Fic: Nox (Turnbull, G)
Fic: Nox
Rating: G
Words: 774
Characters: Turnbull, Fraser, Bob Fraser, Thatcher (and a surprise)
Summary: It's been a long time since Turnbull's felt worthy of the word 'Auror'.
Notes: Okay, so this is Due South meets the Harry Potter Wizarding world. I'm... not sure how this happened. Not canon to our normal 'verse, obvs. Pardon (or point out so I can fix!) any canon discrepancies, I really need to re-read the books. I'll, uh. Just leave this here.
Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Incendio - Imperius - Nox - Lumos
"Cruc--"
"--Expelliarmus--"
It is 1998, and the Wizarding World can barely breathe.
The epicentre is Britain, but no part of the world goes untouched by Lord Voldemort.
"Stop this." My opponent's wand flung away before his Unforgivable was complete, but one of his compatriots casts a summon and passes it back. My back is to the doors. I am fast with my wand. I can stall. But I am outnumbered, and I cannot stop them.
I am dead; I know this.
"Join us or get out of the way, Auror."
It's been a long time since anyone's called me by that rank. Even back to the wall, I cannot think I have earned it back yet.
"Kill me, or don't. This place is so well-warded you'll be disarming them until Merlin comes back."
"Expulso--"
"Aguamenti." I do not know why that charm comes to mind as defensive. It seems right. Perhaps I just want to see this Death Eater drown. It meets his explosion and hisses, cancelling out the spell, but not before leaving the sidewalk soaked.
The leader is sputtering on an oversplash from my spell, but his companion speaks in his place.
"Give them to us, you foolish Mountie, and we might spare your life!"
Why are Death Eaters always so melodramatic?
I cannot fathom how they discovered we were harbouring muggle-borns. We hid them well. So well that Inspector Thatcher never suspected a thing, and the woman can detect the slightest variance in balance on a well-hung picture, but she's a muggle. We warded the bedrooms, concealed. She's still convinced that Constable Fraser is talking to himself, but that is nothing new. We were lucky to be haunted by his father. I can only hope the pair of them have gotten our charges to the portkey.
Because I am lying about the strength of those wards, and among the protected is my own squib sister.
I am white-knuckling my wand. I consider casting red sparks. I know that Constable Fraser would come back for me, if I did. But that would leave the muggleborns with only a ghost for cover, and a ghost suffers from a distinct lack of wand.
My eyes take in each Death Eater in turn. Their leader - a wizard named Rosslin - is related to the Black family by marriage, I know. I'm uncertain of why he's in Chicago. Perhaps the Dark Lord has already begun carving up the planet for his favorites. The others have American accents; home-grown bigots working to take yet another stronghold under the noses of the muggle government.
I spare a thought for Canada. I do not know why it fell so quickly. We are a commonwealth. Subject to the Ministry of Magic. Perhaps that's why my country was so quickly and easily infiltrated.
It was almost overnight. I'd barely gotten Myra out.
Myra. Lord in Heaven, Myra. I hope you are far away from here.
"Go to Hell." I flick my wand, the incarcerous halfway out of my mouth. I see the return spell hurtling for me; I cannot hear what Rosslin has spoken, but the shade of the strike is sickly green. Killing curse, I think. Life slows to nothing.
And then everything is dark.
I think, for a moment, that death feels a great deal like being tackled from the side.
All is quiet. Weight pressed to my body. Air, in and out.
--wait.
"What the Hell is wrong with you, Renny? You scared the Hell out of me! You think you can play doorstop to a killing curse and I'm just gonna stand around and let it happen?" Ray Vecchio, the finest wizard I have ever known, is panting hard in my ear. I realize we've apparated, we've moved and I am no longer the thing that stands between the Consulate and its invaders and I wriggle to get away.
"No--"
"Stop. Ren. Stop. They're safe, they got the portkey, for the love of God stop."
I sob, in the adrenaline I am still struggling against his hold on me.
"...honey..."
I choke on an intake of breath and go limp, tears spilling over. Ray shivers, dropping his forehead to my temple. "We've got 'em."
I tremble.
"Ssh..."
I know that we are sprawled on the floor in the middle of the Illinois resistance house. I do not care. Wand still clutched in my aching hand, I throw arms around him and I cry.
Rating: G
Words: 774
Characters: Turnbull, Fraser, Bob Fraser, Thatcher (and a surprise)
Summary: It's been a long time since Turnbull's felt worthy of the word 'Auror'.
Notes: Okay, so this is Due South meets the Harry Potter Wizarding world. I'm... not sure how this happened. Not canon to our normal 'verse, obvs. Pardon (or point out so I can fix!) any canon discrepancies, I really need to re-read the books. I'll, uh. Just leave this here.
Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Incendio - Imperius - Nox - Lumos
"Cruc--"
"--Expelliarmus--"
It is 1998, and the Wizarding World can barely breathe.
The epicentre is Britain, but no part of the world goes untouched by Lord Voldemort.
"Stop this." My opponent's wand flung away before his Unforgivable was complete, but one of his compatriots casts a summon and passes it back. My back is to the doors. I am fast with my wand. I can stall. But I am outnumbered, and I cannot stop them.
I am dead; I know this.
"Join us or get out of the way, Auror."
It's been a long time since anyone's called me by that rank. Even back to the wall, I cannot think I have earned it back yet.
"Kill me, or don't. This place is so well-warded you'll be disarming them until Merlin comes back."
"Expulso--"
"Aguamenti." I do not know why that charm comes to mind as defensive. It seems right. Perhaps I just want to see this Death Eater drown. It meets his explosion and hisses, cancelling out the spell, but not before leaving the sidewalk soaked.
The leader is sputtering on an oversplash from my spell, but his companion speaks in his place.
"Give them to us, you foolish Mountie, and we might spare your life!"
Why are Death Eaters always so melodramatic?
I cannot fathom how they discovered we were harbouring muggle-borns. We hid them well. So well that Inspector Thatcher never suspected a thing, and the woman can detect the slightest variance in balance on a well-hung picture, but she's a muggle. We warded the bedrooms, concealed. She's still convinced that Constable Fraser is talking to himself, but that is nothing new. We were lucky to be haunted by his father. I can only hope the pair of them have gotten our charges to the portkey.
Because I am lying about the strength of those wards, and among the protected is my own squib sister.
I am white-knuckling my wand. I consider casting red sparks. I know that Constable Fraser would come back for me, if I did. But that would leave the muggleborns with only a ghost for cover, and a ghost suffers from a distinct lack of wand.
My eyes take in each Death Eater in turn. Their leader - a wizard named Rosslin - is related to the Black family by marriage, I know. I'm uncertain of why he's in Chicago. Perhaps the Dark Lord has already begun carving up the planet for his favorites. The others have American accents; home-grown bigots working to take yet another stronghold under the noses of the muggle government.
I spare a thought for Canada. I do not know why it fell so quickly. We are a commonwealth. Subject to the Ministry of Magic. Perhaps that's why my country was so quickly and easily infiltrated.
It was almost overnight. I'd barely gotten Myra out.
Myra. Lord in Heaven, Myra. I hope you are far away from here.
"Go to Hell." I flick my wand, the incarcerous halfway out of my mouth. I see the return spell hurtling for me; I cannot hear what Rosslin has spoken, but the shade of the strike is sickly green. Killing curse, I think. Life slows to nothing.
And then everything is dark.
I think, for a moment, that death feels a great deal like being tackled from the side.
All is quiet. Weight pressed to my body. Air, in and out.
--wait.
"What the Hell is wrong with you, Renny? You scared the Hell out of me! You think you can play doorstop to a killing curse and I'm just gonna stand around and let it happen?" Ray Vecchio, the finest wizard I have ever known, is panting hard in my ear. I realize we've apparated, we've moved and I am no longer the thing that stands between the Consulate and its invaders and I wriggle to get away.
"No--"
"Stop. Ren. Stop. They're safe, they got the portkey, for the love of God stop."
I sob, in the adrenaline I am still struggling against his hold on me.
"...honey..."
I choke on an intake of breath and go limp, tears spilling over. Ray shivers, dropping his forehead to my temple. "We've got 'em."
I tremble.
"Ssh..."
I know that we are sprawled on the floor in the middle of the Illinois resistance house. I do not care. Wand still clutched in my aching hand, I throw arms around him and I cry.