>>6309412“<span class="mu-i">Bombarda Maxima!</span>” You shout, and your army follows suit, the spells slamming against him hard.
“I don’t think it is appropriate to goad him, commander,” says Falere by your side, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
“An enraged enemy is a stupid enemy, Snyde. Now, tell me you have some bullshit seventh year spell to help us?”
“Sorry, used my whole arsenal already. But I managed to get this from my sister.” She opens her hand, showing a pair of galleons. “They’re fake, protean charmed. This one changes, this other one changes, only one way. I used it to tell her what other armies were doing during the battles.”
You look at her with disbelief.
“Potter never explicitly forbade it,” she explains, looking embarrassed. “It takes a long time to enchant but-”
“Yeah, no, I get it, you’re a genius.” You snatch the coins from her hand and toss one in Apollo’s direction. “Pollo! Catch! It’s proteaned!”
The boy <span class="mu-i">accio</span>s it from the air, looks at you surprised, then nods.
“Arty! Linda! I need a path to him!”
“We got you!” They shout, before rushing forward.
“Go help Brighton and your sister with the dementors,” you tell Falere. “They’re needing help. Come back if you have any other ideas.”
The girl nods and turns.
“And Falere!” You say and she stops, looking back. “Brighton just lost someone. Tell Helga to make sure he’s not-”
“Commiting suicide by means of battle rage like you were trying to do a couple of minutes ago? Sure.”
She goes, and you charge.
--
“You fuckers! You-” Brighton brings the Sword of Gryffindor down on a dementor, his eyes flickering between dark and normal as Godric tries to reel him in and fails. He punctuates each work with a blow, his wand forgotten. “Mother! Fucking! Fuck! Summer! Summer!”
“<span class="mu-i">Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur,</span>” Winter whispers wide eyed over Summer, the spell useles. That does not stop her from begging the spell over the hole where her sister’s left lung used to be.
A silver badger slams against the dementors lunging at Brighton’s back.
“Longbottom! Snap out of it!” Helga shouts. “You have an army to command!”
“Fuck the army! I’m going to kill every last fucking one of these things!”
“You’re going to kill yourself and Winter! Is that what you want? Because if so, just fall on your own sword so we don’t have to worry about not hitting you when trying to hit them! Now duck, you wannabe Gryffindor!”
The insult does hit him in a way his bloodlust is not expecting, allowing a shred of sanity to slip in, if only for a moment. He sees himself deep into dementor territory, and the realization of his own stupidity snaps him off completely.
“Merlin-fucking-dammit, what the fuck am I doing?” He says, more to himself than anyone else. Then he shouts, “Helga, pull me! <span class="mu-i">Ascendio!</span>”
[Cont.]
