From Above || Self-Para (backdated)
Lucille would have to admit, to herself and no one else of course lest she sound bitter or ignorant, that it seemed to her that tonight’s victory--already considered assured, she’d not underestimate her sister, or at least she wouldn’t underestimate Lawrence when he set to make something his--was going to be a hollow one, symbolic not strategic, a little mound of stone really, albeit a beautifully impressive one, and not worth the price she could see them paying for it, in their privacy and secrecy, making a clear target out of what had been most effective as vapor in wind if not an immediate blood price . Perhaps she was limited on imagination, for once, not realizing the effect the coup would have on the spirit of the people just like she didn’t know or much appreciate the history in the pretty little collection of stone. Even more likely was that she only felt this way because tonight was not her moment, her victory. Emma hadn’t even kept to using her as a go between and let her present the news of Emma’s success to Lawrence and grab a minute of reflected glory, leaving her to downplay what otherwise would have been a realization of some dear held childhood fantasies, riding in on a dragon to claim a castle, though it was not her dragon though and not her glory ride, and, honestly, just being near the beast set the hair on her arms to standing on end.
Emma had outshone Lucille’s expectations of her, though vocally she would claim she’d had faith eternally and inwardly she’d go back to comforting dismissal--Emma had been sent on a busywork errand that had kept her occupied for a few months until she brought back a very nice flash to a plan that would have gone off this summer when the castle was at its emptiest and weakest anyway with or without her and her little pet that the poor thing was clearly going to have trouble handling eventually with her lack of will and was just going to end up embarrassed by.
“You’re brilliant,” Lucille aimed the comment where it could be soaked up by the great beast with its foul, hot breath that left her face flushed and hair damp even when she kept her distance or by her sister. They both were, and, selfish as a spoiled child, she wished they weren’t quite so.
“We just know how to speak to each other,” Emma’s voice held the meekness of having read something mocking in the compliment or, having taken it by its face value but being shamed by it like her brilliance diminished others and was worse for the whole, a lesson Lucille couldn’t imagine where she learned. She looked down, focusing on the grey tinged white scales beneath her fingers as she spoke more calming spells to the dragon to keep it from minding her perched on its back. “ Your multiplicity spell is really brilliant.”
“If it works it will be an impressive illusion but it’s really just that. It won’t even hold for long.” As contrast, even when the words Lucille used could be humbling her contributions, she managed to resemble the cat that ate the cream.
“Then we should hurry,” came the simple response. There could have been a vote of confidence that Lucille’s spell wouldn’t fail quickly preceding the statement of the obvious, but Lucille wasn’t going to be petty and complain.
“When it’s time.” Lucille was in no hurry to climb aboard the dragon, even when coated with fireproof salve and Emma’s assurances of the brute being in her control. She’d never heard of a tamed dragon after all. She found her nerve though, even before reminded that they still had a long flight ahead of them to Hogsmeade from where Emma had been hiding their new ally upon returning to the UK.
The castle was sitting nearly empty, it being summer, and students and most of staff scattered. Not as empty as it could have been. There was the graduation ceremony-- an event Lawrence had them wait for, the need to have the proper audience for the statement they wanted to make and have it spread outweighing the benefits of an easy victory--but even that wasn’t the spectacle Lucille had heard about past years, hoards of alumni and families of every student from the first year to the university as well as the full complement of the castle and university’s regular inhabitants and special guests. The smallest graduating class Hogwarts had seen practically since plague years not counting the year of the Battle of Hogwarts, and then half the graduating university students, another small number, declining to attend, already off starting jobs, having their own graduation parties, or just leery of any large official gathering not thinking that sometimes a smaller group made a more likely target when it was the location not the inhabitants. The Maytes were really saving the revered school that refused to close from ending in obscurity. Much better a bang and a flash of fire than fading away.
They flew high above the clouds, using them as cover for the dragon’s pale bulk if the witches should fail in their combined cloaking spell hiding the three of them from sight as they flew, as they drew close to the small town they let the invisibility charms fall and their presence be known to those below, shifting their power and focus to casting illusionary copies of themselves approaching from different directions, creating the feeling of an ambush from all directions. The copies were only mirror echoes that mimicked action and were appearance only, the illusionary dragon’s wings stirred no air like their fire would have no heat, and they wouldn’t stand up to too many spells before they faded but they weren’t trying to become an army, just look like one, intimidate and inspire hopelessness from those who saw themselves grossly outclassed, and confuse where the real target was to any who thought they could stand ground. Besides, flying high and fast enough the goal was for none of the dragons, real or otherwise to be hit.
Emma was the one with the rapport with animals and the legilmency skill and Lucille wasn’t sure what fears or memories her twin tapped into in the dragon’s mind to make it let out a cry equal part terrifying and heartwrenching that reverberated through its body and shook Lucille in her careless seat, or what the beast was seeing and feeling when it unleashed its fire on the first buildings.
They were to hit mostly businesses, if they could. This was revolution and casualties were to be anticipated, excused and not much mourned, but this wasn’t mass murder. They were just smoking the wasps from their nests. If the insects weren’t so stupid, then most of the hive would survive somewhere else.
The screams were in the air even before the smell of smoke: warning, terror, barking of orders or curses that the Fajkas and their mount would have to dodge, and then there was pain later as well--dragons were hard to control and fire even more so when it wasn’t your element and casualties were to be expected.
The dragon weaved and dodged more shots than not--and truthfully the first instinct and priority of most as expected was rushing from fire to fire when they were few and shooting water at or pulling people from the flames, creating barricades, or apparating away--as it wound a path through the center of town and back around, turning back when nearing the castle the first time and heading back toward the town in chaos, crossing back across it’s own previous path and the paths of its insubstantial clones, diving low and making a fearsome impression of snapping jaws before shooting high. Lucille wasn’t sure how much of the show was Emma’s piloting or the dragon’s own instinct. The roiling anger and despair from the outset seemed to have been transferred to the humans below. Lucille imagined Emma’s little pet was enjoying itself as much as she was--deep beneath the pounding heart and fear they weren’t the ones in control after all that she’d let slip from her memory later along with the acrid smoke that burned to breathe and way the dragon’s scales had tore her skin when she gripped the wrong way desperately trying to keep hold while they flew . Petty jealousy from before and feeling that they were ultimately undertaking something underwhelming were both forgotten like they had never occurred. This was the battle of the ages and yet no battle at all, just spectacle--though such a spectacle she would never use “just” when she talked of it later--leading the inferior wizards to dance to their tune without realizing it as reinforcements flooded out to the castle gates to save the town that wasn’t the real focus in the end.
If the others weren’t already in the castle grounds, let in by Aerwynna--so useful to have an invited guest of a graduate on the inside--or through other channels than they would be soon, as the general disorder eased the process, so the next loop ended with Emma urging their friend to leave the plaything town behind for a flyover of the castle grounds, making show of flying near and low to the forbidden forest to discourage retreat that way and fill heads with the idea of an inferno soon to be, but starting none in actuality. It would be foolish to destroy the forest. Most of the beasts inside wouldn’t care what group of humans ruled the castle unless they were made to evacuate or resent the newcomers. This was still a mission of peace, a bloodless, or mostly bloodless, coup.
They weren’t barbarians after all.
