Opening Doors
For Eric Dawson, the next few seconds happened very quickly. The instant the door closed behind the wizard with the cold blue eyes, the four other wizards looked between themselves and started speaking in Russian. He assumed they were figuring out who would have the honor of killing them.
Rosier kicked him in the ankle, harder than before. He glanced over and Rosier looked at him and then at the two Russians nearest Dawson. Once Dawson blinked his understanding, Rosier grinned and leaned the bench all the way forward, knocking it to the floor and sending them both leaping towards the Russians.
Dawson caught a glimpse of the silver dagger Dolohov had given to Rosier as he dropped to the floor to avoid a killing curse and rolled towards the two wizards nearest him. He lunged at the robes of the closest one, tugging as hard as he could while grabbing at the wizard’s heel. The action sent the Russian toppling to the ground. There was a roar of angry Russian and Dawson dove out of the way as the other wizard growled another killing curse. The jet of green light missed Dawson and hit the Russian he had tripped to the ground. He didn’t have time to believe his luck, rolling to his feet to stay on the move.
“Eric!” he heard Rosier shout. He looked to see Rosier fling his wand towards him and jump over the table, ducking in time as a curse was shouted. Dawson bolted towards it, but kept his eyes on the wand that had fallen from the grasp of the dead Russian. His own wand landed near the corpse of the Russian, and the remaining wizard barked a spell at it, sending Dawson’s wand shooting far across the room.
But Dawson snatched up the wand of the dead Russian just as he heard Rosier shout a spell and the table exploded.
Protego! He screamed the spell inside his head and the nonverbal Shield Charm jumped into being as splinters of wood flew everywhere, taking the two remaining Russians by surprise. Dawson focused on the bearded one who had been sending Avada Kedavra at him moments ago. The Russian had instinctively thrown his arms up in response to the table exploding, forgetting about the wand in his hand.
Dawson heard Rosier shout “Avada Kedavra!” at the exact moment he did. Green light was everywhere — Dawson squeezed his eyes shut and heard two heavy thumps. When silence returned, he opened his eyes and found himself standing before dead bodies. He lowered the wand and realized he was impressed that his hands were not shaking.
Sucking in a deep breath, he looked over at Rosier. There was blood on his face and he spat out a few teeth to give Dawson a broken smile.
“Don’t let Antonin know he saved our lives by giving me that dagger,” Rosier said, stepping over pieces of the table towards the Russian lying on the floor in a heap of blood. The dark handle of the dagger could be seen sticking from the wizard’s abdomen. Rosier reached down and tugged it clean out before he took a step back in shock.
“Bloody hell, this bloke’s still alive.”
Dawson used the Russian’s wand to summon his own. It flew into his hand and he sighed, comforted by having his own wand back in his hand where it belonged. He rubbed his sore jaw and winced. “Be nice and put him out of his misery, then?”
Rosier grunted a curse and flicked his wand. There was a squelching sound and a thud as the Russian’s throat was slit clean through and his head dropped. Dawson snapped the Russian’s wand in half and let it fall to the floor near its owner, stepping over the bodies of two wizards who had just tried to kill them. It gave him a visceral, triumphant thrill to do so — a feeling he relished in.
“We should get out of here,” said Rosier, glancing around the destroyed room. “I don’t want to be here when that bloke comes back looking for your head. And mine.”
“Yeah,” Dawson said, blood racing as he darted towards the door leading to the corridor. With a spell, he locked it beyond the simple Alohomora and turned back to Rosier.
“C’mon,” he said, moving around the bodies of the Russians. He pointed at the small door he had spotted earlier.
“Brilliant,” Rosier spat out a mouthful of blood and they bolted across the room towards the door. Dawson tugged on the circular iron handle. The door refused to budge so he muttered “Alohomora” and found himself surprised when the door clicked. Rosier moved to the side of the door, dagger and wand ready, as Dawson cracked it open, revealing a dark room.
“Lumos,” he whispered, flicking his wand and sending the ball of light through the door. There was nothing but dozens of wooden barrels and crates, stacked all the way to the ceiling — and another door.
“Empty,” he said and there was a loud banging on the door that led to the corridor.
“Perfect,” Rosier said and pushed him through the door. They stumbled into the dark room and Rosier closed and locked the door behind them just as they heard a loud explosion from the room they had just left, followed by a lot of panicked shouting in Russian.
“Fuck,” breathed Rosier. Dawson rushed towards the other door in the room and yanked on the handle. It refused to budge so he began to mutter a spell but Rosier nearly slammed his fist through the door. It flew open, revealing a narrow staircase leading to a lower floor. Dawson stared at Rosier in astonishment.
Rosier grinned through bloodstained teeth. “I guess it’s push not pull.”
“We’ve been walking for hours,” Adolphus Lestrange groaned. He and Zacharias Nott had crept down the long corridor to the right of the entrance hall and come across nothing but rusty suits of armor and the occasional unlit torch.
“It hasn’t been that long,” muttered Nott, rolling his eyes as they strolled along. He pointed ahead of them, making his voice as sarcastic as possible. “Look! A staircase!”
“Most exciting thing we’ve seen yet,” said Lestrange, sprinting ahead of Nott to arrive at the bottom of the stairs. He stared up and then looked back at Nott, who quickly joined him. It was a circular staircase that looked like it had been carved into the stone of the castle itself. It wound up and up as far as Nott could see until it melted into darkness. He caught a glimpse of a few wooden doors along the way.
“After you,” Lestrange bowed to him. Nott snorted.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said and began to climb. Lestrange followed close behind.
“I can’t believe I got stuck with you for this,” complained Lestrange. “You’re too. . . too serious. I supposed you’re concocting all sorts of strategies in your head right now, like this is chess or something bloody ridiculous. How come I couldn’t get to go exploring with Eric — my bloody best man?”
“Probably because you two would do something bloody mental,” said Nott. He was well aware Lord Voldemort’s splitting of the dream team, Eric and Adolphus, was intentional. The two constantly seemed like they’d given trouble itself a love potion.
Lestrange huffed behind him as they continued climbing.
“This whole thing is bloody mental,” said Lestrange. “We’re in an ancient castle, trying to find Quidditch teams that are being held hostage by a bunch of crazies. How the hell you keep fourteen Quidditch players hostage is beyond me, mate. Especially if one of them is the bloody princess of catastrophe herself.”
“Guess it’s a good thing we brought you and Eric along,” said Nott. “Mental is probably what we’ll need.”
They were silent as they kept climbing. When they approached the first door, they paused to catch their breath. Lestrange tugged on the rusty handle. It did not move, so he muttered a quick Alohomora and it popped open. Wand up and ready for a fight, Lestrange stepped through the doorway but let out a yelp and scrambled backwards, slamming the door shut.
He laughed sheepishly. “Took me by surprise.”
“What was it?” asked Nott, he’d only caught a glimpse of darkness and a gleam of metal beyond the door.
“Dead body,” reported Lestrange, now sounding amused. “Drawn up by its ankles, looked like.”
“A dead body,” Nott repeated slowly.
“Well,” Lestrange waved a hand. “A skeleton. Must’ve been dead for years — centuries, even.”
“Right, well that’s no use to us, so let’s keep going.” Nott turned and continued up the stairs.
When they arrived at the next door, Nott reached out to open it this time. Rust fell off the circular handle at his touch, turning his palm a reddish brown color. He wiped it on his robes, ignoring Lestrange’s snickers, and used his wand to open the door. It swung open to reveal a dark corridor leading deeper into the castle.
“Lumos!” he muttered, allowing his wand to illuminate the corridor. Ancient suits of armor lined the corridor, the metal of their helmets and cuirasses gleaming from his lit wand. It was dead silent, motes of dust floating through the air. Lestrange pushed by him to peer down the empty hallway for himself. He made a disappointed noise and stepped away. Nott closed the door.
“Do you think we’re even gonna have to kill anyone?” Lestrange asked, “I haven’t even seen a single bloody Russian in this castle-”
Nott never had a chance to respond. The next door up the staircase flew open and there was shouting in a tongue he recognized as Russian. They both froze, staring up the stairs as three figures robed in red and black burst onto the stairs. Upon sighting them, the wizards paused, and silence sliced through the corridor as there was a brief stare off between the two on the lower level and the three on the upper level.
Then one of the Russians drew his wand and flung a curse down at them. A jet of green light shot towards them and he and Lestrange hit the stairs hard. The Killing Curse flew over their heads and exploded against the stone wall, shaking the entire staircase and throwing the Russians to their feet.
“Bloody shit!” Lestrange exclaimed as Nott flung open the door he had just closed. They both leapt into the dusty corridor and he slammed the door shut, locking it with a quick spell as another Killing Curse flew down the staircase.
“I take back my question!” Lestrange yelled as they sprinted down the dark corridor lined with suits of armor. Dust swirled all around and Nott had to fling his hood off to bat the filmy strands of a spider web away from his face. He heard the door burst open behind them and a cold feeling erupted deep within his gut. “I’d rather not be the one dying today!”