closed: fucking azkaban
Azkaban.
Fucking AzkabanIf there was one place he had never in a million years expected to find himself lining up to visit, this was most definitely it. Even with the Dementors gone, there was a lingering eeriness about the place, a soul-crushing sort of dampness that sank right into your bones and chilled your very soul, as if the prison's ( Read more... )
Fucking AzkabanIf there was one place he had never in a million years expected to find himself lining up to visit, this was most definitely it. Even with the Dementors gone, there was a lingering eeriness about the place, a soul-crushing sort of dampness that sank right into your bones and chilled your very soul, as if the prison's ( Read more... )
She flinched, jerking from his embrace unsteadily, her eyes darting to where it could be coming from but finding nothing, the voice that alerted everyone to when they were supposed to wake up and go to sleep and eat lunch and basically do everything they were told while confined within these walls. Even in the short twenty-four since she had been here, she had grown so tired and weary of that voice.
She looked to George as she heaved in a breath.
"I'm sorry-" was all she said at first, her eyes itchy as she rubbed at them with the back of her bound fists.
Two chairs appeared in the middle of the room, catching Cecilia off guard. She turned, swallowing the lump in her throat as she sat in the one closest to her, fidgeting with the chain around her wrist.
"I um- I don't really know yet," she said quietly. "The Auror who brought me in said that I was named with other Death Eaters-" her words were shaky and slow, as if they still hadn't settled for her just yet. "By um- by Lucius Malfoy-"
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George shook his head against her heaved apology, his hands clenching at his sides as the chains rattled conspicuously around Cecilia's wrists, the chairs' appearance interrupting him before he had had a chance to assure her that she owed no apologies.
He promptly took the seat opposite hers, perching on the very edge of the chair and propping his elbows against his knees, leaning in as closely as he could without their knees actually touching, without actually reaching out to grab her again despite the fact that every nerve in his body screamed for it, his muscles practically shaking with the desperate desire to pull her in and curl her up against him and take her away from this terrible place she had no business being in.
-But then, of course. Malfoy.
"That vile fucking treacherous little shit-" he muttered below his breath from behind clenched teeth, a barely discernible mumble as he shook his head and his hands balled into even tighter fists and he forcedly worked that bit of information into the slowly building explanation that would hopefully soon give way to a plan to get her out that went beyond basic stubborn insistence (or, his personal preference, though one that would likely be frowned upon, your typical illegal breakout).
He automatically reached out for her hand again, but paused just shy of touching her, casting another glance upwards to the invisible source of the disembodied robotic voice.
"Cecilia. I promise you. We're getting you out of here. This- this is some fucked up mistake-"
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She gripped at her fingers, her hands shaking slightly, though whether it was from the chill or the shame, she wasn't sure. It was likely a mixture of both, her whole body suffering from the consequences of her previous actions. Her eyes flitted down to her lap, staring at the threadbare fabric covering her legs. Regardless of the personal vindications behind Lucius Malfoy's confession, she had done what she was accused of.
"Everything they have against me-" she swallowed, throat sore and dry. "I did-"
She looked back to George with weary eyes, feeling suddenly so guilty, feeling foolish to think that she could just forgive herself for what had happened and not pay the price.
"I did all those things-" she told him, knowing that while he had always said her past didn't mean anything, that it was likely going to change now- wouldn't it? He couldn't still possibly think-
"And now I'm paying for them-" she said, wiping at the hot, sticky tears that clouded her eyes. "I'm so sorry, George-"
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Whatever she was being accused of, whatever she had or hadn't done, those things belonged in a different life. In this life, Cecilia was a person who gave life rather than took it, who had helped to save Lavender's life, who was a victim herself rather than any kind of perpetrator. The person who had fallen asleep next to him just days ago with a tiny snoring puppy cuddled against her chest wasn't the criminal they had dressed her up as, and he'd be damned if anyone or anything could convince him otherwise.
"They can't just throw you in here like this- it's been years, they can't just-"
He instinctively reached out to catch a tear she had missed as it streaked down her face, his thumb swiping lightly against her cheek as his fingers pushed a limply frazzled strand of hair behind her ear-
"No touching-"
"-oh, fuck off!" George snapped, shouting up at the ceiling and the invisible grating voice, but reluctantly pulling his hand away again.
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But that was no longer her reality. Her reality included rusty chains and ratty robes, slop food and little sunlight. The Auror had said that she could be in here for the rest of her life. Forever. And the worst part was that she understood, agreed that this was probably what she deserved.
She had been blessed for a short moment, to be so genuinely happy with someone she loved so much. Maybe it wasn't long enough but she felt like having it at all was the luckiest she would get.
"George-"
She faltered, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
"I don't think they're going to understand all that-" she said. "I just- I'm just so glad you came to see me-"
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"If you thought I'd let you rot in here without even at least dropping in to say hello, then you need to do some serious reevaluating of our relationship," he said, managing to work at least some semblance of humor into his tone, weighed down as it was by the dreary heaviness that seemed to have settled at the pit of his stomach since Susan had burst into his shop with news he hadn't quite been able to immediately process or to even fully accept until moments ago when he had seen her being harshly shoved into the damp, somber room.
"They'll understand, alright? They have to understand. There's enough people that'll speak on your behalf- Ces, I promise, I swear to you, you are not going to be stuck here forever. I'm not letting them just take you away like this. We'll figure something out, please believe that-"
Because he had seen that look in her eye. The way her shoulders uncharacteristically hunched, that hesitant hitch in her voice, the frayed meekness with which she had stumbled in that couldn't entirely be blamed on the stiff, style-less robes or a day spent without basic self-care amenities. It was a look of final, fightless resignation. And that, more than anything, was what really delivered that pinpointed heartbreaking blow.
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Except for her. She became the monster that did their bidding. Even when it made her uncomfortable and sick and shaken.
"How?"
The word was quiet, shaky, Cecilia not able to comprehend why anyone would speak on her behalf now, not when all the things she did were sprawled across the papers, written their in black ink. Those things couldn't be erased. They couldn't be undone.
"George- don't you think this is right?" she asked him. "Don't you think it's time I sit punishment? I got away with so much-"
She blinked back the tears stinging at her eyes.
"I became a Healer because I wanted to make up for everything- but I should have known that it wasn't going to be enough-"
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He expected and anticipated the sharp mechanical cry of 'no touching' as he closed that barely-there distance to give her hands a quick proper squeeze, because he couldn't not, every inch of him was leaning forward and desperate to hold her and cold and itchy from the lack of contact when all he was apparently meant to be able to do was sit here and watch as the person he loved more than anything, more than he had ever thought he was capable of loving, sank into herself, pulled back by the haunts of her past that had been summoned up to rip her away.
George had never been one to follow rules. 'Do not enter' signs begged to be passed by and 'silence please' obviously meant that a firework or twelve needed to be set off, and while justice generally called for a punishment to match a crime, he didn't need to weigh any morals or considerations to know that whatever Cecilia was being accused of, whatever she had or hadn't done, this wasn't what she deserved. Justice was a fickle thing, and in this case, biased as he might be, the rules just weren't meant to be applied. The rules just couldn't be applied.
'No touching-' It rang out again, seemingly louder than before, George realizing that what had been meant as a quick reassuring squeeze had indadvertedly turned into a vice-like hold, tightened by desperation and disbelief.
He quickly (so very reluctantly) pulled his hands away again, his gaze firmly meeting hers.
"You're not- you can't-" The catch in his throat that came from deeper down than even the lump he had been having to swallow around since Susan's appearance at the shop suddenly seemed to swell up a bit more, unexpectedly and unnecessarily, but there he was, overwhelmed by the rush of perfectly selfish emotion and anguish.
The quiet sternness with which he had been speaking, a shallow attempt at grabbing for some kind of control or understanding, fizzled down to a mere scratchy whisper.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do if you-" If you're taken away. If you never come back. If you're locked in here until you forget who you even were before and my heart gets locked up and forgotten here right along with you-
"You can't, okay. We're getting you out-"
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She had spent her whole life looking for someone to love her this way. Something uncomplicated and clear and honest- things she was never given the grace to have before she met George.
He was, without a doubt, the greatest (and only true) love of her life. He made her better. He was the only person who could ever cut through her anxieties, the only one to ever make her see clearly.
George showed her how to breath when she couldn't do it on her own.
And that realization hit her so harshly now that she knew she might truly be stuck in here without him and that she wasn't the only one affected by that. He was too.
"I don't know what to do," she said, swallowing. "George- what can we do? How do I-"
She rubbed at her eyes again, the cool of the chains grazing against her chin causing her to shudder.
"What do we do?"
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And yet there was nothing he could do about it. No immediate solution. This wasn't a problem that would be resolved by the usual rash actions and explosive antics he generally relied on, any of which would not only fail to remedy the situation, it would make things harder for her.
He had never cared more about helping, yet had never felt more helpless.
His nails dug into his palms, hands balled into fists in an attempt to wrangle that painful instinct to reach out for her again. Like everything else, the simplicity of a mere touch was something that was never so desperately missed and desired as when it was taken away.
But it wouldn't do anyone any good to dwell on that or to continue inciting the robotic shriek of that faceless voice. Even as he felt his heart crumbling to pieces, George stubbornly shook his head, forcing this mind to focus, to think beyond the overwhelming worry and confusion.
"Something- we'll do something," he told her firmly, eyes steadily focused on hers. "You'll have your trial- I'll talk to Harry, to my brother- Hermione's with the Wizengamot- hell, I'll go straight to Shacklebolt if that's what it takes. You're not getting stuck in here-"
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Taking him away from her was the punishment that pained her the most, after finally finding someone that made her this happy-
And she knew there wasn't much time left. That the prison wasn't exactly keen on long visits. She had been given a long list of rules when she was first admitted, the woman at the front desk seemingly bored and tired and snapping at her gum as she alerted Cecilia to the way her life would be as long as she was within these walls.
She was just so bloody scared. She was terrified that no matter what they did, she was still going to be here. And if this was how she felt after one day, she wasn't sure how she'd manage for longer.
"Okay-"
She couldn't help but want to believe, though, that maybe there was something they could do. There had to be, right? Though, those names didn't inspire much confidence in the idea, her brow furrowing when she realized that none of those people could be too keen on helping her.
But hope was all that she had.
"I'm afraid, George-" she said quietly.
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While his alliances might run deep, most of them rooted to his family's history and their role in both wars, he couldn't fool himself into thinking the same was true for her. The list of people who would both instinctively take her side and actually have trustworthy pull in the face of such grave accusations was a dreadfully short one.
But he hadn't gotten where he had by being easily detered. When it mattered (and this, Cecilia, mattered, more than anything else had ever mattered before), when he made up his mind, there was no stopping him, however unlikely the chance of success.
"I know-" he told her, his words as quietly spoken as her own.
He wanted to tell her that she shouldn't be. That there was nothing to be afraid of. That it would all be okay.
But he had never tried to lie to her, and he wasn't about to start to now-
"I promise you. I'll do everything I can to fix this. We're getting you out. Just- hold on for a little while, okay?"
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She said it softly, pressing her lips together as she chewed roughly on the inside of her mouth, pressing down harshly on her skin to prevent herself from crying any further, already so tired of the way she felt while she was here.
"Honestly, George- if you can't- it's okay, I don't want you to-"
But a slight and quiet beeping noise filled the space, something so light that Cecilia barely heard it at first. But then, suddenly, it grew louder and then the voice popped in again with a blaring "TEN MINUTES-" and she jerked in her seat. That was too soon and she panicked slightly, her eyes widening as she realized that he'd be taken from her all over again and she'd be alone in her cell.
"I don't want you to go-" she said, a sob choking in her throat. "Don't make him go-" she said, to whatever voice was watching over them.
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George's eyes widened at that entirely unwelcome robotically shrieked announcement, a whole new surge of panic and dread and desperation flaring up under his skin as he glanced back at Cecilia, once again curling his fingers into his palms to keep from reacting to that heart wrenching sob with an instinctive grab, the sound and sight of her shaking shoulders once more twisting at that knife that had casually settled itself in the pit of his stomach.
"It'll be fine, okay," he said, quiet and desperate as he leaned forward to catch her eye again.
If it had been an option, or it if had made any progressive sort of sense, he would have stayed. If it meant he could watch over her, or touch her again without some disembodied voice yelling at them, or if it in any way helped her to not be alone and scared and chained up and shaking, he would have gladly taken up residence in that cell next to hers, would have traded spots in a heartbeat without giving it a second thought.
But that rhythmic beeping continued to count down their time together, and he knew that no amount of pleading or wishful thinking could changing anything-
"Look at me- you'll be fine. I'll be back as soon as they let me. And you'll be out of here soon. Okay? I promise. You are getting out of here-"
Nothing else mattered. Nothing but that conviction, that need, that absolute, indisputable necessity that no matter what, no matter what had to be done or said or argued about, she was getting out-
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Because now, as she sat so close to George and yet incapable of even touching him the slightest bit, she knew that this was worse than all of it.
She looked back to him, her bright eyes dark and glistening as she nodded.
"I promise," she said weakly, feeling such shame that it was coursing through her entire time. "Please come back," she told him. "Don't-"
She paused, wiping her hands again at her face.
"I love you-"
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George leaned in that much closer to her, scooted forward in his chair so that their knees were just a fraction of an inch from touching, his forehead hovering barely just away from hers, his hands uncurling from their bunched fists to linger somewhat shakily over hers, just enough distance left between them to not incite the voice's wrath or spur the suspicions of the guard that had started peaking in through the door's small window as the countdown continued.
It wasn't enough, not nearly, not even close, but it was all he had-
"I'll come back. I promise. I'm not going anywhere, remember?"
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