*The glove is the only thing that remains the same, clutched in his hand, he watches as the world dissolves into strips of shapes and colours around it, the atoms of his body spaghettifying and rearranging as if he's just stepped over the event horizon of a black hole. When the world takes form again, tentatively becoming solid around him, greeting his re-proportioned body with ease, he's already prepared. Wand at the ready, mask grinning ghoulishly, Barty lands with all the stage presence of an action film star, robes fanning out around him with perfected drama. He discards his glove, hearing its soft leather skid on the tiles. And really, that's all he hears. There are no screams, no wails of horror, no burgeoning panic. In fact, the only thing that seems to take note of his grand entrance is a florescent bar of light, which flickers overhead, interrupted by his magical arrival.
The hallway is deserted and silent in either direction. He had meant to appear on the first floor, cutting off anyone attempting to reach the exits, however Barty has quite obviously and embarrassingly overshot his destination by several corridors. In the distance he can hear the muffled blasts of spells, the bustle of bodies and battle and the occasional scream. His robes settle back against his legs, nearly as crestfallen as the wizard wearing them.*
*The fight upstairs looks good on papers, and down in the basement porthole windows in double doors stare out at Barty not far down the corridor from where his overenthusiastic portkey deposited him. Behind them the air is colder, the walls are fitted floor to ceiling with cupboards that almost look like the doors to safes, and on Regulus' map one of Voldemort's personal specialties is just about to be given the spark of life.
Regulus wants to refuse, to keep that chilly room as quiet and effectively empty as it would normally be, but Voldemort had known better than to tell a mapmaker the entire plan too soon. Only after the portkeys were made and the wards laid down and Regulus had showed up to begin his conducting of the attack had this particular piece of the puzzle been revealed to him, and he has no choice now but to comply.
Necromancy had never stood out to Regulus as a child as being particularly terrifying. The rotting corpses in old stories had shocked him, of course, but until he had encountered Inferi for himself he had been far too caught up in worrying over other more commonplace fears. But now, over a year since the cave, his fear of them hasn't lessened. In fact, feeling their clammy loosened flesh and spiny claws grab at him whenever he comes near a Dementor has made things worse. His anxiety over climbing into even a bathtub full of water since that night has been too great to contend with, and his hand wavers visibly now, telling him that being even a small part responsible for the creation of such monsters is inexcusable - unforgivably cruel, which he cannot be.
Usually in the face of someone in charge Regulus would jump so quickly he wouldn't have enough time to ask how high, but it still takes every degree of obedience he has in him to touch his wand to the room labeled MORGUE on his map, and allow Voldemort's magic to awaken the bodies lying inside all those cupboards. He has to close his eyes to reconcile. He doesn't even see Barty's marker glowing so near.*
*Barty's corridor isn't to remain deserted for long, for more than one reason. Sirius's spellwork lets Remus in a dozen yards down from him, near the morgue doors. Totally unaware of what's happening behind them, he spares them only a glance before looking the other way. There, as promised, is the one Death Eater - but what about the other dots? What was that all about?
Chalking it up to a glitch in the map, he fires off a curse at the masked figure, not waiting to lose the upper hand of surprise.*
*Barty is hardly done his pouting when the curse is hurled his way. It seems incredibly, well, rude that on top of his wasted entrance he's been met with someone clearly prepared and competent. Though it's unlikely he'll ever admit, or even remember it later, he visibly flinches as the spell collides with an unused IV rack, splintering the metal open until it resembles a half peeled stick of cheese strings.
In the flickering greenish-light, along the length of the corridor, it's difficult to make out who this new challenger is, other than the fact he seems to be a he and one that clearly knows what he's doing and who he's after. An Order member. There's something distinctly less fun about fighting the Order, mainly because past experience has taught him it usually ends in ugly scars and Regulus' voice becoming wavering and overly-concerned.
However, scars and whining aside, Barty is ready. Two wheelchairs are lined against the wall between them, like steadfast, patient soldiers. They seem to be waiting, begging to be commanded and Barty is happy to oblige. With a flick of his wand they whiz off toward Remus at unnatural speeds, their cheap, hospital-grade cushions flapping against their seats like hungry mouths, their metal frames beginning to glow white hot.*
*Well, that's a creative use of wheelchairs. Remus dodges, but at the cost of his balance; he falters back against the wall as the blazing chairs go careening past, through the swinging morgue doors behind him. There's a crash as they collide with autopsy tables, but his focus is back on his opponent - whoever it is, this one's clever. Okay. Two can play at that.
Righting himself, he starts vanishing large sections of the floor around the Death Eater's feet in an attempt to herd him, to contain him. *
The hallway is deserted and silent in either direction. He had meant to appear on the first floor, cutting off anyone attempting to reach the exits, however Barty has quite obviously and embarrassingly overshot his destination by several corridors. In the distance he can hear the muffled blasts of spells, the bustle of bodies and battle and the occasional scream. His robes settle back against his legs, nearly as crestfallen as the wizard wearing them.*
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Regulus wants to refuse, to keep that chilly room as quiet and effectively empty as it would normally be, but Voldemort had known better than to tell a mapmaker the entire plan too soon. Only after the portkeys were made and the wards laid down and Regulus had showed up to begin his conducting of the attack had this particular piece of the puzzle been revealed to him, and he has no choice now but to comply.
Necromancy had never stood out to Regulus as a child as being particularly terrifying. The rotting corpses in old stories had shocked him, of course, but until he had encountered Inferi for himself he had been far too caught up in worrying over other more commonplace fears. But now, over a year since the cave, his fear of them hasn't lessened. In fact, feeling their clammy loosened flesh and spiny claws grab at him whenever he comes near a Dementor has made things worse. His anxiety over climbing into even a bathtub full of water since that night has been too great to contend with, and his hand wavers visibly now, telling him that being even a small part responsible for the creation of such monsters is inexcusable - unforgivably cruel, which he cannot be.
Usually in the face of someone in charge Regulus would jump so quickly he wouldn't have enough time to ask how high, but it still takes every degree of obedience he has in him to touch his wand to the room labeled MORGUE on his map, and allow Voldemort's magic to awaken the bodies lying inside all those cupboards. He has to close his eyes to reconcile. He doesn't even see Barty's marker glowing so near.*
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Chalking it up to a glitch in the map, he fires off a curse at the masked figure, not waiting to lose the upper hand of surprise.*
Reply
In the flickering greenish-light, along the length of the corridor, it's difficult to make out who this new challenger is, other than the fact he seems to be a he and one that clearly knows what he's doing and who he's after. An Order member. There's something distinctly less fun about fighting the Order, mainly because past experience has taught him it usually ends in ugly scars and Regulus' voice becoming wavering and overly-concerned.
However, scars and whining aside, Barty is ready. Two wheelchairs are lined against the wall between them, like steadfast, patient soldiers. They seem to be waiting, begging to be commanded and Barty is happy to oblige. With a flick of his wand they whiz off toward Remus at unnatural speeds, their cheap, hospital-grade cushions flapping against their seats like hungry mouths, their metal frames beginning to glow white hot.*
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Righting himself, he starts vanishing large sections of the floor around the Death Eater's feet in an attempt to herd him, to contain him. *
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