Menage a Quatre

Prelude

Metal clanged against metal as two figures, dressed in white fencing outfits, clanged foils together, as one of them glowed blue, the other violet. One of them winced as a touch was scored and his garment glowed blue from the hit. The other duelist winced from the pain, no matter how illustory it was.

"Antoine," said the taller of the two men, taking off his mask, revealing mismatched eyes, green and blue, that gave them a teal color. He had his hair cropped back in a military style, and he was fair, and fairly handsome for one that was tall and lanky versus pure muscle mass. "Need I remind you again that the Quatre needs you to be trained in some kind of combat skill to be of use? As a member of the group of foremost monster hunters for hire here in France, nay, perhaps the world at large, we cannot have you misplacing your head for your ass."

Antoine gave 'the snort'. The superb little snort of ultimate distain. He was stockier, brown hair, brown eyes in a widow's peak, but not unhandsome. He was slightly tanned, and all his features reeked that of a very dark, very arrogant Frenchman. "Thaddeus. I appeciate your efforts, after all, it being your job as the resident Defense Against the Dark Arts expert, but you expect too much of me, we both know I'm practically a Squib--"

Thaddeus's eyes turned like stone as he heard Antoine's lame excuse. The man, despite the fact that of not being able to conjure much more than a Stinging Hex, was capable in many other ways to the group. His potion (and poison) manufacture was almost second to none, and he was the closest thing to a true Diviner that the Wizarding world had...wait a minute. "You've got one of your 'feelings'...someone's stepped on my grave, I think is the phrase you use, don't you?"

"To paraphrase Macbeth, something wicked this way comes."

"I hate it when you say things like that. Mostly because it galls me to think you're never wrong," Thaddeus said archly.

Antoine gave him a gallows smile. He had grown up in a family full of Seers, but he had never foretold a real vision and prophecy in his life. No, his gift was a little bit more protracted than that. He could tell when danger was coming through tingles through his body, unexplained fear. The greater the feeling, the closer, and more dangerous, it was. In a world full of monsters, the uncanny sense of intution and leading the Quatre to the right place at the right time was useful.

Thaddeus looked at Antoine. "Stun me."

"It won't work, Thaddeus, I appeciate the attempts to practice, but it--"

"Do it anyway, " Thaddeus said calmly, more of a command than a suggestion. Thaddeus wasn't about to argue, he wanted to make sure Antoine was up to snuff with his wand.

Antoine withdrew his short wand, about seven inches long, sighed and grumped, "Stupefy!"

Thaddeus remained upright as the red beam lanced out and hit him, and laughed. "That tickled!"

"Gee thanks. With friends like you, who needs dragons?" Antoine grumped and looked at the floor. Was the gym floor darkening...it was getting to be like an ice box. Stupid Thaddeus, he was like all the other kids when his spells didn't work anyway...Antoine felt like he was going to cry, that he would not be happy again. That's when he looked up and saw the cloaked figure glide toward him...he reached for his wand, but he knew damn well he couldn't project a Patronus no more than he could Stun someone, and he doubted the dementor would want a Tarot reading...

"Expecto Patronum!" He heard a familiar hiss, and a large dragon, a Norwegian Ridgeback, made out of silver smoke came out and breathed silver fire at the dementor, who backed away and vanished in retreat. When his vision cleared, Antoine was on his knees, Thaddeus pointing his wand where the dementor had been.

"I think, perhaps, we have a problem," Thaddeus said calmly, offering his hand to help Antoine off the padded floor.

Antoine took it, with a snort. "Understatement of the year..." An large horned owl with a note tied to its leg flew into the gym from the open window in hopes of keeping it cool. It handed at Antoine's feet, hooting expectantly. As Antoine watched idly, the owl's feathers melted away, and it grew into a young man that looked to be a few years younger than Antoine of some Native American stock with oddly colored red hair, and green eyes. Instead of wearing a fencing outfit, he wore sneakers and a tshirt for the band Dark Voodoo Dolls, the closest thing the Wizarding world had to a metal band. Antoine never did like Kristoff's musical tastes. The younger male grinned widely and chirped, "Mail!"

"Kristoff, if this is another notice from the Prophet, saying our subscription is in jeopardy of expiring, I'm going to have to hurt you," Antoine muttered, still pale and shaken from the dementor attack.

"Nah," Kristoff grinned. His eyes glittered with amusement, never a good sign. Kristoff's idea of an amusing trick was transmuting people's clothes into see through plastic, espically if the person was still in them. "You remember Charlie Weasley, the guy we helped to catch those dragons for his research and the Triwizard? He wants us to come to London."

"That was almost before your time, kiddo," smirked Antoine, "you hadn't graduated from that school you went to in America yet. I still remember the look on your father's face when you told him what your real summer job was..." He noticed that Thaddeus was looking at him impatiently. "I don't see why we should go to London."

"The Minstry of Magic is there, Antoine, and perhaps we could gain information about the dementor that just attacked us," said Thaddeus, "plus we don't refuse jobs without reason, remember. We'll gather Veridian, who last I checked was napping, and go. I suggest you hang on to your wands, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

Watching the expression on Thaddeus's seemingly stone face with the fire of anticipation of battle and Kristoff's wide grin that says nothing good of this will come, Antoine felt a little sick. A part of him, the smallest part he wouldn't acknowledge existed, lived for this. He yelped in pain, rubbing his butt.

Behind him, through the large double wood doors, was a short sized witch, pale and fair like Thaddeus, with blonde hair and blue eyes, looking at him with a huge grin. She kissed Thaddeus on the cheek and said softly, "You were brooding again, Antoine."

"It's nice to know, Veridian," he said tartly, but not madly, "that I can rely on you to cheer me up by casting a Stinging Hex on my ass."

"Now, now, Twine..." Thaddeus grinned. Antoine hated that name. "Mice Breath, Sugar and I are ready to go. We'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron like the note says." With that, Thaddeus and the others waved their wands, and Disapparated.

Antoine walked through the hideout of the Quatre, shaking his head. The members never did need to ward heavily, just needing to make it Unplottable. What would dementors need with them? He found the cookfire in the kitchen and prepared his least favorite way, but quickest way to travel, Floo Powder. "The Leaky Cauldron, London," he called out, and his stomach almost wrenched as he pulled into the fire.