assumed that the wizard she was holding by the front of his robes was the fire-bomber), wand poised half a second from blowing his head off or stabbing his eye out.
A few people, coming to their senses, tried to flee, realising that they had just been caught red-handed committing assault against unknown numbers of others and would almost certainly be held accountable, but they were easily apprehended by a few quick spells from more level-headed mages around them.
That was it.
It was over.
Emma's baby girl had won the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and stopped a bloody riot in its tracks as an encore, and Emma had never been prouder of her. She wished more than anything that she could be down there in the arena with her, give her a hug and jump around in circles and tell her it worked, and oh, my God, that was amazing — you're brilliant, sweetie — I love you—
Wishing she'd invited Dan was a close second, though. He should have had the chance to be here to see their stubborn, resourceful little girl all grown up and using magic to save lives, too, riot or no riot.
So. That's a thing. The story will pick up after the dust settles a bit — again, whenever we get chapters done. Probably sooner than May. (Probably.) —Leigha