Fic: Compromised (PG-13)
Title: Compromised
Author: quietliban
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and characters created therein are property of JK Rowling and her associated publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing: Millicent/Vincent, Millicent/Zacharias
Rating: PG-13 and dark.
Wordcount: 1800ish words.
Summary: "Millicent throws her mask down heavily on the desk, the thin porcelain skids along the cleared surface, but does not break. This is just as well. Otherwise she would have cracked the craftsman who made it in as many places as it shattered..."
“Millicent!”
He calls her name, and she stops before she realises that he should not know that it is her. His voice was once so familiar and dear to her that she cannot help it when she turns around. She knows that she has failed now. That she has compromised her mission, but her mind cannot override her heart, and what is left of her soul longs to see him.
He looks different from the last time she laid eyes on him, but the last time was obscured by tears that had made his image blurry. Now only shadows hide his scars, and she knows not all of them are plainly visible. His eyes are hidden, but she can feel them anyway. She knows that they are trying to penetrate the smooth whiteness of her mask to see her face. She turns away. There is nothing she can say now; nothing can change what she has done and the choices that she has made.
“Wait, please.”
His voice is pleading, and she knows in her mind that she can turn away. She knows hat she can keep the past and what he once meant locked away in the stone chest where she keeps all of her emotions. She takes another step down the darkened alleyway and Apparates away in the cover of the shadows.
---
Millicent throws her mask down heavily on the desk, the thin porcelain skids along the cleared surface, but does not break. This is just as well. Otherwise she would have cracked the craftsman who made it in as many places as it shattered. It has gone on too long; she thinks as she takes out her wand and puts it carefully beside the mask.
She can hear arguing in the drawing room, and the sound of her husband’s voice carries through the door. She takes off her outer robe and marches through to where he is standing red in the face. She is not surprised when she sees her father-in-law sitting presumptuously in the arm chair.
“Father,” she nods as she greets him. “Vincent,” she turns to her husband. Both father and son are portly men, although once the son was more bulking muscle than fat. Unfortunately for Millicent this is no longer the case.
“The mission was a success?” her father-in-law asks. She hates that he thinks that he is her superior. She works for far greater powers than he, but she will allow him his misguided thoughts so long as it does not impede on her work.
“Yes,” she replies, but gives her husband a meaningful look. They will discuss her error later. “It is a surprise to see you though, not that it isn’t a welcome one.”
The elder Crabbe puffs with pleasure at his daughter-in-law’s empty words. She turns to the buffet on the side of the room to pour herself a tumbler of brandy from the decanter.
“It is always a pleasure to visit my family,” he replies, “but this was not a social call. This is in regard to Our Lord.”
Millicent knows that her father-in-law dislikes discussing greater plans in front of her. She wonders what exactly he thinks she does on her missions. “Of course,” she nods and cradles her tumbler. “Darling,” she turns to her husband. “I’ll be in the library when you finish with your father.” She takes a sip of the brandy before putting it down and kissing her husband on the cheek.
The conversation between father and son does not begin again until she is well within the library’s confines.
---
Her husband’s hand fiddles with the fine strap of her gown and he plants a kiss in the corner of her jaw, just below her ear. She turns to meet his lips in a kiss, but pushes his hand away.
“Smith recognised me,” she tells him. She is glad her tone is calm and neutral and that no emotion except casual dismissal marks her voice.
Vincent pulls away and looks at her. “You said the mission was a success. You didn’t kill him.” Millicent can hear the disappointment in her husband’s voice, but it was never as simple a matter as to just kill him. He was still needed, and still wanted alive. It was the man’s father, and the medi-witch who were required to be dead. The heir had to remain alive.
Millicent looks away, glancing at the thick tomes that line the walls. Millicent does not particularly like the library, but there were very few places she could go with in this house when her father-in-law is around.
“The old man and the medi-witch are dead. The mission was a success,” she replies turning back to him.
“Millicent,” her husband warns.
Millicent gets up from her chair and walks to her husband, leaning into the man. Her hands trail up his arms, and her fingers wander up his neck before she cups his cheek, and strokes the fine stubble growing there with her thumb.
“He recognised you,” her husband tells her, as if it is something she doesn’t know. She does know, after all she was the one who was there.
“I will take the punishment,” she tells him. It is true. She is not afraid. She has nothing to be afraid for. The pain that her Lord will make her feel will be just another reminder she is alive.
“That is not what I am worried about,” her husband says. He steps away from her and turns to the large spell book that is splayed open on a large table behind him.
“What did your father want?” Millicent asks, trying to divert the conversation. She steps in close behind him, and rests her chin on his shoulder.
“You still love him,” her husband tells her.
She is silent at this. Not because it is true, but because such a thing simply cannot be possible. Millicent does not love.
“And how do I do that?” she asks, and she can hear the anger in her voice. It is one thing to be married to a man you do not love, but it is quite another to be accused of loving someone else.
“You didn’t kill him,” he tells her. Vincent turns to face her now, and she can see the sadness in his eyes. She does not like what this means. Their marriage is a business merger more than anything else. It is a tolerable one, but it is not one that is meant to eventuate to anything.
“He was not to be harmed. Those were my orders.”
“And what were your instincts?” Vincent asks. Millicent opens her mouth to reply, but there are no words to say. She cannot explain it, and she does not want to. Vincent nods wearily. “I thought so. You had to fight yourself to come back.”
Millicent watches as her husband leaves the library.
---
She is not surprised when she sees him waiting for her on his doorsteps. The flowers in his front yard are blooming, and the bright pinks and yellows contrast with his black robes of mourning.
“Was there a reason you did what you did?” he asks. His voice is bitter now, not pleading or desperate like the last two times she has come across him.
She does not say anything; there is nothing she can really say. He has not told the Aurors that it was her, but she cannot thank him for that. The names of his father and the medi-witch who died at her wand were listed in The Daily Prophet a week ago. The causalities in the war do not get full paged articles anymore. Their names are just listed in small black print and they might even get an obituary if they have any remaining family alive.
“Well?” he asks. Millicent wonders if he is really wants an answer. She knows that there is no satisfactory answer she can give.
“It is my job,” she says simply. His face darkens and there is hate and sorrow and frustration cast in every line. His face looks very old now, and it should not, for they are both only just past twenty years.
“It didn’t have to be,” he tells her.
Millicent laughs at this. Her destiny was mapped out the moment she first killed that muggle boy in the playground. It had only been an accident, and she had not meant to for his brain to leak out of his skull or to hear the resounding crack that had allowed it to happen. It had not been a clean death, but then, there is no such thing. It had horrified her, but her father had been proud. She had felt herself spilt in two at the realisation that the boy was dead. “What would you know, Zacharias?” she asks. “There was never anyway back for me.”
There is a different type of sorrow in his eyes as he looks up at her. “When I was seven,” he begins, and his voice is unsteady, “I had a little sister. Her name was Magdalene. She wouldn’t stop crying. She cried all through the night, and kept every one in the house awake. I didn’t know that babies did that, and always used to wish she would shut up. One night, she was squalling at the top of her lungs. I just wanted her to shut up. I wanted her to shut up so badly…” A tear escapes his eyes. “Suddenly there was silence. We were all so relieved. The next morning mum went in for Magdalene’s feed. She wasn’t breathing and her face…it was grotesque. We went to the Healers at St Mungo’s to find out what had killed her.”
Millicent recognises the sorrow in his eyes. It is a sorrow that is tainted by guilt and the innocence that is lost when one takes a life. “What was it?” she asks.
“A skin had grown over her airway; the product of accidental magic, my accidental magic.” He shakes his head. “My father covered it up of course. No one knows what I did, but I know and I feel it everyday.”
Millicent stares at him. She has never killed a baby, but that death was an accident. A product of her kind’s ignorance. She doesn’t think that he should blame himself, but it is not up to her to decide for him. “I’m sorry for you, but that does not change anything.”
Zacharias laughs bitterly. “Why did you come back, Millicent?”
She looks into his eyes, and she finds that they are hidden again, like they were on the night she had murdered his father. “You should leave. It’s not safe for you in Britain.”
“So you do still care,” he remarks softly and gets up off his doorstep. He takes steps closer toward her, but she gets her wand out. He freezes, and stares at her expectantly.
“That is my only warning. It’s not safe for you here,” she tells him.
“No one is safe here,” he replies and takes another step towards her.
The curse leaves her lips before she sees the flash of green light and knows what she has done.
Millicent does not love.
Author: quietliban
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and characters created therein are property of JK Rowling and her associated publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing: Millicent/Vincent, Millicent/Zacharias
Rating: PG-13 and dark.
Wordcount: 1800ish words.
Summary: "Millicent throws her mask down heavily on the desk, the thin porcelain skids along the cleared surface, but does not break. This is just as well. Otherwise she would have cracked the craftsman who made it in as many places as it shattered..."
“Millicent!”
He calls her name, and she stops before she realises that he should not know that it is her. His voice was once so familiar and dear to her that she cannot help it when she turns around. She knows that she has failed now. That she has compromised her mission, but her mind cannot override her heart, and what is left of her soul longs to see him.
He looks different from the last time she laid eyes on him, but the last time was obscured by tears that had made his image blurry. Now only shadows hide his scars, and she knows not all of them are plainly visible. His eyes are hidden, but she can feel them anyway. She knows that they are trying to penetrate the smooth whiteness of her mask to see her face. She turns away. There is nothing she can say now; nothing can change what she has done and the choices that she has made.
“Wait, please.”
His voice is pleading, and she knows in her mind that she can turn away. She knows hat she can keep the past and what he once meant locked away in the stone chest where she keeps all of her emotions. She takes another step down the darkened alleyway and Apparates away in the cover of the shadows.
---
Millicent throws her mask down heavily on the desk, the thin porcelain skids along the cleared surface, but does not break. This is just as well. Otherwise she would have cracked the craftsman who made it in as many places as it shattered. It has gone on too long; she thinks as she takes out her wand and puts it carefully beside the mask.
She can hear arguing in the drawing room, and the sound of her husband’s voice carries through the door. She takes off her outer robe and marches through to where he is standing red in the face. She is not surprised when she sees her father-in-law sitting presumptuously in the arm chair.
“Father,” she nods as she greets him. “Vincent,” she turns to her husband. Both father and son are portly men, although once the son was more bulking muscle than fat. Unfortunately for Millicent this is no longer the case.
“The mission was a success?” her father-in-law asks. She hates that he thinks that he is her superior. She works for far greater powers than he, but she will allow him his misguided thoughts so long as it does not impede on her work.
“Yes,” she replies, but gives her husband a meaningful look. They will discuss her error later. “It is a surprise to see you though, not that it isn’t a welcome one.”
The elder Crabbe puffs with pleasure at his daughter-in-law’s empty words. She turns to the buffet on the side of the room to pour herself a tumbler of brandy from the decanter.
“It is always a pleasure to visit my family,” he replies, “but this was not a social call. This is in regard to Our Lord.”
Millicent knows that her father-in-law dislikes discussing greater plans in front of her. She wonders what exactly he thinks she does on her missions. “Of course,” she nods and cradles her tumbler. “Darling,” she turns to her husband. “I’ll be in the library when you finish with your father.” She takes a sip of the brandy before putting it down and kissing her husband on the cheek.
The conversation between father and son does not begin again until she is well within the library’s confines.
---
Her husband’s hand fiddles with the fine strap of her gown and he plants a kiss in the corner of her jaw, just below her ear. She turns to meet his lips in a kiss, but pushes his hand away.
“Smith recognised me,” she tells him. She is glad her tone is calm and neutral and that no emotion except casual dismissal marks her voice.
Vincent pulls away and looks at her. “You said the mission was a success. You didn’t kill him.” Millicent can hear the disappointment in her husband’s voice, but it was never as simple a matter as to just kill him. He was still needed, and still wanted alive. It was the man’s father, and the medi-witch who were required to be dead. The heir had to remain alive.
Millicent looks away, glancing at the thick tomes that line the walls. Millicent does not particularly like the library, but there were very few places she could go with in this house when her father-in-law is around.
“The old man and the medi-witch are dead. The mission was a success,” she replies turning back to him.
“Millicent,” her husband warns.
Millicent gets up from her chair and walks to her husband, leaning into the man. Her hands trail up his arms, and her fingers wander up his neck before she cups his cheek, and strokes the fine stubble growing there with her thumb.
“He recognised you,” her husband tells her, as if it is something she doesn’t know. She does know, after all she was the one who was there.
“I will take the punishment,” she tells him. It is true. She is not afraid. She has nothing to be afraid for. The pain that her Lord will make her feel will be just another reminder she is alive.
“That is not what I am worried about,” her husband says. He steps away from her and turns to the large spell book that is splayed open on a large table behind him.
“What did your father want?” Millicent asks, trying to divert the conversation. She steps in close behind him, and rests her chin on his shoulder.
“You still love him,” her husband tells her.
She is silent at this. Not because it is true, but because such a thing simply cannot be possible. Millicent does not love.
“And how do I do that?” she asks, and she can hear the anger in her voice. It is one thing to be married to a man you do not love, but it is quite another to be accused of loving someone else.
“You didn’t kill him,” he tells her. Vincent turns to face her now, and she can see the sadness in his eyes. She does not like what this means. Their marriage is a business merger more than anything else. It is a tolerable one, but it is not one that is meant to eventuate to anything.
“He was not to be harmed. Those were my orders.”
“And what were your instincts?” Vincent asks. Millicent opens her mouth to reply, but there are no words to say. She cannot explain it, and she does not want to. Vincent nods wearily. “I thought so. You had to fight yourself to come back.”
Millicent watches as her husband leaves the library.
---
She is not surprised when she sees him waiting for her on his doorsteps. The flowers in his front yard are blooming, and the bright pinks and yellows contrast with his black robes of mourning.
“Was there a reason you did what you did?” he asks. His voice is bitter now, not pleading or desperate like the last two times she has come across him.
She does not say anything; there is nothing she can really say. He has not told the Aurors that it was her, but she cannot thank him for that. The names of his father and the medi-witch who died at her wand were listed in The Daily Prophet a week ago. The causalities in the war do not get full paged articles anymore. Their names are just listed in small black print and they might even get an obituary if they have any remaining family alive.
“Well?” he asks. Millicent wonders if he is really wants an answer. She knows that there is no satisfactory answer she can give.
“It is my job,” she says simply. His face darkens and there is hate and sorrow and frustration cast in every line. His face looks very old now, and it should not, for they are both only just past twenty years.
“It didn’t have to be,” he tells her.
Millicent laughs at this. Her destiny was mapped out the moment she first killed that muggle boy in the playground. It had only been an accident, and she had not meant to for his brain to leak out of his skull or to hear the resounding crack that had allowed it to happen. It had not been a clean death, but then, there is no such thing. It had horrified her, but her father had been proud. She had felt herself spilt in two at the realisation that the boy was dead. “What would you know, Zacharias?” she asks. “There was never anyway back for me.”
There is a different type of sorrow in his eyes as he looks up at her. “When I was seven,” he begins, and his voice is unsteady, “I had a little sister. Her name was Magdalene. She wouldn’t stop crying. She cried all through the night, and kept every one in the house awake. I didn’t know that babies did that, and always used to wish she would shut up. One night, she was squalling at the top of her lungs. I just wanted her to shut up. I wanted her to shut up so badly…” A tear escapes his eyes. “Suddenly there was silence. We were all so relieved. The next morning mum went in for Magdalene’s feed. She wasn’t breathing and her face…it was grotesque. We went to the Healers at St Mungo’s to find out what had killed her.”
Millicent recognises the sorrow in his eyes. It is a sorrow that is tainted by guilt and the innocence that is lost when one takes a life. “What was it?” she asks.
“A skin had grown over her airway; the product of accidental magic, my accidental magic.” He shakes his head. “My father covered it up of course. No one knows what I did, but I know and I feel it everyday.”
Millicent stares at him. She has never killed a baby, but that death was an accident. A product of her kind’s ignorance. She doesn’t think that he should blame himself, but it is not up to her to decide for him. “I’m sorry for you, but that does not change anything.”
Zacharias laughs bitterly. “Why did you come back, Millicent?”
She looks into his eyes, and she finds that they are hidden again, like they were on the night she had murdered his father. “You should leave. It’s not safe for you in Britain.”
“So you do still care,” he remarks softly and gets up off his doorstep. He takes steps closer toward her, but she gets her wand out. He freezes, and stares at her expectantly.
“That is my only warning. It’s not safe for you here,” she tells him.
“No one is safe here,” he replies and takes another step towards her.
The curse leaves her lips before she sees the flash of green light and knows what she has done.
Millicent does not love.