In Egypt 7/15
Title: In Egypt 7/15, Big Angry Weapons
Characters: Tonks, Fleur, others
Rating: PG-13 (ooh, starting to get slightly scarier! )
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Thanks yet again to my beta, schemingreader
Part Seven - Big Angry Weapons
Tonks felt the twisting wrench of a Portkey for the second time that day. She groaned and wondered if her guts would ever recover.
Well, now we’re back in the tomb again, she thought, and set about unravelling her unco-operative stubby goblin limbs from Fleur’s sleek and slender ones.
She supposed it could be worse. At least she wasn’t now trapped in a mountain being chased by multiple trolls with big angry weapons. On the other hand, Fleur was here. Well, no-one said that life was perfect. Tonks found her wand and aimed it casually over her shoulder.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Amazing how deeply satisfying that felt, hexing Fleur. Almost relaxing.
Tonks stretched hugely and deliberately right to the tips of her fingers, starting to morph back into her human body as she did so. Her Tonks-arms stuck incongruously out of the pint-sized goblin uniform. She shook her legs, and shook them again, but they refused to change. Still short and lumpy and dumpy. What? She put a hand to a dizzy head and tried to remember when she had last properly eaten. Yesterday? Oh bloody hell, no. She hadn’t let this happen to her in years.
Was it just the shadows in the tomb, or was her whole body rippling towards a vague, deep blue like a pool of disturbed water? Tonks started to tremble. She didn’t know if it was the weariness or her frustrated anger, but trying to sort out her mind was like wading through an endless field of clinging mud in a heavy robe.
Argh. There was no way that she could make it back to help Mundungus in this state, and she had promised not to abandon him. Fuck it. She turned her attention to the helpless Fleur, magically petrified like a splayed doll across the ground.
“You wanker!” Tonks spat. “ Mundungus is probably dead by now, or worse, and you don’t give a fucking toss, do you?”
Fleur made urgent muffled noises out of one corner of a rigidly frozen mouth and rocked from side to side, ruffling the sand around her body.
“Stop doing that!” shouted Tonks. “I can’t think! Silencio!”
That shut her up. Tonks felt another surge of change rush through her, this time unprompted. Fleur stopped making the dry sand-squirming sounds and just lay looking at the other woman, her eyes cautious and unblinking.
Cold rivers pulsed down the side of Tonks’ head. She remembered shiny sharp teeth - whose teeth? She saw long claws for fingernails and scaly hands where there should be skin. Whose hands were these? One talon extended slowly, only connected dully by icy thumping blood to Tonks’ brain. A clawed hand held her wand, like a child’s first spoon, clumsily.
Tonks fell to her knees, ripping the fabric at the hem as she went down. She grasped at it with her claws and Fleur’s wand came tumbling out of her pocket. Ah. Good idea. Transform her wand. Into a cup. Fill with water. Auguamenti. Drink the water.
Tonks lay on the sand beside Fleur’s rigid body, lapping sideways from the cup of water. She tipped the cup to drain the last drops of welcome water down. Fill it again. Auguamenti. Drink it again.
She felt a bone-piercing coldness, especially where her goblin torso met her woman’s hips and at the knuckles, where the jagged claws cut free of her flesh. Skin was prickling all over, becoming a fierce, painful sweat.
A memory was forcing its way up - of a long time ago, when Tonks hadn’t been allowed to play with her best friend Selly. I haven’t remembered that for years, thought Tonks, maybe not since the last time I transformed uncontrollably. Why does it hurt so much to remember?
Drink down some more water.
Something to do with biting. Dark spots on a jumper; spaghetti strands of blue wool stuck between her teeth. Something to do with scratching, and shouting, and not understanding why everybody was so upset.
You know what, I’m bloody hungry, that’s my problem,thought Tonks. What mouth watering titbit shall I go for next? Transfigured robe or transfigured robe? Yum yum. All right, transfigured robe it is then. But I have really got to get me some proper food soon.
She cast the spell and fed the dry strip into her mouth, chewing without enthusiasm and wincing when the fabric squeaked against her teeth.
Puh. There was sand in that sandwich. I must complain to the chef. She rolled onto her back to digest and recover and plan her next move. If the other side were after the Lotus, then they might have figured out that it Portkeyed her here. She was a sitting duck. As soon as she was able, she’d have to get out of this tomb.
Waiting… waiting for her body to recover. She felt the sweat solidify into a hard, cool pool of sand under her back. Tonks wished again in vain that a Patronus could reach all the way to London, so she could send a message to Kingsley, but it was a waste of time worrying about something that she had no control over.
Damn. She’d just had another thought. She would need to take the French traitor along, for questioning. Well, that was just great.
Waiting…The wind still howled across the desert beyond the tomb.
Tunk! Tunk!
There was a sharp noise outside. Tonks hauled herself up onto her elbows. It was just a small stone, caught by a gust and scooting across the plain, resounding off the other rocks as it bounced. She sagged back to the ground, hating her vulnerability.
Okay, she’d just have to Apparate, claws and all. Here goes nothing. Deep breath and all that. Three, two, one…
Pop! Pop!
The two witches vanished. The only trace of them left was the two shallow depressions that their bodies had scuffled into the sand.
Only a few minutes later, a cacophony of harsh, ill-mannered pops sounded. More witches and wizards exploded into being than the rows of tomb deities had known throughout their centuries of unblinking vigil.
One of the new arrivals prowled around the empty chamber, barking a catalogue of impatient orders, while the rest of the darkly cloaked swarm received them in grudging obedience. His dissatisfaction suddenly reaching a peak, he erupted into a bone-spitting fury. He directed his anger at one rotund unfortunate in a light coloured robe. Within seconds, his victim was writhing painfully into the sand. Then they were gone, another chorus of popping hacking through the tomb. The man’s screams and useless pleas remained for a moment longer as they echoed faintly between the silent gods and goddesses; then they too were lost to the desert wind.
next part (PG-13)
Characters: Tonks, Fleur, others
Rating: PG-13 (ooh, starting to get slightly scarier! )
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Thanks yet again to my beta, schemingreader
Part Seven - Big Angry Weapons
Tonks felt the twisting wrench of a Portkey for the second time that day. She groaned and wondered if her guts would ever recover.
Well, now we’re back in the tomb again, she thought, and set about unravelling her unco-operative stubby goblin limbs from Fleur’s sleek and slender ones.
She supposed it could be worse. At least she wasn’t now trapped in a mountain being chased by multiple trolls with big angry weapons. On the other hand, Fleur was here. Well, no-one said that life was perfect. Tonks found her wand and aimed it casually over her shoulder.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Amazing how deeply satisfying that felt, hexing Fleur. Almost relaxing.
Tonks stretched hugely and deliberately right to the tips of her fingers, starting to morph back into her human body as she did so. Her Tonks-arms stuck incongruously out of the pint-sized goblin uniform. She shook her legs, and shook them again, but they refused to change. Still short and lumpy and dumpy. What? She put a hand to a dizzy head and tried to remember when she had last properly eaten. Yesterday? Oh bloody hell, no. She hadn’t let this happen to her in years.
Was it just the shadows in the tomb, or was her whole body rippling towards a vague, deep blue like a pool of disturbed water? Tonks started to tremble. She didn’t know if it was the weariness or her frustrated anger, but trying to sort out her mind was like wading through an endless field of clinging mud in a heavy robe.
Argh. There was no way that she could make it back to help Mundungus in this state, and she had promised not to abandon him. Fuck it. She turned her attention to the helpless Fleur, magically petrified like a splayed doll across the ground.
“You wanker!” Tonks spat. “ Mundungus is probably dead by now, or worse, and you don’t give a fucking toss, do you?”
Fleur made urgent muffled noises out of one corner of a rigidly frozen mouth and rocked from side to side, ruffling the sand around her body.
“Stop doing that!” shouted Tonks. “I can’t think! Silencio!”
That shut her up. Tonks felt another surge of change rush through her, this time unprompted. Fleur stopped making the dry sand-squirming sounds and just lay looking at the other woman, her eyes cautious and unblinking.
Cold rivers pulsed down the side of Tonks’ head. She remembered shiny sharp teeth - whose teeth? She saw long claws for fingernails and scaly hands where there should be skin. Whose hands were these? One talon extended slowly, only connected dully by icy thumping blood to Tonks’ brain. A clawed hand held her wand, like a child’s first spoon, clumsily.
Tonks fell to her knees, ripping the fabric at the hem as she went down. She grasped at it with her claws and Fleur’s wand came tumbling out of her pocket. Ah. Good idea. Transform her wand. Into a cup. Fill with water. Auguamenti. Drink the water.
Tonks lay on the sand beside Fleur’s rigid body, lapping sideways from the cup of water. She tipped the cup to drain the last drops of welcome water down. Fill it again. Auguamenti. Drink it again.
She felt a bone-piercing coldness, especially where her goblin torso met her woman’s hips and at the knuckles, where the jagged claws cut free of her flesh. Skin was prickling all over, becoming a fierce, painful sweat.
A memory was forcing its way up - of a long time ago, when Tonks hadn’t been allowed to play with her best friend Selly. I haven’t remembered that for years, thought Tonks, maybe not since the last time I transformed uncontrollably. Why does it hurt so much to remember?
Drink down some more water.
Something to do with biting. Dark spots on a jumper; spaghetti strands of blue wool stuck between her teeth. Something to do with scratching, and shouting, and not understanding why everybody was so upset.
You know what, I’m bloody hungry, that’s my problem,thought Tonks. What mouth watering titbit shall I go for next? Transfigured robe or transfigured robe? Yum yum. All right, transfigured robe it is then. But I have really got to get me some proper food soon.
She cast the spell and fed the dry strip into her mouth, chewing without enthusiasm and wincing when the fabric squeaked against her teeth.
Puh. There was sand in that sandwich. I must complain to the chef. She rolled onto her back to digest and recover and plan her next move. If the other side were after the Lotus, then they might have figured out that it Portkeyed her here. She was a sitting duck. As soon as she was able, she’d have to get out of this tomb.
Waiting… waiting for her body to recover. She felt the sweat solidify into a hard, cool pool of sand under her back. Tonks wished again in vain that a Patronus could reach all the way to London, so she could send a message to Kingsley, but it was a waste of time worrying about something that she had no control over.
Damn. She’d just had another thought. She would need to take the French traitor along, for questioning. Well, that was just great.
Waiting…The wind still howled across the desert beyond the tomb.
Tunk! Tunk!
There was a sharp noise outside. Tonks hauled herself up onto her elbows. It was just a small stone, caught by a gust and scooting across the plain, resounding off the other rocks as it bounced. She sagged back to the ground, hating her vulnerability.
Okay, she’d just have to Apparate, claws and all. Here goes nothing. Deep breath and all that. Three, two, one…
Pop! Pop!
The two witches vanished. The only trace of them left was the two shallow depressions that their bodies had scuffled into the sand.
Only a few minutes later, a cacophony of harsh, ill-mannered pops sounded. More witches and wizards exploded into being than the rows of tomb deities had known throughout their centuries of unblinking vigil.
One of the new arrivals prowled around the empty chamber, barking a catalogue of impatient orders, while the rest of the darkly cloaked swarm received them in grudging obedience. His dissatisfaction suddenly reaching a peak, he erupted into a bone-spitting fury. He directed his anger at one rotund unfortunate in a light coloured robe. Within seconds, his victim was writhing painfully into the sand. Then they were gone, another chorus of popping hacking through the tomb. The man’s screams and useless pleas remained for a moment longer as they echoed faintly between the silent gods and goddesses; then they too were lost to the desert wind.
next part (PG-13)