The Marauders' Final Strike.
OOC Note: This will be in action-reaction format, just like Peter and Raivis's wedding and the rooftop concert before that. Adieu and good night.
It was a plan born of madness and sloth, a deadly combination irrevocably married together in Søren Nielsen’s head. The force of the Dane’s mental prowess was immense but severely underestimated, as he generally strove to use them for inane pranks and the like. But when pressed, he could calculate unerringly to a degree of unfathomable certainty exactly what was required.
He’d heard last Saturday that a shipment of base ingredient explosives were being delivered Thursday night for next Sunday’s Halloween Ball and left in the castle dungeons, near the potions classrooms. Never mind how he heard it (overhearing Professor Bonnefoy talking about it happily to Professor Carriedo), the point was that the voice of opportunistic glory was singing, and Søren had no intention of resisting its siren call.
He’d cajoled and coaxed (and threatened) his group of mates in mischief and mayhem, enlisting their assistance (albeit unknowingly; he had a habit of telling only half-truths) in gathering the necessities required to pull all this off successfully. Søren skipped dinner after the Hogsmeade trip to set this up properly.
He’d consider it his final salute to a (fairly) good man, he decided. He wound a long line of black match through the classrooms, ending the string down in the lowest reach of the dungeon. With an almost loving touch, he tied off the end of the black match to a crate nail that stuck up slightly and went back upstairs to the common area of the castle to bide his time patiently.
…somewhat patiently. Time had a way of endlessly dragging on if you had to wait for hours to pass. But soon enough it was lights-out and he gathered with Zhi, Sindre, and Berwald and led them down into the dungeons with a barely-suppressed glee.
They spent a good hour arranging the crates of explosives in a ringlike pattern that would set them all of simultaneously. Or so Zhi said, and they weren’t about to question it.
What had surprised Søren more was the lack of immediate questions…
But one does not look a gift horse in the mouth.
They retreated back to the top level of the dungeons, three of them still a bit uncertain about what exactly was going on and the last almost mad with glee.
But the questions started as soon as he lit the end of the fuse with his wand.
He told them to shut up and hurry back to their dormitories. It was a slow fuse, but not that slow.
It started as a dull rumble, like a growl deep in the belly of the beast. It grew louder and louder, and the air grew hotter and hotter as they ran upwards.
Everything went silent, or perhaps the noise was just that deafening. It thrummed deep bass in chest cavities, lighting nerve endings on anxious fire, burned adrenaline through young veins, and sent terrifying heat searing under the skin.
It was really too bad that they’d only reached the main stairwell before a column of fire exploded out of the entrance leading down to the dungeons. It roared and sparked and howled, shaking the floor like the footsteps of a Promethic colossus.
Again the feelings split two ways.
The majority felt a distinct sort of numb horror.
The other was nearly delirious in happiness.
They could only grab onto the banister as the whole castle seized violently under the force of the explosions below.
They’d just blown up the school dungeons.
It was possible they’d taken out the support beams.
If it wasn’t for the fact that the old castle was held up by magic, it would’ve collapsed like Sodom and Gomorrah into a pile of broken stones.
It was beautiful, in a sick sort of way.
So very, very beautiful.
It was a plan born of madness and sloth, a deadly combination irrevocably married together in Søren Nielsen’s head. The force of the Dane’s mental prowess was immense but severely underestimated, as he generally strove to use them for inane pranks and the like. But when pressed, he could calculate unerringly to a degree of unfathomable certainty exactly what was required.
He’d heard last Saturday that a shipment of base ingredient explosives were being delivered Thursday night for next Sunday’s Halloween Ball and left in the castle dungeons, near the potions classrooms. Never mind how he heard it (overhearing Professor Bonnefoy talking about it happily to Professor Carriedo), the point was that the voice of opportunistic glory was singing, and Søren had no intention of resisting its siren call.
He’d cajoled and coaxed (and threatened) his group of mates in mischief and mayhem, enlisting their assistance (albeit unknowingly; he had a habit of telling only half-truths) in gathering the necessities required to pull all this off successfully. Søren skipped dinner after the Hogsmeade trip to set this up properly.
He’d consider it his final salute to a (fairly) good man, he decided. He wound a long line of black match through the classrooms, ending the string down in the lowest reach of the dungeon. With an almost loving touch, he tied off the end of the black match to a crate nail that stuck up slightly and went back upstairs to the common area of the castle to bide his time patiently.
…somewhat patiently. Time had a way of endlessly dragging on if you had to wait for hours to pass. But soon enough it was lights-out and he gathered with Zhi, Sindre, and Berwald and led them down into the dungeons with a barely-suppressed glee.
They spent a good hour arranging the crates of explosives in a ringlike pattern that would set them all of simultaneously. Or so Zhi said, and they weren’t about to question it.
What had surprised Søren more was the lack of immediate questions…
But one does not look a gift horse in the mouth.
They retreated back to the top level of the dungeons, three of them still a bit uncertain about what exactly was going on and the last almost mad with glee.
But the questions started as soon as he lit the end of the fuse with his wand.
He told them to shut up and hurry back to their dormitories. It was a slow fuse, but not that slow.
It started as a dull rumble, like a growl deep in the belly of the beast. It grew louder and louder, and the air grew hotter and hotter as they ran upwards.
Everything went silent, or perhaps the noise was just that deafening. It thrummed deep bass in chest cavities, lighting nerve endings on anxious fire, burned adrenaline through young veins, and sent terrifying heat searing under the skin.
It was really too bad that they’d only reached the main stairwell before a column of fire exploded out of the entrance leading down to the dungeons. It roared and sparked and howled, shaking the floor like the footsteps of a Promethic colossus.
Again the feelings split two ways.
The majority felt a distinct sort of numb horror.
The other was nearly delirious in happiness.
They could only grab onto the banister as the whole castle seized violently under the force of the explosions below.
They’d just blown up the school dungeons.
It was possible they’d taken out the support beams.
If it wasn’t for the fact that the old castle was held up by magic, it would’ve collapsed like Sodom and Gomorrah into a pile of broken stones.
It was beautiful, in a sick sort of way.
So very, very beautiful.