Rumpole and the Killing Curse, Part Nine
(Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, and Eight)
"You're coming with me, old man."
Before I continue, I must add that while I am not a brave man, I do like to flatter myself that I am by no means a stupid one.
In all my many years in the British legal system, I knew full well what my odds were if I chose to co-operate with someone who was using a weapon to try and move me from one area to another. I had seen too many crime scene photos, seen too many corpses of persons who had tried to co-operate with their attackers by allowing themselves to be taken without a fuss to where their captors willed.
So instead of coming with him, whoever he was, I jammed an elbow into his gut as I whirled around with a grace that would have pleased my former dancing instructor, sending a fist into his grimacing face as he folded up behind me. I must have had more power in my elderly frame than I realised -- either that, or fighting for one's life really does invigorate a person -- for he wound up sprawled out on the tiles next to Ballard, dazed and blinking, his smartly tailored suit rumpled and disordered. He had let go his wand; it had spun under the sinks, well out of his reach.
Quickly, before my attacker could come to himself, I held open the watch fob so Dumbledore could get a good look at him. "Recognize him?" I whispered.
"Indeed I do. I will fetch Severus," he replied grimly, and was gone on the instant.
I put away the watch and pondered my next move as my attacker started to stir. A wide, manic grin, the smile of the utterly stark raving mad, slowly o'erspread his face. Even without a wand, the wizard had any number of ways to kill or incapacitate me well before Snape could come to my aid.
It occurred to me that I was rightly up against it. A layer of ice seemed to settle around my heart. I would never survive this trip to the WC.
My one hope, my only hope, was to try the spell that I had never been able to make work for me. I raised my hand towards him, and started to imagine a white-hot cone. At least, that's what I'd started to imagine.
But then... I suddenly felt warm and powerful and at peace.
As I lifted my hand, a giant circle, six feet across and glowing brightly blue, formed between me and the stranger wizard. His eyes widened, as if what he was seeing gave him occasion for fear, and he pushed himself along the wall furthest from me in order to get away from the great glowing thing.
There was a loud crack behind me; someone had just Apparated into the loo. I hoped that he was friendly. I turned my head in time to see a very agitated Severus Snape, still partially hidden by his Invisibility Cloak, shouting "Stupefy!" as he pointed his wand at the other wizard, who promptly sank back down into a stupor.
"Cameron. I should have known. Damned idiot was looking to supplant me in the Dark Lord's good books," Snape told both me and Dumbledore after he'd magically trussed up and Oblivated the attacker. Ballard was sitting on one of the jars, snoring comfortably, and would remain so for another few minutes thanks to an incantation that Snape had put on him. "But how in the hell were you able to stop him, Rumpole? You were trying a Shield spell, I take it? Dumbledore told me that he'd taught it to you. Yet that wasn't any Shield spell I've ever seen."
"That puzzles me, too," said Dumbledore, frowning in thought. Then, his countenance brightened. "Ah, but it's as plain as a pike-staff now. Wordsworth."
I gaped at him a moment before the gears in my brain turned sufficiently; then all of a sudden, it was as plain as a pike-staff to me now, too. "Yes. 'Composed During a Storm'."
"Precisely."
"What are you two raving about?" Snape said waspishly.
Dumbledore favored him with an indulgent smile. "Something I should have realized much sooner, Severus. We are in the presence of the greatest living disciple of William Wordsworth. So when he seeks to cast a Shield of Tranquility, it will not be a white-hot ray, but the 'azure disc' that Wordsworth mentioned in one of his more famous poems. If you would, Horace?"
I needed no prompting to recite the works of the old sheep of the Lake District. There was but a brief pause to clear my throat, and then:
"One who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth--his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc--shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!"
"You're coming with me, old man."
Before I continue, I must add that while I am not a brave man, I do like to flatter myself that I am by no means a stupid one.
In all my many years in the British legal system, I knew full well what my odds were if I chose to co-operate with someone who was using a weapon to try and move me from one area to another. I had seen too many crime scene photos, seen too many corpses of persons who had tried to co-operate with their attackers by allowing themselves to be taken without a fuss to where their captors willed.
So instead of coming with him, whoever he was, I jammed an elbow into his gut as I whirled around with a grace that would have pleased my former dancing instructor, sending a fist into his grimacing face as he folded up behind me. I must have had more power in my elderly frame than I realised -- either that, or fighting for one's life really does invigorate a person -- for he wound up sprawled out on the tiles next to Ballard, dazed and blinking, his smartly tailored suit rumpled and disordered. He had let go his wand; it had spun under the sinks, well out of his reach.
Quickly, before my attacker could come to himself, I held open the watch fob so Dumbledore could get a good look at him. "Recognize him?" I whispered.
"Indeed I do. I will fetch Severus," he replied grimly, and was gone on the instant.
I put away the watch and pondered my next move as my attacker started to stir. A wide, manic grin, the smile of the utterly stark raving mad, slowly o'erspread his face. Even without a wand, the wizard had any number of ways to kill or incapacitate me well before Snape could come to my aid.
It occurred to me that I was rightly up against it. A layer of ice seemed to settle around my heart. I would never survive this trip to the WC.
My one hope, my only hope, was to try the spell that I had never been able to make work for me. I raised my hand towards him, and started to imagine a white-hot cone. At least, that's what I'd started to imagine.
But then... I suddenly felt warm and powerful and at peace.
As I lifted my hand, a giant circle, six feet across and glowing brightly blue, formed between me and the stranger wizard. His eyes widened, as if what he was seeing gave him occasion for fear, and he pushed himself along the wall furthest from me in order to get away from the great glowing thing.
There was a loud crack behind me; someone had just Apparated into the loo. I hoped that he was friendly. I turned my head in time to see a very agitated Severus Snape, still partially hidden by his Invisibility Cloak, shouting "Stupefy!" as he pointed his wand at the other wizard, who promptly sank back down into a stupor.
"Cameron. I should have known. Damned idiot was looking to supplant me in the Dark Lord's good books," Snape told both me and Dumbledore after he'd magically trussed up and Oblivated the attacker. Ballard was sitting on one of the jars, snoring comfortably, and would remain so for another few minutes thanks to an incantation that Snape had put on him. "But how in the hell were you able to stop him, Rumpole? You were trying a Shield spell, I take it? Dumbledore told me that he'd taught it to you. Yet that wasn't any Shield spell I've ever seen."
"That puzzles me, too," said Dumbledore, frowning in thought. Then, his countenance brightened. "Ah, but it's as plain as a pike-staff now. Wordsworth."
I gaped at him a moment before the gears in my brain turned sufficiently; then all of a sudden, it was as plain as a pike-staff to me now, too. "Yes. 'Composed During a Storm'."
"Precisely."
"What are you two raving about?" Snape said waspishly.
Dumbledore favored him with an indulgent smile. "Something I should have realized much sooner, Severus. We are in the presence of the greatest living disciple of William Wordsworth. So when he seeks to cast a Shield of Tranquility, it will not be a white-hot ray, but the 'azure disc' that Wordsworth mentioned in one of his more famous poems. If you would, Horace?"
I needed no prompting to recite the works of the old sheep of the Lake District. There was but a brief pause to clear my throat, and then:
"One who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth--his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc--shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!"