A/N: You may want to re-read Chapter 8 of "Sleeping Beauty" (the one when Hermione checks into The Wyvern Wing and bails on Draco to hang out with pre-psychotic William) before reading this chapter.
"Really," Hermione repeated, for what felt like the millionth time. "I'm fine."
Ron didn't appear half as convinced as she'd hoped.
The young man had come to hers and Severus' aid following the ambush in Gringotts, and brought with him some dinner along with a nice blueberry pie.
As it turned out, Ron and Gemma had not gone on their honeymoon. Neither of them felt right going on holiday whilst Cissy was still missing. Hermione would have tried to convince them otherwise, but she hadn't been sane enough during those initial days of Cissy's disappearance to notice her friends had canceled their trip to Mykonos.
"You need to eat something," Ron reasoned, having a seat beside her at the kitchen table. The group had decidedly relocated back to Hermione's flat — a sound decision given Severus' current state. "Draco told me you haven't had a bite since the wedding."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "He hasn't eaten anything either," she tattled. "And since when do you call him Draco?"
"Since now," the redheaded wizard retorted, shoving a plate full of food towards her. "Eat."
She grimaced, glancing at the plate. It was roast dinner — her favourite — and smelled rather delicious. "When did you learn to cook?"
"Gemma made it."
"Hmm," Hermione lifted a fork from her place setting. "Then maybe I will eat it."
Ron arched an eyebrow, and then shrugged. "Whatever gets meat on those bones."
The first bite tasted delicious. The bites that followed even more so. This was the longest she had gone without eating solid food since, well, ever. The only times she had missed meals before, were due to work or a rather fascinating book that she just had to finish before doing anything else.
Food didn't beckon to her, the way it did to Ron or to Draco. She had an appetite for one thing and one thing only: knowledge.
Hermione scraped the last bits from her near-empty plate, acutely aware of Ron's curious stare. There was no doubt in her mind that he was floored by the manner in which she ravaged Gemma's roast dinner. It wasn't her fault Gemma was a good cook. But it was her fault that she hadn't eaten in about three days.
"Merlin's beard," Ron remarked, a cross between amused and repulsed. "And they say I'm a pig."
"Shuddup," Hermione frowned, munching down on her last mouthful.
There were voices coming from the guest bedroom, undoubtedly nurse Gemma speaking with Severus. The charming Muggle girl had taken it upon herself to look after him, whilst he recovered from the ambush. Hermione wasn't sure which jinxes and/or curses had gone flying his way, but she was sure the spells were deadly and in large quantity.
She barely recognized him, back in The Leaky Cauldron. The only reason he had even survived had been due to her own quick-thinking, in reviving some of his strength with the use of dittany, and Draco's steady-handed application of the acclaimed ingredient.
"So what happened in the vault?" Ron asked, having kept a fair distance from the subject until then.
It seemed as though everyone, including Draco, felt the need to tip-toe around the fact that Nott, a man Hermione had trusted with her own child, had been the culprit all along — or at least one of them. She herself tried not to think about it in such a way. To her, Nott was no longer Theodore. To her, Nott was no longer her boyfriend. To her, Nott was simply a name on her list of targets.
But inside, things were different.
She wasn't hurt. She wasn't even embarrassed. She was, however, profoundly disappointed in her own judgment.
"I have horrible taste in men," Hermione uttered, staring blankly into the distance.
Ron gave her a knowing look. "He had all of us fooled. It's not your fault."
She sighed. "This isn't even about me. It's about Cissy. I gathered everyone together and risked all our livelihoods in order to find my daughter, but all we've managed to do is run around in circles and injure half the team."
"Snape is going to be fine," Ron assured her. "And now that you've eaten, you'll be fine, too." The ease in which he consoled her was shocking, given his previous reputation of being the most inconsiderate human being ever to exist. Being with Gemma really had changed him, for the better. "Just focus on getting your strength back, and we'll have the kidnapper's head on a silver platter come morning. I promise."
Hermione tossed him a look with her eyebrow firmly arched. "You can't promise that."
"I can," he disagreed, looking as though he knew something she didn't. "I'm sure Draco will come back with everything we need to track down the kidnapper."
"Just say it," she blurted. "Nott. Nott is the kidnapper. The man I welcomed into mine and my daughter's life is the kidnapper."
Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly. "Listen to me," he instructed, speaking with an air of wisdom she did not recognize. "You've been through an incredible amount of loss. It started with the Second Wizarding War and it has now continued, with your daughter's disappearance." Hearing it out loud like that tugged at the muscles in her chest. "Nott betrayed you, but that's his weakness, not yours. Do not, under any circumstances, blame yourself for opening your heart and your home to him. You did what a lot of people don't have the strength to do in tough situations — and that's love. You found love in the most unlikely place with the most unlikely person."
The brunette breathed in, bewildered. "I had no idea you were so…so deep," she remarked, only half-joking. "But you're wrong about one thing."
"What's that?" he asked.
"You said I found love in the most unlikely place with the most unlikely person," Hermione continued. "But I never loved Nott."
The expression on Ron's face turned solid with conviction. "I wasn't talking about him, when I said that."
She could have furthered the conversation. She could have pestered him for answers and clarification, but Hermione had known Ron long enough to understand his train of thought.
Her own thoughts drifted there, to that special place.
It had been years since their divorce, and yet, everything was so fresh.
The longing.
The laughter.
The love.
The hurt…
"Hermione?" Ron asked, sensing the change in her mood. "I know it's not my place to ask, and I've refrained from doing so over the past few years, but —" She looked to him, feeling it coming. "What happened?"
There were countless responses to that question, countless things she could have said that would have sounded perfectly believable — and even true on some level or another — but Hermione couldn't lie to him, nor to herself.
She closed her eyes.
"I — I don't regret having Cissy," she began, feeling her voice break. "But having her at such a young age was stressful on both myself and Draco, and even though we did the best we could to love her and to provide her with a beautiful home and every toy she could possibly want…we forgot one thing." The feeling in her chest deepened. "We forgot to love each other."
The legs on Ron's chair screeched against the hardwood floor, as he scooted closer and handed Hermione one of the unused napkins to wipe her eyes. It was only then that she realized there were tears falling down her cheeks. How long had she been crying? Why had she been crying? …Would she ever stop?
"I know I'm not the best at relationships," he started. "But the one thing I've learned is that it's easier to fall in love than it is to be in love."
Truer words had never been spoken.
There were chills traveling through each and every corridor within the gargantuan structure that was Azkaban Prison. Established centuries ago and the place of death for the guilty and the innocent, alike, this prison was unlike any other. It was the only prison in the wizarding world to have housed people as notorious as the famously framed Sirius Black and his deranged cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. It was the only prison in the wizarding world guarded by Dementors — creatures that encapsulated all that was dark and evil and sinister.
Louise hugged her shoulders, following the instructions to Richard Forbes' cell. It wasn't ideal, being there alone and for the first time. She would preferred to have visited with at least an army of protection, but there was no such barrier between her and the terrifying, hooded guards.
Before then, she had never once laid eyes on a Dementor, having suffered nightmares about them for most of her childhood. Severus did not know this fact, otherwise he would surely have not asked her to do this for him. But she wasn't about to spoil everything and tell him.
It was an honour that he trusted her enough with something so important.
In some strange, inexplicable way, she was happy to be there, because that made her feelings for Severus real. She didn't traverse through Azkaban Prison for just anyone, after all.
Louise thought distantly of him, of the state she had left him in. Every now and then, she would wonder if he survived. It wasn't something she liked to think about, given her current location and the importance of keeping a positive train of thought, but she couldn't help herself.
The young woman continued onward, and made her way to the topmost floor in the eastern wing of the prison. There was a cell in front of her. It was barred and very, very dark inside. She glanced to the left, where a Dementor stood, watching over the prisoner located inside, and felt an overwhelming bout of emptiness swarm through her bloodstream, before the Dementor waved its slender, taloned hand and unlocked the cell door, bidding her entrance.
Her instructions from the docking bay had been clear.
She had only ten minutes to gather information on the Forbes' before the Dementor would see her out. Any longer than that, and her boat back to shore would leave without her.
Louise swallowed hard and took a deep, calculated breath, before moving into the cell.
It was blindingly dark. She could see nothing, not even the shoes on her feet. The notion that people spent the remaining days of their lives in such sad, sorry states made her heart swell — but she reminded herself that most, if not all of them deserved it.
The man in front of her was no exception.
She couldn't see him at first. But within twenty or thirty seconds of entering the cell, her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and Louise spotted the shackled, haggard man in the corner. He looked everything and nothing like she had expected. His hair was long and tangled. His muscles had withered to nothing, assuming he had any to start, and his skin was covered in dirt. The prisoner uniform of dull grey did nothing to help.
His beady eyes traveled to hers, and they widened for a moment, as though he had not expected her — but she knew this not to be the case. The only reason she had been permitted inside Azkaban was because he had accepted her offer for an interview. She figured he craved the company, rather than the attention.
But the twinge of sympathy that erupted in her gut at the mere sight of him dwindled into nothingness, as she heard the voice that came from between his chapped lips.
"Who hired you?" Richard Forbes asked, speaking with an air of authority that Louise had definitely not expected.
She stepped back, feeling her spine make contact with one of the bars. "Erm — I —"
"Rita Skeeter?" he ventured, sounding tired rather than beaten down. "That bitch has been itching for an interview for decades."
Louise arched an eyebrow. First, she had no idea about this Rita Skeeter. Second, she did not appreciate his use of the word bitch. "I'm from an American publication," she forced out, deciding to fake confidence until it came naturally. "I won't say which, but I will tell you, your family history is a thing of reverence to my readers."
"Pureblood Weekly," guessed the prisoner, as though he did not need confirmation.
She decided to play along. There was no harm in it. "Let's — Let's — erm — Let's start from the beginning," the witch suggested, withdrawing the proper writing tools. "Tell me about your grandparents."
His grandparents — Benedict and Geraldine Forbes — were the last known heads of the Forbes clan to have known the fortune and grandeur of their ancestors. Their lineage could be traced back countless centuries, with connections to Rowena Ravenclaw and even Merlin himself. The Forbes were an ancient and revered clan, much to the dismay of the envious Malfoy's and the vindictive Gaunt's.
But with such fame and power came consequences. The Forbes' had enemies. The Forbes' learned — in the hardest way possible — that wealth did not always equal supremacy.
The public reacted with much shock and little sympathy, when news of Geraldine's murder had hit the stands. She was bludgeoned in her country home by an unknown assailant and found by her fourteen-year-old son — by Montgomery Forbes.
Benedict moved his family from the countryside to central London, knowing it would be easier to keep his children safe with their cousins in the city rather than remain in the country, where they had received no closure over Geraldine's death and where he figured the killer was still at large, waiting for another chance to strike.
His measures had proven effective, seeing as the killer did not strike. But that did not mean the family was safe.
In the wake of Geraldine's murder, Montgomery began to notice a change in his father. Benedict was no longer the same man pouring over paperwork and puffing his costly cigars. He was a shadow of his former self. He turned to alcohol for escape. He ignored his children. He let the fortune go to waste, and with it, his health.
That, however, was not the bottom of the Forbes' downfall.
Not even close.
The true downfall — the one everyone whispered about and kept alive for so many years — had to do with Montgomery himself.
There was a small fraction of the fortune that remained, when new evidence of Geraldine's murder had been found in the country estate. It was found decades after that fact, by one of Montgomery's children. His name was Richard Forbes, and he did not know the significance of the broken spade buried in the backyard, when he found it in the summer of 1951.
Young Richard found that spade and handed it to his nanny, who then handed it to authorities. Young Richard — unknowingly and unwittingly — uncovered the mystery behind Geraldine's murder and that his own father, Geraldine's eldest son, had been the one to commit the crime. Montgomery had done it. Montgomery had murdered his mother and gotten away with it for over half his life.
Nobody knew why and nobody could get Montgomery to confess, despite the evidence.
It didn't take long after that, for the remainder of the Forbes fortune to disappear. All the fines. All the legal fees. Everything.
The money was gone.
The power was gone.
The only things that remained were the whispers, the reminders, the unrelenting truth — and how this truth tore the family apart.
Richard regaled this story to Louise, catching the girl off guard during several parts of the dark, twisted family tale.
She had stopped taking proper notes around halfway through, resolving to doodle with hopes that it simply looked convincing enough. There was no way she could focus long enough to write down what Richard was saying. The story was so long, so engrossing. It felt as though he was reading her a novel, as opposed to telling her his family history.
She almost wanted to write an article about it.
But the important matters had yet to be discussed.
"Thank you for sharing that," Louise concluded, drawing several more doodles on her parchment. "I — I know it must be difficult to talk about, even after all this time."
Richard remained unfazed throughout the tale, despite his direct involvement. "I'm glad to help."
She tried not to look at him for too long, fearing he would see through her act. "Well, now that we've moved through the difficult parts…why don't we talk about the other members of your family?"
"Certainly," the man obliged, having crossed his legs from his spot on the stone floor. "I had two younger brothers — Alan and Gregory — both of whom married and had children, and subsequently died. Gregory and his wife Danielle had died during the First Wizarding War, whilst Alan and his wife Katie had died five years ago, under Voldemort's orders."
"That's unfortunate," Louise commented, meaning every ounce of it. "What about their children?"
Richard's eyes narrowed, as if he'd been expecting this question. "You're asking about William."
William Forbes had, of course, made headlines after Voldemort was defeated by Severus and the others. To Louise's understanding, William had joined Voldemort's forces undercover, same as Severus and Hermione, but had been killed along the way. The public, however, was unaware of that, and simply knew him to be the first Death Eater in Forbes' history.
"Were you close?" she asked, Quill at the ready, seeing as she needed to keep record of this next part to their conversation.
"He was the son I never had," Richard answered. "A volatile, passionate, good-for-nothing numbskull — but a son, nonetheless." There was actually an ounce of grief when he spoke of William. "I did, however, have a daughter — or rather, an inherited daughter."
Louise tried to hide the eagerness in her expression. "Your niece," she added. "Gregory's daughter."
Richard nodded. "I was my niece's guardian after Gregory and Danielle passed on."
"Tell me about her," the witch furthered.
Her interviewee thought distantly of his niece. For these moments, it appeared as though he may actually have been human. Such a strange thing. Richard glanced up, eyeing Louise with a peculiar look on his face — fondness, perhaps. "She's a lot like you, now that I think about it."
"Me?" Louise asked, startled. "How so?"
"She's also a writer," he explained. "She speaks with an American accent like you, as well."
"Does she?"
Richard smiled to himself a moment, as though he stumbled upon a happy memory. "I'm sure Greg and Dani would have never let her do it, but I, being the easily swayed de facto father that I was, allowed for my niece to go to school abroad — in an American establishment."
Louise made a sound of surprise, suddenly realizing why Severus had been adamant in choosing her to interview Richard. "Is that right?"
"Yes, quite right. She was a lovely girl," he carried on. "Very smart. Very dedicated. Passionate like William, but with tact."
"She sounds admirable," Louise offered. "But…I can't help noticing your use of past-tense. Did something happen to her?"
His expression hardened just then — for only a moment. "I haven't heard from her for seven years," Richard uttered, as something of a confession. "Not since — Not since she left the Inn."
"The Inn?"
"The Wyvern Wing Inn," he explained, as though it were second nature. "I owned an operated it in the small-town of Sterling Harbour. It was my niece's favourite place in all of England. She — She visited one summer with the intention of helping me run the Inn but — but things didn't go as planned and — and she left me only a note."
Louise could feel something heavy coming. "What did the note say?"
"Dear Uncle," Richard recited from memory, unaware of the true significance behind his words. "I've missed being here. I've missed spending time with you and with Will, and Aunt Katie and Uncle Alan. But there comes a time when home is no longer home, and as painful as it is for me to say, Sterling Harbour is no longer my home. I've made a grave mistake, something I can never take back, and as much as I want to stay here and face my problems — the way you taught me — I can't. I can't bear to face these people and their judgment. I have to leave. But don't worry, because Will has been kind enough to help me with this…mistake. He'll look after me and I'll look after him. I wish I could tell you the truth in greater detail, and one day I will, but for now all I can do is tell you that this is for the best and that I appreciate everything you've ever done for me. Please understand. Love, Leanne."
A/N: Oh snap. That name sounds familiar, doesn't it? haha. No Draco in this chapter, but the next one is largely from his perspective. Stay tuned for that!
Cheers
xo.
