A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 5.
House: Gryffindor
Year: Head Girl
Category: Drabble
Prompts: 10. [Setting] Azkaban Cell
Word count: 728 words (written on Google docs)
Betas: Thank you to Shiba (Shibalyfe) and CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for beta'ing! (and Aurora for looking at the other Stan version) Xx
I had a lot of trouble fitting in enough emotion for the word count, and exploring all the thoughts Mrs Crouch would've had during her short stay (in canon, she's only there a few days before her illness—not disclosed takes her). For example, I would've loved to have looked at her thoughts towards her husband or Barty's treatment or the Dementors etc. Instead, I chose how she coped, or at least how I imagined she may have coped (with a headcanon that she really did think her boy was good deep down/ didn't mean his crime). Either way, I do think Mrs Crouch should be given more credit—her sacrifice is often forgotten :)
I sincerely appreciate you reading this! Xx
It's Going to be Okay
"It's going to be okay," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. "Hurry, go."
"Alright," Bartemius says, but he continues to cling onto her hand. Only when a guard clears his throat does he let go and straighten his robes. "Well, take care… son."
She's sure there are tears in his brown eyes, but he turns away, pushing their disguised son down the corridor.
Their footsteps echo on the stone floor and she presses her face against the cold metal bars to catch a final glimpse of them. No one bats an eyelid at the way Barty repeatedly cries out, "I love you!" He simply appears to be an old woman pining for her son.
She soon hears the clang of the heavy steel gates she'd arrived through just an hour before, and steps away from the bars. Fresh tears spring to her eyes as she realises they've made it through them. Sure, she won't see either of them again, but her son is okay now.
"It's going to be okay," she whispers to herself, sliding down the damp wall.
She's unsure if the reason she can no longer stand is that she's not used to the Polyjuice Potion, or if her legs are finally giving way to her illness. She tries to cover them from the biting cold with the grey blanket inside her cell, but it's no more than a scrap of material.
It's okay, though; the chilly air is actually helpful. Overnight, it's managed to numb the pain that's been coursing through her body for the last few months. It's more of a dull throb now, and she knows that soon, even that throb will stop. The cold will speed things up.
"Breakfast."
She pays little attention to the soggy loaf of bread shoved into her cell; her appetite had left long before she arrived. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans against the wall, thinking of the wonderful food her son could now eat—she'd been sure to have Winky prepare all his favourites before she arrived. She feels content knowing her boys will be well looked after.
"It's going to be okay," she wants to tell them, but her voice is hoarse.
The poor sods in the nearby cells won't hear her over their wails anyway. She wonders if they're actually innocent. Had they also been misled at an impressionable young age like Barty had been? Did they really mean to do what they did?
The thought brings her little comfort, and she focuses on the floor instead. There are cracks in the rough stonework, and if she squints enough, they form an outline of an elephant. Barty had always loved elephants; now, he'd have a hope of seeing a real one.
Another wail comes, and she tries again to tell them it'll be okay.
"It's going to be okay."
This time, she's not sure if she's telling herself or the other inmates or even the ghastly Dementors that glide past her cell. The creatures had left her alone for the first few days, but now, they too were probably wondering why it was taking so long. Surely her illness should've taken its final hold already?
She grasps onto the barred window ledge. It's taking all her effort to stand up, but she wants to see the view outside.
The grey waves are turbulent, but she's sure they're carrying messages from her husband and son telling her to be strong. In fact, she's sure she can hear their voices on the wind saying, "We're okay."
"It's going to be okay, Mum; let's go home."
When she'd first seen Barty, she'd thought the guards were playing a nasty trick on her. But it wasn't a trick, and now her son was taking her home.
His face smiles back at her as she reaches out to hug him. She knew they'd finally see he was innocent. She can't wait to leave this awful place and spend her final days with her family; in fact, she already feels healthier.
She grins as Barty says, "It's okay, Mum, it's going to be okay."
"Smiling like a madman 'til the end," a guard says, tsk'ing at the deceased convict staring into a dirty puddle.
"It's okay; Crouch isn't our problem now," another replies. "Come on, let's get rid of the body so we can free up this cell."