The Easiest Way Out
Jubbal bowed first to Natalie, then to Voldemort. “Jubbal successfully apparated with the Finnish Seeker into the town. Mistress Malfoy was present at the house-”
“Melania?” asked Natalie.
“Yes, Mistress — Mistress Malfoy is present, along with Miss Selwyn, Miss Rowle, and Miss Bulstrode. Mistress Malfoy has informed the other Misses of what is happening in the castle and inquired why Jubbal had been sent with the Finn, you see, and Jubbal explained as best as she could. Mistress Malfoy sends her luck and love to you all and would like to know if she is to wake the Finnish Seeker and anyone else who appears-”
“Not yet,” Natalie quickly said, ignoring Lestrange’s muttering of “soon-to-be Mrs. Lestrange, it means.” She could only imagine the chaos that would occur if both Quidditch teams woke up in a random house in the village without knowing what had happened over the last twelve hours. Though she could not see them complaining about being woken by four attractive pureblood witches.
“Here, Jubbal,” she gestured to Lassila. “Take him next, then keep going. There’s five more after him on this floor and six more on the floor above.”
Jubbal bowed, darted towards Lassila and vanished once again. Natalie turned back to the others, still clustered nearby in the hallway.
“Half of you stay here while Jubbal gets the Finns out,” she ordered, plan formulating within her mind. “The rest of you, come with me so we can make sure the Russians haven’t gotten to my team.”
Rosier gave her a salute. “Anything you say, death eater.”
There was a round of snickers at this but Voldemort grabbed her hand and began leading her towards the doors at the far end of the corridor. She picked up the pace until they were nearly sprinting. Mulciber, Lestrange, and Dawson fell into step behind them. They slowed near the doors and Natalie raised a hand to open them when a prickling feeling on the back of her neck made her blood run cold.
Voldemort’s grip on her hand tightened. “What is it?”
She stared at him blankly, trying to identify the feeling. “I. . . I think. . . I think we’re. . . being watched-”
Jubbal reappeared with a small pop. Natalie whipped around to spot the elf. Dolohov, Nott, and Rosier were opening the other doors holding the Finnish team members. She scanned the corridor — something was off.
A creak drew her attention to the doors on the opposing end of the corridor. She saw red and black and then there was a whisper of a curse and she knew what was about to happen.
“No!” she jumped forward but Voldemort pulled her back, muttering something she couldn’t hear as time seemed to slow down. The curse had already been fired. A jet of brilliant green light streaked down the corridor, illuminating the stone and brick and wood and even the eyes of the others. Finally, the curse hit Jubbal from behind and the elf dropped to the floor with a thud. Dead.
The silence was deafening until a roar filled her ears and everyone and everything seemed to be moving and shouting at once.
“No!” she screamed this time, her whole body trembling. Their only hope of escape, her family’s servant, dead — killed just like that. Only Takkala and Lassila had gotten out. Voldemort and Lestrange and Dawson and Mulciber were all yelling at her, trying to grab her, trying to hold her back. She brushed past them with ease, feeling them jump away in shock.
She was sprinting down the corridor without realizing it, stone flying under her bare feet, hurtling over the dead house elf and ignoring the warning shouts of the others. The doors had closed, and with it, the Russians had vanished. But that was the least of her concerns.
She had figured it out earlier. The easiest way out of the castle was to get rid of the curse around it. The easiest way to get rid of the curse around it was to kill whoever had put the curse there in the first place. She would simply have to do that then. The shadows of the castle leapt with her, urging her onwards, whispering in the back of her mind, directing her chase.
The doors blew away in front of her and she leapt through them, sprinting after the Russians like an absolute madman. She could hear them just ahead — two of them — hurrying down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“Natalie-” Voldemort’s voice sounded like distant church bells, pealing out a warning she would rather ignore. She wanted blood, so did the shadows. She continued onwards, taking the stairs two at a time, her bare feet hardly touching the cold stone.
She wasn’t sure how long she chased them. They seemed to know where they were heading. She glimpsed red and black robes duck through a door leading to the main entrance and churned after them. She burst through the door seconds later, appearing in the wide area just above the entrance hall. The shadows fell silent, swirling on the sidelines, awaiting their reward.
The Russians were heading towards the stairs. She raised a finger, forgetting about her wand. In a flash of white, one of them crumbled to the floor with a scream. The other whirled around, wand up, a spell already tearing through his lips.
Natalie ducked under the spell, allowing it to fly past her and continued charging towards him. He yelled another spell and one of the doors on her left swung open. She raised a hand as though to shield herself and the door exploded to bits before it could hit her.
When she looked up, the Russian had turned and was darting down the main staircase, into the entrance hall. Pulling an assortment of Dark curses to the front of her mind, she hurried over — and froze, churning to a violent stop.
The Russian with the piercing blue eyes stood in the entrance hall as though awaiting her. At least seven others stood around him.
Fuck. It struck her at once. The Russians had been leading her there this whole time. The words Voldemort had hissed at her as she took off echoed in her head. She hadn’t heard them exactly, but caught the idea of something relating to a trap. And she’d walked — or ran — right into it, probably better than Blue Eyes had hoped — as she was all alone. If the others had followed her, they hadn’t been able to keep up with the chase. The shadows seemed to crowd at her feet, whispering tales of the bloodshed and treachery that had happened throughout the castle’s history in this very entrance hall. She grinned at how history repeats itself.
Blue Eyes already had his wand up and pointed at her. He muttered something. She heard a whooshing of air pass by — but nothing else seemed to happen. Was this part of the trap?
She caught the bewilderment on Blue Eyes’s face. He quickly masked it, sending a glare up at her.
“You got free of the parasite, I see,” he sneered.
Natalie stared down at him, wondering if he really wanted to have a conversation right now. The shadows seemed to find it funny. All she wanted to do was get out of the bloody castle. He and seven others were standing between her and the easiest way out.
She studied them, wondering which of them had contributed to the curse. A curse surrounding the entire castle like that was too strong for just Blue Eyes to have conjured on his own. Perhaps some of the Russians who had contributed to it were already dead. . . .
Her gaze landed on Blue Eyes. He was still talking. He was clearly the ringleader.
“Your family made this situation much more difficult, of course,” he was saying. She paused, hand halfway raised. Her family. She’d been held hostage to force Triple I into a trade deal with the Soviet Union. She studied Blue Eyes, ignoring whatever he was saying. Should she try to turn him over to the Ministry to be interrogated? After all, the Russians needed to have inside information to be able to execute a stunt like this. How had they managed to brew the Polyjuice Potion to turn into Hans? How had they known there was only one way in and out of the castle? How had they known the layout of the castle?
As she stared down at the Russians in the main entrance hall, the shadows whispered to her, reminding her of a similar scene. Days ago, also in the entrance hall. Hans, the Swiss Auror, demonstrating a new-fangled hat to Matt Lament.
Blue Eyes was still talking. She didn’t care to hear what he had to say. Clutching her wand as tightly as she dared, she thundered down the stairs.
A quick curse sent most of the Russians crashing to the floor, but spells were immediately fired back. Slashing her palm in a horizontal motion, a piercing boom that knocked her to her own feet and had her tumbling down the last few stairs sent the nearest three Russians flying with a flash of light.
She rolled to avoid a curse that blew a hole in the stairs right beside her. Dust flew everywhere, but she jabbed her wand out and heard a scream.
The dust cleared from a spell she hadn’t cast as she rolled to her feet. She raised a hand and watched a bolt of light dart across the entrance hall and send another Russian to the floor. A curse narrowly missed her, stirring a few loose strands of her braided hair. She darted forward, realizing she needed to stay moving if she was going to fight eight against one.
But there were only two left.
And they were standing rather close together too.
Mimicking the same action as earlier, she slashed her palm horizontally. White light flared up, in sync with the echoing boom. She was ready for the impact this time, bending her knees and managing to stay on her feet.
The last two Russians hit the stone floor with hollow thuds.
But something wasn’t right. She pushed her braid back and counted the bodies. Seven. Glancing around, she realized Blue Eyes was not among them.
“What the fuck?” she exclaimed aloud.
There was a snort. “So eloquent.”
She looked over to find Lord Voldemort casually strolling down the stairs as though arriving to take her to breakfast. Or lunch. It was well past breakfast by now but she didn't think coffee tainted with a magical parasite counted as breakfast.
“Where did he go? Did you see him?” she demanded.
“He’s an animagus,” he said, standing on the last step and surveying the bodies with a barely disguised smirk. “Antonin saw him turn into a bat earlier. I’m fairly certain I just saw the same thing.”
“Did you just stand there and watch and not help again?”
“Correct.”
“Thanks for helping.”
“I told you not to run after them because it might be a trap. Looks like it was.”
Not in the mood to banter with the leader of the Russians having slipped away right under her nose, she mumbled at him to shut up and turned to study the rafters of the entrance hall. It was one of the only places in the castle constructed out of wood as well as stone. Blue Eyes couldn’t have gone far. If he had turned into a bat, she assumed he would go up. . . .
“That has to be the last of them,” she said aloud, focusing all her senses on the long pieces of wood of the ceiling. They were large enough to have been carved out of whole tree trunks. She frowned, trying to catch a glimpse of wings or a shuffling noise. “His trap failed and he’s all alone now. He has no options. He’ll probably wait until we leave and then make his own escape-”
A clattering noise and slight hiss made her freeze. Her senses flew back down to earth, breath sticking in her throat and heart nearly stopping. She could do nothing but clutch her wand tighter, eyes unseeing as all she could focus on was the third presence in the entrance hall. Then came a cold voice.
“What an excellent idea.”
Slowly, painfully, she turned to find the last of her Russian captors standing beside her husband. Blue Eyes had his wand aimed directly at Lord Voldemort, whose own wand lay on the floor between her and them.
Natalie’s muscles clenched into place. It took all her willpower to keep her face expressionless. Voldemort’s charcoal eyes stared at her. They flashed red. She blinked, the motion excruciating. His fury at being snuck up upon and disarmed rolled over her. She inhaled and refused to let the air escape her lungs.
Blue Eyes smiled with all his teeth. They were brilliantly white. The canines were noticeably pointed. She did not smile back. She blinked. Blue Eyes moved his wand. His wand was smooth and stubby, but a midnight black. Thin red veins crisscrossed from the tip to the handle. The fingers clutching it were pale, with square nails and hairless knuckles. But his hand, his arm, his whole body, were fraught with tension.
His wand stopped moving. It landed on Voldemort’s jugular. She could see Voldemort’s heart beating in his neck. It was slow. Surprisingly slow. Slower than Rosier’s had been. She blinked — and exhaled.
“Drop your wand,” ordered the Russian. His voice was sharp, piercing her ears. She refused to wince. Instead, she blinked.
Her wand hit the floor with a clatter. The noise echoed, bouncing off the high stone walls of the entrance hall. Voldemort’s eyes flashed his disappointment. She did not look at him. The Russian had her full attention. Blue Eyes raised a thick, dark eyebrow. His left eyebrow thinned out sooner than the right. A white line tracing up to his forehead confirmed a scar. His mouth opened slightly. He was astonished she had actually dropped her wand. He looked between her and Voldemort. Natalie saw his triumph — his gamble had paid off — but then his confusion. She immediately understood. Blue Eyes did not know this non-Ministry, non-Triple I affiliated half-blood schoolboy. His gaze settled on Voldemort.
“Who are you?”
Voldemort said nothing. Natalie finally locked onto his eyes. They flashed red. The disappointment vanished. Amusement took its place. The shadows seemed to gather between them, murmuring their tales of past bloodshed.
Blue Eyes sounded infuriated — and agitated. He repeated the question.
“Who are you? Why should threatening you work like a charm on the Malfoy family princess?”
A smirk appeared on Voldemort’s face. She blinked. His eyes hadn’t left hers.
Lord Voldemort’s voice was smoother than velvet. “Would you prefer to tell him, love?”
She wasn’t sure if she responded to him aloud or inside their minds. “It’s your name darling, you can have the honors.”
Slowly, he turned his head to look directly at Blue Eyes despite the wand on his neck. Very softly, but very clearly, he whispered, “I am Lord Voldemort.”
Before the last syllable was out of his mouth, Natalie’s muscles unclenched. And she moved a single finger.
Blue Eyes collapsed. He fell backwards as if in slow motion until hitting the stairs with a dull thump. Body seizing up and limbs contorting wildly, his wand rolled out of his hand. Voldemort kicked it away. He picked up his own wand and aimed it at the last Russian.
“Wait,” Natalie giggled. “I’ve a better idea of what to do with him.”