8th of February 1943
Lyra Silamontaine POV
The wind howled as the storm raged above them, the rain pelted the earth furiously, the sounds were almost like replication of horses stampeding in battle, such was the ferocity of the rainstorm.
It was shocking, to see clear skies where the stars shone their light slowly but steadily be hidden away as if by a curtain veil that took the form of approaching grey clouds that took no time to turn into the fiercest of storms.
Now, the storm at its zenith, it was soon approaching the time for their attacks to begin. Her eyes turned to the target, the target that had her with equal terms filled with excitement and wary anticipation.
Genelum castle stood foreboding, seated on top of a sole hill that almost fashioned as a mountain amidst a vast sea of plains, overlooking its domain as its tall grey structure rose high above the region.
She could imagine the history of the monolith castle, standing peerless and unconquered through the centuries by muggles or wizards alike. Even from this distance, even as she could almost nary see but the outline of the castle as the lights emanating from the castle shone as a beacon in the near absolute darkness of the night, she could help but feel the weight of the prospect settle on her. How many of them would die trying to capture the castle and its inhabitants? They numbered less than 50 and their enemy had sextuple that number.
The crisp winds washed over them, its cold and wet touch pushing against the enchantments that kept her warm and dry.
She peered her eyes towards the lone figure who stood over several dozen metres away from her and the rest of the team, her eyes flickered to Dayton who stood closer to Lord Sayre, his eyes on his Lord's back, his ever present guard.
It was strange, she mused silently to herself. She'd never been a follower, never had she experience the inclinations of giving her loyalty to a cause or person or people.
And yet, she wondered, was the kind of surety she felt at the dawn of this operation, the surety of success despite their meagre numbers, a mark of her growing loyalties to a man she was starting to believe to be far more than she could have ever expected or was it simply confidence in the man's abilities?
Perhaps a little bit of both, she mused as she gazed at him, at his back.
His robes billowed as his hands fell his sides, the angle from where she stood allowing her to see him closing his eyes. Dayton shuffled a step closer, almost out of concern.
She silently scoffed at the notion. From what she had seen from him, he would not need his ever watchdog. Her eyes returned to the man who she followed into this battle, into this war.
She was one of the few female fighters who joined with him. As a second generation half blood, with a French name, she wasn't particularly favoured in Britain – and wasn't that ironic? – the xenophobic country that it was. She'd joined the Hit Wizard department and had struggled to get anywhere beyond a mid-ranked position despite her talent. And it didn't help that she had an…abrasive personality. Despite the egalitarianism of the magical world, for the most part, unless you were truly exemplary, men were still favoured for high positions.
Joining with Lord Sayre was her opportunity to elevate herself beyond the constraints she'd been put under. She hadn't truly known what to expect when she'd decided to follow this…boy…man into the war. She wasn't one to believe estimations and assessments of others with her eyes closed. She'd heard of the prodigy boy, the 'golden' boy of Britain, the poster child for purebloods who was different from all the others.
She'd heard of him from a few of her muggleborn friends who were studying muggle subjects on his patronage, something she'd only heard after promising not to speak of it, singing his praises but she'd been sceptical. Most of the noble purebloods she'd met were arrogant wastrels who wanted nothing else but to get their jollies off. And when the rare ones did want something else, they'd expected to be catered to as if everything revolved around them.
She'd been sure that her muggleborn friends were naïve…unknowing to the maliciousness and the cruelty that existed in and amongst the purebloods. The chances that they were being had…being groomed for something was high but they would not hear it from her.
She'd been tempted to show them the underbelly of British Magical society of those unfortunate muggleborns who'd been ensnared in by 'generous' purebloods but she'd held her tongue and as time went by, nothing had happened to any of them and her scepticism began to fall away for the most part, enough to decide to join, secure in the knowledge that it was unlikely the likes of Bones and Longbottom would join someone vile.
And from what she'd witnessed, her friends had been right…he was far different to what she would have expected of someone of his stature and her last resistance…her last vestiges of scepticism fell away.
He earned her respect, like he had with so many others in their army. Beyond his fighting capabilities, beyond his prodigious power and skill with a wand, he ensured that they were prepared as much as they could be without demanding anything more than he'd do himself. He did nothing, asked nothing that he would not do himself, setting standards and comradery amongst them at a high level whilst not shying away from the dirty elements of war and death.
He never asked to be addressed as Lord Sayre but where before it was used as a form of politeness, it was now used as a form of deep respect…one that had not so hidden meaning.
He was…Different…and that mattered.
"It's almost time" a low voice, barely above a whisper, called out. She turned to the direction of the voice and saw it was one of the more indistinct men of their group, Roland Clarke. His hair was sandy brown, cropped with a face that was unremarkable but cleanly cut. She followed his gaze and saw that his eyes were fixed at the featureless grey cloud whilst an expression of concentration and solemnity was painted on his face. Her eyes peered towards the other men that were assembled here who all had similar enough expressions on their face.
She'd mingled with them, learnt their names, who they were and where they came from. A comradeship of sorts had been created amongst them as they shared victory after victory with each other, spilling their own blood as they spilled their enemies in greater and deadlier quantities.
She'd never admit it, but she felt more kinship with them than she ever did with the Hit Wizards, even if it's only been a few months. None cared for her origins…her gender or her…orientation. Only if she could be trusted to have their backs, initially, until they all bonded as they racked up goodwill and life debts one after another as they kept on saving each other, delaying death time and again causing them be closer.
Even the few muggleborns amongst them managed to earn the group's respect. Lord Sayre demanded no discourse between them all but respect? That had to be earned and there were none among them that hadn't at least earn some of it.
Her gaze rose to the skies when she heard the call, the echoing cry of Lord Sayre's familiar.
She inhaled a shuddering breath as magic in the air rose suddenly, intensely. She could feel the simmering, broiling magic that threatened to burn out the oxygen in the air as it licked at her.
Her eyes snapped towards him and she was taken aback at the sight of him. Strands, wisps, grew in visibility…in intensity of brightness, almost glowing, surrounded him. Magic surrounded him, continued to surround as it grew and grew in density, in thickness, in brightness, as if he were a beacon to Magic herself, calling it to himself whilst he stood there unmoving and his eyes closed.
His magic manifested itself to a purple green aura as it swirled around him, the manifestation that seemed right to her. It twisted and turned around him, the magical energy growing denser and brighter as time went by.
She'd seen him fight but this…this was the first time she'd seen his magic completely. She'd seen his fight against Vermeer but that had been a contest of speed and skill. Never power and never did he show his strength as he was now.
"Magnificent" Clarke breathed out next to her and she spared him a glance and her eyes widened slightly at the look of unrestrained awe on his face. Her eyes flittered to the rest of the men and she saw the same look of awe on their faces and she understood.
She truly did. She might not be attuned to magic like some of the others here but it was undeniable that there was something fundamentally different about him compared to other magicals.
Not only that, there was a sense amongst them all that he knew things that he shouldn't know causing them to speculate. It was poorly hidden but most believed he was a Seer for there had been instances that many of them should have died and yet he'd been there, batting or shielding away against spells that would have brought certain death.
And yet, she did not believe any, at least amongst the common men, would breathe a word of it, not if he so desired to keep it a secret. Their loyalty was immutable, total in their conviction and belief in the young man that barely is of age.
The hairs on her body stood as she felt waves upon waves of green purple magic crash into her, leaving behind, each time, a tingling sensation that strengthened time and again.
She clenched her fist as she fought to stand still, her knees threatening to shake, as the pressure of his magic continued to grow, the wisps of power, the strands of magic rising and ebbing from him, his hands glowed dully as she saw his fingers twitch ever so slightly.
She winced slightly as the bright light of lightning shone, casting away the darkness for a brief, solitary fraction of a second. A singular source of light, more a strange misshapen point remained after the flash of lightning She gazed at the source and she realised that she was seeing the Thunderbird, as tendrils of lightning grew from the point.
Tendrils of lightning coalesced into a single wing, then two…then four until its entire profile could be discernible, the brilliant visage capturing her complete attention that was broken by an imperious, powerful cry that echoed through the sky, the grey clouds seeming more like walls and mountains as it seemed to reverberate the cry half a dozen, a dozen times.
The sounds of crackling snapped her out of the wondrous state she was in and she turned her eyes towards him. She was left almost breathless as she saw him surrounded by a veritable lightning storm that hugged his body tightly, as if he was lightning incarnate. The bright light of the crackling lightning cycled around him, rare flashes of purple green lightning were interspersed in the sea of white glowing lightning, liquid vines of power swirled around every inch of his body except for his head.
The pressure of his magic receded, just slightly but enough for her to feel, leaving her to breathe more easily as the air, once choked full of his magic decreased. It hadn't stopped her from standing still, in mesmerised shock as she stared at his back.
Thunder boomed in the background, drumming at a constant and rhythmic rate. Lightning now continued to flash at pace, continued to paint the sky with grandiose white cracks against a backdrop of grey.
It was beautiful…in a strange way…
As the lightning illuminated the world around her in brief flashes, she couldn't help but wonder at the sight. For all that magic was, for all of the magic she knew, she'd never seen it work as it is now...
Beautiful but terrifying to know there were beings capable of this…
The Thunderbird remained at the centre, the centre of the storm, the living lever to the controls of the sky as with each flap, tendrils of lightning grew and ripped at the world. She never known a magical creature to be capable of what this Thunderbird was capable of, the sheer power she was able to create. She'd seen her, once, and she was huge, regal but nothing that would show the sheer power she possessed.
The rain that had petered out returned in full force, the winds of the storm picking up into a vicious gale. She turned to the man in front of her. She supposed in many ways, the thunderbird embodied her owner excellently. Or maybe was it the other way?
She gripped her wand tightly, the wand threatening to slip from her wet hand as the charms that kept her dry long having ripped away from her by Lord Sayre's magic leaving her drenched.
He turned slightly towards them, his eyes that glowed from what she could observe from the angle she was at, became apparent to her. His purple green eyes that had always shown to be full of life were replaced with two white orbs that made her feel small, insignificant under his gaze. They were eyes that none could hide away from…that none could run from and she felt it in her bones that this…that this gaze was something she never wanted turned maliciously to her.
Just as fast as he turned to her…to them, he turned away and strode forward, tendrils of lightning travelled from his body to the earth with each step and she felt the power ebbing from him. She breathed a sigh of relief, the flight instinct that gaze garnered from her receded away.
He continued to walk, to stroll forward at a sedate pace, each step almost making it seem like the thunder is clapping just a little louder, just a little stronger. She could feel the earth tremble slightly with each clap, with each step he set on the Earth, as if he was the cause of it…but she could believe it was possible…that it should not be possible, that none should have the power to wreak such havoc onto the Earth through magical power. Her mind was denied it even if there was that niggling thought, that niggling part of her that making her aware that her intuition was in conflict with her mind.
Her gaze followed him with intense focus, returning her attention to him. He was well past them now, alone and yet brightly shining like a port of haven in a sea of darkness, his brightness offering absolution…offering safety from the violent, rattling storms that surrounded them.
She felt Clarke closing the gap between them, his shoulder now touching hers. He turned to her slightly though his eyes still fixed on Lord Sayre. "Do you ever wonder" he said with a strained voice whilst he spoke over the thunder that seemed more like it was intended to be a whisper. "If the people who lived in Merlin's time…in Gilgamesh's time or Xian Hu's time knew they were walking among a legend?" his voice was tinged with almost a reverent tone.
She remained silent for a moment as she watched him. The look in his eyes was fanatical, not unlike what she'd observed of some of Grindelwald's men. That thought put her at ill ease for a moment that distracted her until she replied. "Not at the beginning" she answered finally.
"Not at the beginning." He agreed after a second, his eyes dancing with emotion "Most would not have known" and she silently agreed to his unsaid meanings.
Her father was a muggle and a historian, someone who'd been fascinated with the history of wizardkind once he'd met her mother. He'd taken painstaking effort in trying to deprogram her from her disillusionment with the subject after five years of Binns.
A memory flashed in her mind…when he'd spoken of British wizards, or witches, that seemed like convergences…those who irrevocably changed the course of their world. Merlin, Morgana, Morgause, the Founders, the Peverell Brothers, Ezkridis, and so on were all convergences that changed their world, for better or worse.
She had known that he was the same from the moment she met him, and only realised the depth of it now.
Lord Sayre slowly outstretched his arm, as if he waiting for something to arrive.
Atticus Sayre POV
He turned his head towards his outstretched hand as he willed Scal Slea into existence, the grey silver trident spear floated just a few inches away from his hand before it clasped into his hand, its radiant purple gold trident heads glowing slightly as his magic seeped into it through his hand.
The connection that formed between him and his spear sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, the bond that he always felt with the spear having reached its apex in strength.
He cast his eyes back towards Genelum Castle, the frequent lightning flashing casting light onto the foreboding castle that stood high above the plains that surrounded it. Magic and lightning crackled around him as he continued to strengthen the connection to nature magic.
He inhaled deeply, tasting the magic rich air he was creating on his tongue, savouring it, before he cast his glowing white eyes, eyes that allowed him to see magic in perfect clarity…magic that existed all around him in this world of theirs with total control.
This was only his third time that he was able to control this…this aspect of his power. The first time and the only time he had complete control was when he'd snapped when he'd seen his father die. Since then, he'd only had a fraction of control but that was enough for tonight, for this obstacle that stood in front of him.
His Hyper-Percipience ability was in bloom tonight, he could see the currents of magic, the cosmic energy that flowed through life and the universe, with vivid clarity. He saw the effects of his magic, of Fila's magic on the world, on the weather system that magic interacted with in passive yet complex ways. Both he and Fila were bending that system to their will, to their desire and power, for it to obey and for it to be moulded as they liked.
He felt Fila's influence, her regal dominating and fury, on the thunderstorm as it grew in intensity, in strength.
He saw how she was influencing it, the wisps of her magic entwined into the currents of magic that influenced nature, his field of perception able to sense and see more than any other had likely in hundreds if not thousands of years.
The plains around him, even in winter, pulsed with magic, at lower quantities, at lower rates but nonetheless, they still pulsed.
'Everyone should see the world as I am now' he thought to himself as he revelled in the sight around him, the feeling of the magic of the universe around him that he was feeling profoundly within his bones, the feeling deepening even further with the entwining element of his magic on nature and life that he was influencing more and more as time went by.
He only saw faint outlines, faint impressions of the magic around him when he suppressed his ability mostly most of the time.
It detracted him of the here and now, causing a greater disconnect of the world around him, ironically, as he saw more of how the world worked in harmony, of how magic and life irrevocably and immensely were linked together.
It was a conscious decision that he at times regretted, missing the strange…peace that he felt when he was connected to the world as he was now, when he combined his Hyper-Percipience with connecting to nature magic. Passively observing the cosmic energy that is magic as he did most of the time did little to stop that desire of immersing in his ability however, it was an exhaustive exercise, to employ it as much as he could, one that tested his mental and magical control even if that strained lessened as time went by.
He set his gaze back to Genelum Castle, his eyes capturing the interwoven wards that covered the castle in a bubble like way, a kaleidoscope of colour that represented a myriad of wards, all of it pulsing in a specific rate, in a specific way.
He could see the strength of the wards, connected to the two leylines that lied directly below the castle, his eyes capturing the sight of the power of the leylines feeding and strengthening the wards with each passing moment.
His grip on his spear tightened, his white glowing eyes fixed on the castle in front of him.
'Fila…It's time' he reached out to his familiar bond, communicating with her with feelings and thoughts that she'd be able to understand through impressions in the bond they'd shared.
He felt her satisfaction, her glee as he felt her prepare.
His hand tightened around the shaft of the spear, magic crackled intensely just as he let control over his magic go, the streaks of lightning that surrounded him dancing and twisting brightly with abandon to their own tune amidst the turbulent and chaotic storms that were picking up in intensity, in rage.
Her piercing cry and her response over the bond signalled her readiness. The air, once thick full of his magic reached another tier, his magic rising to such a degree that it was as if he was almost submerged in a liquid.
He raised both hands, one with his spear, the other free, and pulled at the connection he created with the nature magic of the world. The sounds of the rain that battered and pelted around him was reduced to vague background noise, all of it melting away, washing away from him, from his senses as he seeped himself into the wicked maelstrom of magic, of power that he and Fila were conjuring up as they connected with the magic of the world.
Lightning crackled with blinding strength, the thickness of each lightning strike far thicker and longer than what was natural, no longer the beautiful visage of cracked glass on a grey canvas but more the fury and wrath of nature unleashed in totality, influenced by two beings of magic, of lightning. The skies were torn asunder, the grey clouds almost seemed to be ripped apart as thunder deafeningly clapped and boomed with each crack of the lightning.
Flashes of lightning dominated scenery around them, thousands of lightning strikes hitting randomly across the half frozen plains in front of him.
With a twist of the wrist, he pointed the trident heads of Scal Slea towards the sky, a thunderous rumbling sounding all around him.
His eyes glinted as he remembered a quote from his old life.
"There is always a storm. There's always rain. Some experience it. Some live through it…and others…and others are made from it"
He whispered into the night, his voice taking on a soothing, lilting quality that carried through the howling raging winds.
A thin streak of lightning erupted from the middle spearhead into the heavens that shook the earth underneath, the muddy earth that was torn from ground remained in the air, caught in the maelstrom, in the vortex of his lightning and his magic.
He stood with firm legs planted underneath him, his hand tightly coiled onto the spear as a beam of condensed, millions of volts streamed out of his spear into the sky whilst thousands of lightning strikes struck the earth around him before his eyes turned towards Genelum just as the beam stopped.
Fila piercing cry tore through the loud howls of the storm and the lightning strikes ceased, momentarily, deceptively, at the same time as the beam of energy stopped.
He raised his free hand above his hand, his hand clenched tightly and yet trembling so very slightly. A grim smile grew on his face just as he felt the immense anticipation that was being emitted from Fila.
At the same time as he unfurled his hand, the tendrils of lightning that made up Fila's body in the sky encompassed a massive section of the sky and just as suddenly lightning lashed down at Genelum Castle, the protective wards flaring massively as huge quantities of power struck at them. Concussive explosions reverberated for miles around as the wards were hit again and again and again relentlessly, the beautifully interwoven strands of magic buckling but holding out against the barrage of strikes.
Atticus twisted his spear ninety degrees so that the tip of the trident spearheads was perpendicular to him, pointing them towards Genelum.
The wards would hold out for some time, likely hours upon hours if he was unable to match the magical pulsation frequency of the wards. It was fortunate, then, that he knew what Genelum Castle's wards pulsation frequency was. As he eyed the constant strikes at the wards, he'd known for a little while he would be unable to repeat the achievement that Grindelwald had done with Durmstrang, at least for now, for the intricate nature of collapsing the wards in such a way required precision and excellent coordination of hundreds of men and it was something he did not have.
Not even he or Fila were capable of directing lightning that precisely but what they were capable of was that they could get close and simply overpower the wards with a sudden and intense display of power whilst the lightning strikes were overloading in locations that he and she were roughly directing the lightning to.
The penalty of it would be high, even higher than he'd confessed to his men. But it would be one he would pay for victory.
His eyes gleamed as his face set in hardened resolve.
The tips of his trident spears glowed radiantly as tightening his hold on the connection he created with Fila and the world surrounding them. He set his jaw a little harder as his eyes glowed even brighter.
His spear trembled as he channelled the magic, the potential power he held into it. He drew back ScalSlea, the pressure within him building up as the lightning that surrounded him grew dull, less as he diverted more and more of his magic and intent into the spear.
His robes fluttered in the heavy gusts of wind as he stood in the epicentre of a vortex of arcane energy and lightning, his purple green aura entwined with the brilliant white glow of lightning.
With a outcry he stabbed his spear forward and nothing occurred for a split second until the very air exploded almost lifting him off his feet.
Three thick tendrils of lightning spewed forward from the tips of the trident, a whizzing, buzzing sound echoed through the air as lightning cut across the air. He felt the pure power that was coursing through him, through the spear as it struck against the wards of Genelum and an almost eerie gong sounded in the valley of plains as the beams of energy hit the wards.
The whizzing, buzzing sound of the three beams dominated air, the sounds of the resistance of the wards a faint echo. His eyes captured the interwoven wards snapping one after the other, the strength of the ward breaking as time went by.
The air burnt and he could smell the smell of ozone grow stronger as time went by but he had to endure, he had to strip the wards if they were to succeed.
He felt the strain, the consequences of channelling as much nature magic as he was in this moment. He felt his body straining to repair his body as he continued to channel more than he'd ever, the fast dwindling of his magical core that was alarming to him as it continued at a rate he was so unfamiliar with.
He persevered.
Even as his knees buckled, even as his breath grew ragged and his chest pained, even as his arms began to tremble and his vision began to cloud.
He preserved.
The earth was cracked from the force of the magic, patches of earth rose and swirled around him amidst the sea and tendrils of magic and lightning.
His eyes remained fixed on Genelum Castle, the castle besieged by lightning. He did not know how much time had passed, it could be ten seconds, it could be an hour but he saw the interweaved strands of the wards break faster now, the brilliant kaleidoscope of wards growing more and more lessened in colour as wards collapsed until he saw only the most powerful siege wards remain.
His eyes flickered to the skies, his attention grabbed by the great manifestation that Fila was creating still as she directed lightning strikes at the Castle. He could barely see her, his eyes straining to see clearly. He closed his eyes and focused on the bond. He felt in his bond that she was tiring, that she was growing steadily weaker and it reflected in the reduction of the lightning strikes.
His arm holding the spear was trembling more and more now, his arm growing numb. He could feel it, he was close to his limit.
He felt the stability of his channelling of nature magic slipping from him, the possibility of fatal consequence rising each second.
He breathed out a breathless sigh, his warm breath caught in the veritable maelstrom of magic and lightning that surrounded him.
He saw that the wards were almost torn down…it was time for one last push.
Lightning crackled around his form, the tendrils and webs of lightning danced around him as he gripped his spear with all his remaining strength.
Lightning continued to spew at Genelum as time and space fell away, his eyes closing once more as he reached deep within himself. The sounds of thunder clapping, the harsh sounds of the rain pelting the world around him fell away as he immersed himself into the magic of the world, into the system of complex magical and natural interactions, willing himself to be the conduit of lightning so he could eek out more power for one final push.
He reopened his eyes, his hazy vision focused on the tri beam that was being spewed from his spear and pushed one final time.
He was the centre, the heart of the storm. He felt the atmospheric pressure, the moisture in the air, the electrical charge that he could influence.
He reminded himself that the heavens were his to control, his to manipulate and he willed himself to bring this understanding into existence.
All of that potential, all of that charge was within him in that moment, he felt himself overflowed with power. Lightning no longer danced around him, his aura was reduced to but a pittance of what it was moments before, all of it centred into this final attack, the last elements of his power focused on one single goal.
The floating balls of mud and earth dropped back to where they belonged and he felt himself becoming drenched in rain as his magic no longer provided a barrier against the elements.
The tri beam grew in thickness, magic coiling around the length of the spear and he felt something come unshackled, the last tendrils of control loosened as the tri beam converged into a single beam wider than his body. His bones rattled from the force of the pure power that he was unleashing but, somehow, he remained firmly footed on the ground.
The beam detonated and Atticus followed the beam towards Genelum Castle and the final wards were stripped away as the wards collapsed and were violently destroyed, the beam scything into the stone of the castle before he forcibly closed the connection and angling away the spear from the castle.
Fila's piercing cry sounded out before she too tore away her connection to nature magic.
He felt weak, weaker than he's felt in a very long time and he stumbled before he fell to the ground, to his knees.
His last glance went to the castle and in the destroyed section of the castle, he could see flashes of light and he smiled.
'I succeeded' was his last thought as he fell forward but just before he succumbed to the sweet embrace of darkness, he felt arms wrapping around him.
-Break-
Charlus Potter POV
He stood at the bank of the river, his eyes gazing at the…show before him.
"Unbelievable isn't it?" a familiar voice said from behind him and he twisted around. Albert Bones was looking at him as he walked and closed the gap before he stopped next to him, a metre away, and turned his head away, glancing towards the storm some kilometres away from him.
A storm that spawned out of nowhere as they had waited. It was centred on Genelum, the sudden and power of the storm had been shocking to witness.
He wasn't the only one. Both Bones' and Silas Merek's teams were gazing at the unnatural lightning storm before them.
"I've read some books of my ancestors, the men who'd battled against savage Norsemen in their time, of legends and sagas their enemy proudly claimed heritage to." Bones said in a sombre tome.
"Ah, Longbottom's ancestors?" Charlus said with forced levity as he glanced at the man. Bones forced a grim smile.
The cracking of the thunder nearly drowned out his words and the increased flashes of lightning forced him to turn around and gaze in the same direction all of the others were.
"And this reminds of that?" Charlus asked in a restraint tone, having lost any desire for humour.
Bones chuckled mirthlessly "Oh it does." Charlus didn't have to see him to know that he was shaking his head. "My ancestors had written down that the invading Norse didn't show the strength their supposed ancestors were capable of but they had been capable of powerful elemental magic, even if it wasn't near as flexible as the magic as the mages of Britain were capable of. They'd chalked it up as their enemies simply inflating the achievements of their ancestors"
Charlus remained silent and minutes passed. The lightning strikes grew in volume and were had begun to strike at the castle.
"I hadn't believed his words, you know?" Bones said monotonously.
Charlus turned his head slightly and glanced back and saw Bones' face set in stone in the corner of his eyes.
"That he was capable of what he claimed, even as he showed wandless conjuration of lightning."
Charlus swivelled his head back when he heard a buzzing sound and his eyes widened in shock as he saw three beams hitting the wards of Genelum.
"Tha-…That's" one of the men struggled to say.
"It wasn't because I believed him to be a liar." Bones continued, his voice slightly more stilted. "But because I hadn't wanted to believe that someone could do what he claimed."
Charlus understood his thoughts completely. To think that an eighteen year old had this power…
Charlus stood transfixed at the unrelenting lightning strikes, pounding at the wards like medieval rams battering away at their natural enemies.
Perhaps that was not the correct analogy, the correct images to conjure up. No…this was far more ominous. No…this was akin to a forest fire…a natural enemy of forests of life, sweeping away all that lived as fires raged to consume all in its path.
His eyes took in the sight as he stood mesmerised, perturbed but mesmerised nonetheless. It was a beautiful sight, the sight of thousands of tendrils of glowing white light descending down from the heavens.
An amusing thought passed in his mind, the idea of the greater the beauty the greater and more terrible it could be…tended to be.
As he watched the storm increase in intensity, his face grew grimmer. He wondered what that meant for Atticus Sayre, the man capable of creating such terrible beauty?
"Makes you wonder if the legends of mages of days past might actually be truer than we thought" Charlus added, attempting to detract his thoughts away from the disturbing thoughts he was having.
Bones hummed in agreement as silence fell as they watched the ridiculous display of power in front of them.
The three beams coalesced into a single beam wider than the three combined.
"It's a good thing that most of it is lost to history" Charlus muttered, his attempts at suppressing the horrified awe he was feeling not quite being pulled off as he hoped.
They watched until they saw the wards collapse, the audible shattering of the wards and the subsequent destruction of a portion of the castle before the beam was stopped.
Bones turned to him, his face grimmer than he'd seen before "On that, we are both agreed." He turned away from Charlus and walked towards the rest of the men who stood gobsmacked.
"Lord Sayre has done his bit, men, now shall we do ours?!" Bones roared as he raised his wand above his head.
This snapped the men out of their daze and Silas Merrek picked up from where Bones left off "Knights of Mimpost" he shouted "Shall we show them their errors of ways or not?!"
"Knights of Mimpost!" they chanted and soon enough they were at the entrance of one of the secret escape tunnels. They prepared the aerosols and had cast bubblehead charms in preparation. The more they took down without a fight, the better their chances were.
He stopped by the entrance as the last man to go through, his mind suddenly fixated on a train of thought.
'Why has he sought magicks like this?'
Atticus Sayre was playing a greater game and Charlus knew he needed to find out what it was. He might be an ally, a friend even but that was not enough for him to trust him completely.
No one sought such power without having reasons and he'd vowed to discover it. He did not believe Atticus to be like Grindelwald but the similarities were too high to ignore. For his ease of mind, for the safety of their world for it could not endure another war like this, he needed to know and he would know, he would make sure of it.
He palmed his wand, gripping it tightly as his magic roiled underneath his skin, ill at ease, before he took a deep breath and ran after the rest of his comrades.
-Break-
Lockhart POV
The rumbling laughter of Harfang bounced off the walls of the castle passageways as they battled against their enemies.
The wide passageways they traversed made anything other than direct combat a moot point. They'd managed to subdue almost a hundred men with the potion gas before they encountered the first lot of resistance that made subterfuge an impossibility.
Harfang relished it as he'd bemoaned the easiness of it all, claiming that 'storming a castle shouldn't be this easy' so when spells were fired, he'd actually celebrated, the mad fool.
It wasn't hard to believe that he was of Viking stock. He certainly drank like it anyway.
Harfang slid underneath a curse before he bounced on the stone floor, up high in the air just below the ceiling before he conjured a dark red flame whip that he lashed out at one of the men which took off the man's upper arm and part of his head, cauterising the wounds, not that it mattered as the man was dead on his feet.
Lockhart conjured marble tiles and intercepted several curses as Harfang descended back to the stone floor, whooping and laughing as he did. Harfang rolled back onto his feet, shield raised whilst he sprinted forward, a manic grin on his face.
"Yes, there's something wrong with the fool" Lockhart mumbled under his breath as he ducked under a spell before he snapped off his wand and blasted the fool away with a flourish into the wall, cracking the skull's against the wall.
"DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?" Harfang bellowed with cheer as he bisected two men simultaneously with his signature cutting curse. 'Bastard's supersensory spell is too overpowered for him to hear his mumblings' he thought annoyed to himself.
Harfang dashed forward, his large frame twisting and angling away with an artistry and dexterity that seemed like it didn't belong to a man of his size from the stream of curses that was sent his way, the enemy having identified him as the greater threat.
Well…
At least from the expletive curses that was being spewed from the foul mouthed idiots.
Didn't their mother's teach them not to be so damn disgusting?
'I mean who even thinks of goats like that?' he wondered. He blinked away the disturbing images and returned to the task at hand.
"Just focus on the damn battle, you fool!" Lockhart shouted back, suppressing the feeling of hypocrisy as he whipped his wand around, pivoting on the spot as a door in the passageway smashed open. He instinctively crouched but not before he caught some of the acid from the curse on his shoulder that was eating through his dragonskin robes.
He snapped off a series of curses, bludgeoning, blasting and concussive curses before he quickly pointed his wand at his shoulder and conjured magnesium oxide which neutralises the acid and in the same movement, returned to point his wand at the man who shielded against the stream of curses and cast three shield breaker spells in a few seconds before he followed up with a piercing curse aimed at the man's head.
The shield breakers broke through the man's shields but he ducked out of the just in time but not before it caught him in the wand arm sending his wand clattering to the floor.
"I-I surrender" the man stammered. Lockhart looked at the man for a short moment, the brown haired man looked at him pleadingly.
Lockhart glanced around him.
Paulson and Riddick teamed up together, their fighting stances meshing well as they mowed down man after man as they combined their attacks and defences.
Jackson was backing up Ferris as he delivered the killing blows whilst Ferris countered and returned spells, something he was doing almost effortlessly given that he was one of the best in defensive magic whilst Jackson was the most ruthless in dealing with enemies.
Now that they lost Toliddle, the rare someone that Jackson actually did like, he doubted he'd loosened up on the ruthlessness.
He returned his eyes back to the pleading man. "I-I know things, I c-can help" he beseeched Lockhart.
"Where are the prisoners?" He asked sharply with narrowed eyes.
"T-they're on the top floor" the man blurted out as he held his bleeding shoulder, his eyes hopeful.
With a cold gaze, he raised his wand, the tip glowing menacingly blood red.
"W-w-WAIT" the man screamed as he scrambled away with desperation in his eyes, horror showing on his face "I can tell you more" he cried out desperately as he tried to get to his feet "THERES M-" Lockhart cast a piercing hex into the man's chest.
Mercy right now was foolish. They'd already been merciful enough with the knocked out enemy combatants, having stripped, tied up and transfigured into marble balls.
He frowned slightly. Maybe he should have let him finish his sentence he mused thoughtfully. He shook his head. 'No, it was the desperation of a man trying to save himself' he thought to himself.
"Lockhart, get your ARSE up here, I can hear Parkinson having all the fun on the next floor. I'll be damned if I let him pull ahead in the tally!" Harfang bellowed in the distance causing Lockhart to look up from the dead body just in time to hear explosions ring out that almost was overshadowed by the mad laugh of Longbottom.
He sighed a long suffering sigh
"Next time I'm asking to be paired with Parkinson" he muttered. At least that man won't be talking out of his arse all the time. He surveyed the cavernous passageways and saw the devastation that was dealt, in particular spied at the various mutilated and broken forms of their enemies.
It was clear they weren't the best, much to their fortune. They were nowhere near as skilled as most of the men they'd fought in France which was beginning to make clear to him that this might just be a glorified prison.
His grip of his wand slackened as he set himself and ran after the form of Jackson that he saw in the distance.
-Break-
Jean Delacour POV
He gasped as he picked himself up from the cold floor. He'd been listening to the growing storm outside these castle walls until it suddenly turned far more turbulent. He stumbled and his hands as an extra set of feet to stabilise himself as the castle shook again and again. He heard agitated and if he dared think, fearful shouts from outside his door.
He rushed towards the heavy door that caged him in this abominable cell and stuck his ear to the door.
The faint sounds of a wicked storm were in the backdrop which was odd but he hadn't focused on that. Was it possible it wasn't just a storm?
"Jean" He heard faintly but he focused on the voices outside of the door but he could not hear anything intelligible.
"..Th…Won't….last!" He growled in frustration. The voices were all too distant for him to hear and when it was clear enough for him to hear, it was mostly men rushing away to somewhere.
"Jean"
He closed his eyes "Go…Prepar…"
"JEAN!"
He stomped across the cell towards the small hole in the wall, dropping to his knees, almost falling as the castle shook even more violently as it had been.
"What Christopher?! I'm trying to listen to what's going on!" He said annoyed at his friend.
"And what do you think I'm trying to do here?" His caustic sarcastic voice sounded out. Jean suppressed an automatic retort as he latched on his meaning. He leveraged himself against the wall as the castle shook even more, the sound of crumbling stone becoming audible.
"Spit it out" Jean said distractedly as he put his hands on the cold floor, trying to feel how much the outside was affecting the castle was based on the vibrations he'd feel. He wasn't sure if it would help him determine where exactly the castle was being attacked.
"Miguel said he heard one of them say that they're being attacked by an army" Christopher's excitement was tangible and Jean couldn't blame him.
He'd hadn't dared hope…
They would finally get to leave this blasted place. His mind whirled at the thought. But how would they get out? They needed to get out.
Christopher continued "We're being rescued Jean, finally they're coming" he said almost hysterically.
Jean suppressed a wince. Christopher had suffered a lapse not too long ago and his punishment has had…a consequence on his mind. He was teetering and this…rescue couldn't come any sooner.
"Is there a way to get out of our cells?" Jean asked hurriedly.
"I do-" The castle shook violently and Jean was thrown across the room, just about managing to protect his head from cracking against the wall but it left him dazed, his head pounded with a headache that left him barely aware of his surroundings.
The castle rocked again and the next time he awoke he heard the distinct sounds of spell fire in the distance. He shook his head clear of the haziness and got on all fours.
He leaned against the wall as he struggled to his feet. "Christopher?" he asked weakly. He turned his head towards the door and inclined his head slightly, his eyes squinting as he listened to the commotion that he was hearing. The spell fire was drawing nearer if his ears were to be believed.
"Christopher?" He tried again, his voice a little stronger and had a tinge of concern to it.
He got down to the cold floor again and set his face on the disgusting cold floor as he put his eye on the small hole in the wall. "Christopher!" he shouted "Answer me!" he tried but he got no answer back.
The walls shook a little as a huge explosion, one that sounded like a concussive or blasting charm rocked the cell. He rose to his feet quickly as he realised that the fighting was coming this way.
He quickened his steps, hobbling slightly due to the bruises he's sustained during the siege, and desperately listened for anything that might help him out of his hellhole.
-Break-
Charlus Potter POV
The stone floor came alive as Charlus transfigured the stone into wolf packs, setting them to hunt down the stragglers that hid between the makeshift barriers that they've conjured in the main courtyard of the castle.
The tunnels had lead them into the underbelly of the castle that lead into the courtyard they were in now, the central hub of the Castle.
The castle courtyard was square, a hub of activity with an upper tier that overlooked the courtyard.
When they'd used the aerosol gas, they'd managed to knock out most of the enemy men, focusing primarily on those on the upper tier but some had been more aware than others and had caused their ambush to be significantly less effective.
Thankfully the chaos and their honed coordination had allowed them to take out the bulk of them before they could get organised to make it worse than it already was.
Right now, their two teams had teamed up as they had faced greater resistance, the battle having reduced into a slugfest that had them at a significant disadvantage. Fourteen of them faced against sixty but they've managed to reduce that number to just over thirty.
Unfortunately, that also meant that they were far more willing to employ more devastating magic, uncaring of the damage they were causing. Many of their enemy comrades, the ones who had fallen to the gas, had been consumed or killed by spells that had a wide area affect.
The courtyard was ruined, most of the pillars that had supported the upper tier had crumbled except for two segments that were still standing. Fires had consumed most of the permanent and temporary structures their enemies had used leaving a barren and destroyed courtyard that hosted almost a dozen separate battles.
He swept his wand in a wide arc, conjuring a wall of stone to absorb the curses that flew at him in three different directions before he rolled out of the way from the debris.
He felt his control over his wolves snap but not before he could at least attribute one successful attack. He was about to get to get to his feet but not before he was spotted.
One of them saw him roll out of the way and sent off a dark yellow curse at him that was intercepted by a hawk that exploded on contact.
He glanced to his right from where the hawk came from and saw that it was Merrick who nodded at him before he ran off and joined one of the other men who'd come under pressure by several enemies.
He quickly got to his feet and sent off a spell chain at the man who stood on higher ground. The man disappeared hastily before any of the curses could get but Charlus quickly dodged out of the way from two curses that had converged on him.
He hurled a sickly orange curse, a fast curse that would liquefy skin and hair before he twisted and twirled his wand and created a dozen hyenas and directed them to attack one of them. He ducked and pivoted on the spot and raised a shield just in time to absorb a black curse that he didn't recognise but could see was nasty.
The shield cracked but held much to his surprise as he hadn't faced anyone that strong yet that could almost get through his shield.
He looked and eyed the man who sent the curse. It was a tall dark haired figure, with a rugged and stern face. His pale blue eyes were murderous.
Before he could speak, the man, faster than anyone he'd yet faced sent off half a dozen curses in quick fashion.
Charlus was already spinning before the second curse left the man's wand, his body honed through months of battle responding to the threat before him, and he swivelled and twisted his wand arm in a upward motion batting away the first curse before doing it again and again before he twisted out of the way of the fourth curse and in the same motion as he side stepped the next two curses, he brandished his wand with practiced disciplined movement and conjured in quick speed two dozen ice spears that he sent hurling at the dark haired man.
The man narrowed his eyes and flashed his wand upward, an immense wall of dark blue flames rose up from the ground immediately melting the spears as they crossed into it. With a sweep, the man cancelled the flames and slowly strode forward, his wand at the ready, his wand arm perpendicular to the man's wide but strong body.
Charlus stepped out of the way as a blasting curse sailed past him. Rubble exploded once the curse hit one of the near walls and with a quick twist of the wrist, he transfigured the debris into 10 inch knives and sent them hurling back in the direction where the knives had come from before he hastily ducked out of the way from another organ liquefying curse.
A cry of agony signalled that his knives had hit so he turned to the one who'd sent that curse at him but he hadn't needed to as one of his comrades took him out.
Charlus kept moving as he kept an eye out on the dark haired man who had continued casting at him. Charlus stilled and hastily back tracked as he let a searing curse that left a large gash in the stone floor pass him by before he snapped his wand and return with a series of blindingly fast piercing curses before he twirled his wand and began to conjure hundreds of arrows and had them shot towards the dark haired man.
The man danced around the piercing curses, each motion leading into a curse flying from the tip of his wand keeping Charlus on the move. The dark haired man with contemptuous ease stilled the arrows mid-air before he transfigured them with a flick into five-inch steel balls before with another flick sent them careening at Charlus.
Charlus hastily conjured a shield and his shield cracked and shattered but had given him enough to dodge the last few balls but the dark haired man had other ideas as the steel balls changed direction and bludgeoned into Charlus, sending him flying backwards in the air, out of control and in pain. He managed to just about turned himself around and had cast a weak concussive hex to change his direction to avoid crashing into the burning remnants of a tent and he crashed into some rubble.
He cursed as he got to his feet and spotted the fires that had surrounded him and the dark haired man were shifting unnaturally before they were spiralling towards the man.
The fires spiralled as the dark haired man twisted and twirled his wand, the fires growing whiter and hotter with each twist of the wand. Charlus could feel the heat even from the distance he was at.
He could feel the malicious nature of the fire, not quite overwhelmingly so but it was definitely one of the darker variants.
He grew grim and got into a defensive posture, the tip of his wand glowing white blue, a spell on the tip of his lips.
The fires coalesced into a miniature spiralling firestorm that emitted heat wave after heat wave, the stone that was directly below it was red hot stone more puddle water like than anything solid and it was growing.
Their eyes met and the dark haired man's eyes darkened. The man's power wasn't insignificant, Charlus saw the shimmering magic that the man was creating. With a simple flick,"Flammasectum" he intoned out in a distinctly Germanic accent.
The white hot flames grew torrential and grew wildly before the tip of the firestorm swivelled around and dashed towards Charlus.
Charlus straightened himself out, his wand tip glowing brilliantly blue white before he shifted himself, ever so slightly and in a quick motion twisted his wand in a wide circle repeatedly, the air surrounding him being sucking into the vacuum he was creating. By the time the torrential fire closed the gap, the vacuum was pulling in every direction and with a flick, he sent it to meet the torrential flame.
The white hot spiralling flames broke and distorted as the ball of vacuum that was ejected into the mass of fire. The snuffing of the fires, the pressure differences between the centre of the vacuum and the fires created a concussive wave that blasted in all directions before.
The dark haired man scowled angrily and they began to exchange volleys of spells in earnest. Charlus ducked and weaved his way out of the spells, not wanting to waste magical strength and getting himself cornered by shielding but he wasn't having an easy time of it.
The man's speed was impressive, incredibly so and his defences were just as good. They ripped and tore through the surroundings, broken rubbles that had been transfigured into creatures or weapons laid between them, dark curses tainted the stone floor between them as they fought with ferocity.
Charlus spun out of the way of a flesh eating curse and brandished his wand and created a curtain of smoke immediately that obscured the field and with a small twist and jab created a small dagger that he sped towards the man whilst in the same motion transfigured the smoke and created a large spear that he sent towards the man's leg.
The man dodged out of the way of the spear but he saw the dagger a moment too late and screamed in pain and rage as the dagger cut into his face and eviscerated most of his left ear. The wound was gnarly and his face was bleeding freely before he with a silent motion cauterised the wound, the slight wince the only indication that it hurt.
Charlus breathed deeply and took the brief respite as a chance to look around.
The battles around them were slowly being concluded, Charlus could see that clearly. He took the moment to smirk a little as he returned both eyes to the wounded dark haired man. "Your side certainly has dwindled" he remarked lightly.
The dark haired man snarled in rage as his eyes looked around before returning to Charlus, hatred apparent in his gaze.
Charlus' hairs tingled in the build of magic and he stiffened slightly before the dark haired man began casting in a frenzy, the spells that spewed from the man's wand were far darker and destructive than before, most of it would result in a painful death.
Charlus got into a rhythm, weaving and ducking out of the wave, his body shifting with fluidity that was wearing on his body. The dark haired man gave him no reprieve to cast back and Charlus stumbled momentarily and was hit with a dark shearing spell that him on the thigh.
Charlus gasped out in pain as he was sent flying into the air before he smashed back into the ground, absorbing the impact with a well-timed roll.
"Obludio" the dark haired man snarled as the purple red curse sped towards Charlus who was still on the floor. He hastily rolled out of the way but was sent flying again when he decided to take a concussive curse over a cutting curse.
Charlus struggled to deal with the incoming salvo of curses as he managed to get back to his feet, his movement restricted as the wounds began to pile up.
"Fianti Duro" Charlus muttered under his breath as he shielded against a bone stripping curse. The shield held before he cancelled it and began to cast back at the dark haired man.
Charlus sent an array of spells at the man, all of them intended to kill the man as Charlus realised the situation he was in. The dark haired man knew that he had the advantage and he unrelentingly seized even as he dodged, batted away and countered the spells that were sent his way.
Charlus ducked out of a piercing curse that the dark haired man batted back to him and Charlus tripped over some rubble, breaking him out of the rhythm he'd established.
"Avada Kedavra" The dark haired man sent his wave and Charlus' eyes widened. He raised his wand to conjure a stone marble but had been for naught as a hawk flew into the path and exploded.
The dark haired man snarled angrily as his eyes went to the intruder.
"It seemed like you needed some help?" Bones inquired as he walked sedately with his wand raised, his eyes fixed on the dark haired man.
"I had things under control" Charlus said without much heat. In truth, it was pretty damn good that Bones intervened. Charlus chanced looking around and saw that much of the fighting was done. He turned back at the dark haired man and he knew that the man realised this as well given the look of anger on his face.
"I had no doubt" Bones said with an amused smile as he glanced at Charlus. Charlus looked at Bones and saw that despite some gashes on his robes, he looked fairly well. But Charlus could see that it was a façade…There was a slight tremor in Bones' arm that signified his tired state.
"Good fight?" he said to Bones, purposefully ignoring the increasingly angry man.
"It was pretty good" Bones said, understanding the intent "Of course, we'd hoped for higher quality enemy but you know" Bones shrugged "You can only deal with what you have"
Bones side stepped an acid yellow curse that flew in his direction.
"Rude" Charlus said with twitching lips. That curse had been a particularly nasty flesh burning curse if he was right. Terrible way to go.
This mockery set the man off and Charlus could see that there was a curse on the tip of the man's lips but he seemed to change his mind as he looked to Charlus' right.
Charlus took a quick glance and saw that Merek was heading their way and turned back to the man.
Charlus stiffened as he saw magic rise from the man, the build up being far too high and too quick. Charlus was about to curse him but not before the man finished.
"CORACIS" the dark haired man roared out and a wide dark blue curse spewed from the man's wand that had Charlus eyes widen. The curse wasn't heading their way but rather right in front of them.
"Fu-" Bones said in a alarmed voice but not before the curse struck right in front of them, tearing apart the ground in front of them and sent them both sailing in the air with the rubble.
Groggily, he opened and closed his eyes, his ears ringing, not quite aware if he'd fallen unconscious or not. He felt a slap on his face and then another.
"Wakey wakey" he heard Prewitt say. He glanced at the man who was looking at him amused.
"Fuck off" he sighed out tiredly causing Prewitt to laugh. Prewitt extended his hand and pulled Charlus up.
Charlus looked around and saw that the damage that curse had done was not insignificant.
"Yeah, your friend definitely left a mark" Prewitt scoffed before he grew serious "He's escaped if you wanted to know"
"Damn" Charlus said in a tired sigh as he stumbled a little. Prewitt put a strong hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah" Prewitt agreed "Definitely not the best one to have let go"
Charlus glared at Prewitt "As if I wanted to"
Prewitt chuckled but said nothing further on the subject. Charlus surveyed the destroyed courtyard which was nothing like what it was before they started the battle.
He looked around and saw most of the men but he did see quite a few missing "How many died?"
Prewitt grew serious and sombre "Three." Prewitt listed out the names and Charlus clenched his teeth. All things considered it wasn't many but they all were growing closer as time went. All of them had saved each other's lives at some point or another.
"Have we won?" Charlus asked, changing the subject.
"Not completely, not yet. There are some floors we need to clear out but it seems quite a number of the enemy had tucked tail and run, not unlike your friend." Prewitt explained.
He slapped around Prewitt's hand "Stop saying he's my friend" Charlus said annoyed.
Prewitt ignored it "In any case, if you're in any shape to continue, we've got to secure the rest of the castle"
"I'll be fine to continue after a few numbing charms" Charlus said before he palmed his wand and waved said charms over himself.
"Suit yourself" Prewitt said with a shrug and walked over to the other men who were securing a few prisoners.
-Break-
Jean Delacour POV
Jean stood at the back of his cell, in the corner, his eyes warily eying the door as he stood in a defensive posture.
The door was blasted open and Jean winced a little before he squinted and looked into newly created door. The dust began to settle and he could see a tall figure standing there with his wand raised.
"Qui es-tu?" Jean demanded as he strode forward.
"Ah look Parkinson, we've got a Frenchie here!" A distinctly English voice boomed out. The dust cleared and he could see a tall wide man with a grin on his face. Jean looked at the man's robes and could see it tattered and with more than just a little bit of blood splatter on his robes.
Jean scowled "Of course I had to be rescued by an English barbarian" he muttered even if he was almost smiling as he exited the cell.
He hadn't heard anything about the British Ministry joining the war. Despite the acrimony he felt for the British and their arrogance, he was pleased to know that the British had joined the war. Grindelwald and his followers would not be able to deal with thousands more. He was sure of it. This rescue was sign after all.
He eyed the hallway and saw the damages that the fight had caused in the distance before the corner. He looked past the men who'd opened the door and saw that several cells were being opened by the other rescuers.
The tall man laughed heartily "Ah a frog with a sense of humour" Jean looked affronted at the insult but the man didn't notice. Jean wouldn't comment that he did actually mean it anyway. The tall figure scrutinised him for a moment "Well, you look reasonably fit" he paused for a moment, a true wince came across his face as he turned away from him "Well, compared to some of the other's in this hellhole"
That snapped Jean out of it and walked past the man in a slightly fast pace and into the next cell. Jean looked at the broken door for a moment before he stepped into the room.
Jean's eyes widened. "Ah" he heard behind him and he swivelled around. The man who was with the tall figure was behind him "It seemed that the fighting below your floor was a little…more destructive" the Englishman said delicately.
Jean gritted his teeth "The man" he turned around and pointed at the destroyed cell. The cell floor was blown apart and had crumbled onto the floor below. Half of the floor was gone as was some of the outer wall. "The man that was in this cell" he turned around and met the Englishman's gaze "Where is he?" he demanded.
Jean was angry, the stress he'd been in, in hope for the rescue, was boiling over and he had no desire to mess around.
The Englishman eyed him, his cool eyes surveying him with intense focus. "He died in the cross fire." The man said without much care but Jean didn't care.
Christoper…Christopher was dead. The one man who he'd hoped to ensure would be able to escape this dump with…the man who'd helped keep his sanity.
He walked out of the cell in a daze.
"Jean?" he heard, someone calling him with a Spanish sounding accent. He dazedly turned around and a brown haired man with brown eyes, slightly emaciated was in front of him.
"Yes?" he said tiredly.
The man crossed the gap and walked up to him and extended his calloused hand "I'm Miguel" he said and his eyes flickered to the cell behind him before they snapped back at him "Miguel Alcaranta. I-I" he began "I'm sorry about Christopher" the man said in a pained voice. "He was a good man" he said before he smiled a brittle smile "A bit loco but good nonetheless"
Jean nodded sharply "He was" he said simply, his voice wavering slightly.
"His…his b-body?" Jean questioned the man.
Miguel's eyes were downcast "We haven't found it yet, I only got released not long before you. The spells on the doors" he shook his head.
The least Jean could do is get Christopher's body to his father…to his family.
"ALRIGHT BOYS!" he heard bellowed and he turned his head towards the direction.
"Who is that man" Jean said warily. Miguel chuckled "That is Lord Longbottom, an English noble"
"He is a noble?" Jean asked a little incredulous and Miguel laughed. He knew a little about the British Lords, especially the Most Ancient and Ancient houses but this man definitely wasn't what he imagined. He looked more like a brute than a noble.
"THE BATTLE IS NOT YET OVER, THERE ARE STILL SOME BASTARDS THAT COULD DO WITH KNOCKING OUT" Longbottom threw a bag on a table, wands clattering on it as they dropped from the bag. "THESE ARE WANDS WE'VE TAKEN FROM THE CRETINS SO HELP YOURSELF. NO DOUBT MANY OF YOU WANT TO EXACT SOME REVENGE ON THEM, EH?" the boisterous man laughed.
Jean's eyes darkened. He strode forward, moving past the former prisoners, most of them were in worse shape than he was. He walked up and it took several tries before he got a more than average match. It would do.
He glanced for the last time at Christopher's cell. "I'm sorry my friend." He whispered before he took on a stony look and followed the men into battle. He was in no great condition to fight but from the sounds of it, most of it was done, mere pockets left that needed to be flushed out. His eyes flashed and his hand gripped tightly on his new wand.
There were many debts that needed to be paid and he'd go and collect.
