This is Worse, Somehow
Eric Dawson and Evan Rosier climbed all the way up a winding set of stairs to kick open a rust-eaten door and emerge on the parapets of the castle.
“Bloody hell,” Rosier muttered as they stepped outside the castle. He sucked in a deep breath and Dawson found himself doing the same. A sharp breeze sent their robes snapping about, bringing with it the faint scent of approaching rain.
“Didn’t realize how awful the air was inside,” Dawson said, looking for any signs of life. The crumbling stone barricades stretched all around the castle, weeds and moss beginning to grow over. The towers of the castle rose above them, challenging the sky like giant gray beacons of arrogance.
An offended squawking noise made Dawson jump and Rosier hiss in surprise. He lifted his wand and Rosier flipped his dagger. Looking up, he noticed a mess of sticks, leaves, and what looked like a scarf supporting the English national team, peeking out from a hole in the archway stones above the door. Dawson took a few steps out to get a better view. It was obviously some sort of bird’s nest.
There was another squawk, a fluttering of golden brown wings, and a large eagle jumped out of the nest and flew directly over their heads. Dawson ducked — the bird coming so close he felt the breeze from its wings ruffle his hair. He looked up to watch it sail away from the castle.
It was peaceful, utterly serene — the bird flying away from the crumbling parapets towards the little town snug below. The sky was an overcast gray, wrapping the valley like a thick blanket on a winter’s day as the mountains towered all around.
Until there was a loud cracking noise, a flash of red light, and the bird dropped from the air with a surprised squawk.
“Holy shit,” Rosier flew over to the stone battlements to watch the eagle tumble out of the sky and plummet towards the moat below.
“Fuck,” Dawson said, realization dawning over him. He stepped beside Rosier to watch the eagle hit the moat with a small splash. There was churning in the water, then a very ugly, very scaly creature made an even larger splash. It leapt out of the water, tossed the body of the eagle into the air, and swallowed it down its maw of very sharp teeth. It vanished back into the murky depths of the moat within seconds.
“That was wicked,” Rosier muttered. “But that was no grindylow.”
“You know what that means, though, right?” Dawson asked, squinting at the air around the castle.
He could feel Rosier’s eyes on him. “I know you want to tell me what that means.”
“They put a curse around the entire castle — not just the bridge,” he said, not in the mood to make a joke of it. “Natalie flew back here when she snuck out. I was kind of hoping that we could-”
“Fly out,” Rosier nodded. “Blimey, that would have been brilliant. We could have just flown the whole team out — using their own bloody brooms.”
“Well, we’ll need some new ideas,” Dawson said, turning to glance up at the sky. What had started as a beautiful morning was now the opposite. Piles of charcoal colored clouds hung low in the sky, passing over the mountains on the backdrop of dull gray overcast. A rumble of thunder growled in the distance. At the very least — it fit the situation.
“We should try to find the teams first,” Rosier said, pocketing the dagger in favor of twirling his wand around his fingers. He gestured down at the village. “Looks like nobody has any idea what’s going on here.”
Dawson grunted, eyeing the quiet village before rubbing his jaw, where the wizard who wanted to send his head to his dad had hit him. He looked back at Rosier and rolled his eyes. Evan would need to regrow a few teeth after all this.
“We should get on with it,” he said, stepping back towards the rusted door. The dead eagle’s nest remained above the door, a sudden gust of wind scattering a few twigs from it. Dawson briefly wondered if the eagle had eggs or babies awaiting its return that would never happen, before shaking the thought from his mind. This was not the time or place to get sentimental about a bird. They had their own problems to deal with.
Dawson opened the door with a spell and froze. The distinct sound of doors slamming carried up the staircase. He shared a look with Rosier as it was followed by a stream of rapid yelling in what had to be Russian.
Rosier tapped his tongue against the holes where his teeth had been. “Let’s go get the bastards.”
There was one good thing about Vladimir Solokov running a knife down her forearm.
She could feel it. A wave of raw sensation. Her vision went black. Her head stung. Her jaw throbbed. Her wrists burned. She was wet and sticky. Both cold and hot. Now her forearm was on fire. When she could see, she stared at her fingers. Please move. Please move. Do something. Do something. Anything — a few of her knuckles bent. Perfect. Now. time to focus-
Solokov grabbed her hair. Her head jerked up. She stared at him. She hated him. She knew he enjoyed this. Reveled in it. She was half-naked. Covered in blood. Unable to strike him dead.
He pocketed his knife. His hand reached down. He grabbed the chain around her neck. He tugged it right off. He held it up. The silver chain gleamed in the torchlight. The torch was no longer pretty. He inspected the ring. He said something. He sounded surprised. And interested.
Natalie’s vision warped from black to red faster than a Snitch could fly.
“No!” she spat her first word. It felt harsh. It hurt. Her throat ached. But her head. Her head screamed bloody murder. She hated him. She hated him. She would kill him.
Solokov laughed. The ring disappeared — inside his pocket. She stared. She was horrified. She was mad. Angry. Furious. Where was the curse? He said it was cursed. It had to be a shitty curse. Solokov looked fine. Ugh. She would kill him. Everything burned and she would kill him.
And then she was on the floor. Pain shot through her. Injuries — head and arm mostly. But superficial, skin-deep. Blood was everywhere. She wondered what time it was.
Solokov had jumped back. She could taste his fear. It was delicious. He muttered something. The door opened. He vanished. The ring with him. The door shut. The torch blew out. She wanted to scream. The torch had been pretty. But Solokov had the ring.
This was not good. Not good at all. It was very bad indeed. Everything was wrong. She needed to think. She needed to move.
The pain lessened. She looked down. The ropes around her wrist split. She hadn’t even realized they had been there. But it sounded like thunder. Her arm was coated with blood. She ignored it. Her head was pounding. She ignored it. Everything else was wet and sticky with blood. She ignored everything else.
Moving felt illegal. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But she couldn’t. Solokov had the ring. The goddamned motherfucking son of a bitch.
She pulled the bathrobe over her. It was damp with blood. She tied it. She hoped it was secure. She found herself laughing hysterically. Everything was wrong. The Quidditch World Cup was in a few days. But she was covered in blood, freshly assaulted. Eric Dawson was involved. So was Rosier. Or Nott. And Vladimir Solokov had Lord Voldemort’s horcrux.
Bloody hell.
She stopped laughing. The door burst open. It was not Solokov. It wasn’t even Blue Eyes. It was a completely different wizard. But he had the same energy as them. That made her hate him.
He raised his wand. She froze. Voices screamed in her head. Her whole body tingled. She felt herself fall to the floor. She ignored the pain. She raised a hand. There was a shred of hope. Perhaps something would happen.
She closed her eyes, anticipating darkness, She realized she didn’t know where her wand was. There was a wet popping noise. Then silence. She opened her eyes. The wizard lay on the floor. . . or, well. . . a lump of robes, blood, flesh, guts lay on the floor.
She didn’t care. Solokov had the ring. She stood, holding her bloodied arm. She did not look down as she walked around the mess.
The door opened. She didn’t care to wonder how. She hurried out and paused. She had no idea where she was. The castle loomed all around. Voices sounded from the left, so she turned to the right and took off down the hallway.