Smelling faintly of petrichor, with hair recently dried by the morning sun, Damian approached the entrance to the chamber in mud flecked shoes. It was a long morning after a long night, and he had promised himself that he would only come to the Ministry to grab breakfast before going home to his bed and blackout curtains. He was only a couple bites into his breakfast burrito when he heard a disembodied voice speaking in a dead tongue.
Hunger and sleep were distant memories when the unspeakable finally entered the Death Chamber. The dreadful voice beckoning him inside was more than just sleep deprived delirium. The black cloud at the bottom of the chamber, surrounding the vale in the center, reeked of pure malevolence. Whatever elixir or tincture that Jane had been brewing awakened something Damian had hoped to keep buried. A mortemist should know that what was dead and buried was not guaranteed to stay that way.
"Some right Barney Rubble down there." Damian often let his cockney accent slip when he was alone, shedding his more dignified airs. With no clue how to get out of this predicament, he would have to at least make an attempt to contain it. Having confiscated nearly every saltshaker from the food court, a circle was walked around the upper edge of the room, leaving a trail behind him. Discarding the final shaker when reaching back where he started, Damian had his wand out while uttering a protective spell.
There was a gnawing feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better.
__________________
In over his head |