25: Poor, Silly Girl
"I must say," Remus Lupin observed as he eased himself down onto the plastic chair and reached to press the paper cup into his silent companion's hand, "we make quite the pair, you and I."
Jasmine Wickes wrapped her hands tightly around the cup and, eyes still fixed upon the figure upon the bed before them, raised the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. The strong smell of coffee as the steam drifted up from the cup seemed to invigorate her a little, and for the first time since Remus had set eyes upon her some hours earlier, the witch murmured:
"Don't we just." She glanced sideways at him, the smallest of weak smiles twitching at her lips as she said: "It was good of you to come. Too good, really. You shouldn't have..."
"It's the least I can do in the circumstances." Remus insisted. He blew upon his own cup of steaming liquid before he admitted: "I realise I'm...I'm a poor substitute, no doubt..."
"Not at all." Jasmine said. "I'm glad to have someone here with me. It's hard...sitting here...seeing Isaac like this. And Harry...well...you know what he's like...and...Tonks...well..." she trailed off with a sniff, gaze back upon Isaac.
"Dora wanted to come. She really did." Remus insisted, but this suggestion only seemed to make Jasmine sag a little in her seat.
"I can't imagine how dreadful a state she must be in. I'm surprised you've left her to come over here."
"In all honesty, Jasmine, I couldn't leave her fast enough."
"Is it that bad?"
When Remus merely leant back in his chair and allowed his eyes to drift closed, Jasmine sighed and reached with little hesitation to take hold of the werewolf by the hand, concluding: "Yes, we are quite the pair."
They sat together, barely speaking another word, hand in hand, and Remus found himself wondering how he had come to be sitting there like that, why it felt easier to comfort Jasmine at the very worst time of her life than to be back at home with his wife.
He hadn't expected to be faced with this sort of marital upheaval at his time of life. He had rather assumed that if he and Dora could make it this far then that would be it, a quiet and happy old age would be their just reward. Not in his wildest, most troubling dreams had he thought she could devastate him like this now, thought he could dread being around her like he did. To think he'd rather be here, doing this, than with her, the woman he professed to love above all else in the world...
Jasmine started to cry quietly into the sleeve of her robes. Remus reached to put an arm around her and she leant into him, her head coming to rest miserably against his shoulder.
It was easier, the werewolf supposed, fingers instinctively rubbing soothing circles upon the witch's back, because nobody was expecting him to do anything much here besides be a shoulder to cry on. Isaac was slipping away before their very eyes, there was no suggestion at all that anything more could be done for him. The poor man was going to die.
But nobody had given up on Dora. Her fate was not so irredeemably bleak. And Remus was expected to save her, somehow. Even if he had no notion of how. And perhaps it was cowardly, sitting here as he was, but he knew he would stay there all day if Jasmine needed him to, and a horrible part of him realised that he hoped that she did.
Isaac Graham died at four twenty five that afternoon.
Remus was awoken with a start from dosing in his chair to feel Jasmine jerk forwards with a whimper, her hands pulled free from his arm to grasp hold of Isaac's hand.
"Isaac? I...Isaac, Sweetheart..."
As she slipped off the chair to her knees, Remus rose stiffly to his feet and, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, leant a careful hand to press to the man's neck.
"He's not breathing, Jasmine." the werewolf confessed a moment later, free hand reaching for the witch's shoulder, and as she crumpled, still grasping the dead man's hand Remus said: "I'm so terribly sorry..."
Jasmine's cries of despair brought two healers rushing into the room some moments later, though they glanced but briefly at the deceased and instead focused their efforts on helping Jasmine back into her chair.
"There now," one of them, a kind-faced, motherly sort of figure said soothingly, reaching to sweep the hair back from the witch's tear-stained face, and as he sat down again Remus reached once more for Jasmine's hand.
"He's at peace now, Jasmine." he told her kindly. "He's not suffering anymore." And through her tears Jasmine managed the smallest of nods, before confessing:
"I...I can't...I can't leave him..."
"You don't have to go anywhere." Remus insisted as one of the healers went to smooth the sheets carefully upon the bed as if to ensure Isaac was quite comfortable, and the other set about drawing the curtains about the bed for the sake of privacy. "We'll stay here with him, shall we? We'll stay until you're ready."
Come six thirty that evening, Remus had yet to return from the hospital, yet news of Isaac's death had reached home before him.
"Are you sure I should go, Nana?" Imogen asked as she stood before the mirror in her grandparents' bedroom, eying herself in consideration and smoothing invisible creases from the front of her dress.
Dora, twisted handkerchief clutching in one hand as tears steadily streamed down her face, gave a sniff.
"Oh yes, love. Of course you should go. I'm alright, honestly." When Imogen turned to look at her disbelievingly the bedridden witch insisted: "Really, Im, I'm alright. Heartbroken, perhaps, but I'm alright."
"It's okay not to be alright, you know." Imogen pointed out, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. "You knew Isaac for years, you've been friends since forever..."
"Yes, we have." Dora agreed, dabbing hopelessly at her eyes with the handkerchief. "And...and in the end I...I let him down. I should've...should've been there..."
"I'm sure he would've understood." Imogen said, because though she shared her grandfather and indeed the rest of the family's disappointment she thought it was probably the right thing to say. The look on Dora's face suggested that she knew precisely the difference between what was said and what her granddaughter really thought. It was exhausting, Imogen realised miserably, trying to know what she should and shouldn't say. No wonder her grandfather was in such despair...
"How do I look?" she asked Dora at last, offering a little twirl, and despite her tears Dora managed to tell her:
"You're a sight for sore eyes, as Grandad would say."
"It's not too much is it? This dress, I mean."
"No, love. It looks lovely. Now off you go! You don't want to keep him waiting."
"I know, only...well I'd thought Grandad would be back by now..."
"I can manage." Dora insisted. "I'll just...I'll just have a sleep, I think."
Imogen cast one last anxious look at her grandmother before sweeping round the side of the bed to press a kiss to Dora's cheek.
"Have fun."
"Thanks, Nana. I'll come by again soon."
"Alright, love."
Imogen straightened up and turned to head for the door, only for Dora to add:
"Oh Im, you wouldn't just do one thing for me, would you?"
"What's that?" Imogen asked, pausing to look round.
"You wouldn't...wouldn't put that thing back in the living room, would you?" Dora said, gesturing towards the wheelchair that Remus had left by the door some hours earlier.
Imogen eyed the wheeled contraption in consideration for a moment before deciding:
"I think it's quite alright where it is, Nana. See you soon!"
As she watched her granddaughter disappear behind the closed bedroom door a moment later, Dora slumped back against her pillows with a sigh. Upon hearing the front door slam shut and Imogen's retreating footsteps upon the path outside, she reached under her pillow to draw out a bottle of thick purple liquid. She popped the cork from the top of it with a thumb, eyed the potion in consideration for a long moment, her teeth gritted in thought before reaching to retrieve the discarded cork. She jammed it back into the top of the bottle with a sniff, only to pause again, thinking furiously...
When her son came bursting uninvited into the bedroom some hours later, he found his mother out stone cold, the empty bottle in shards upon the floor beside the bed, for upon finally losing the mental battle to keep the potion from her lips, Dora had fallen unconscious the moment the first mouthful had hit the back of her throat.
The dress, Imogen discovered upon arriving at Phoenix's choice of restaurant, was not 'too much'. In fact it was possible that it wasn't enough. After all, she thought as she stepped inside, this was possibly one of the poshest looking establishments that she had ever been to.
Jamie's idea of a dinner date had been a trip to the local kebab shop...
As she spotted Phoenix sat waiting at a table in the corner, Imogen plastered a smile onto her face as she wondered if she could afford to go Dutch in a place as fancy as this, and when she finally sunk down onto the chair opposite him, she found herself observing pointedly:
"This looks like a distinctly upmarket establishment."
"Do you like it?" he asked. "It's one of my favourites."
"I've never been here before. But I know it's very nice. My parents came here once for their anniversary, but it's...well..."
"It's?"
Imogen gave up on being tactful.
" It's usually out of most people's price range...so..."
"Oh!" Phoenix looked abruptly abashed. "Well...well I'm paying...so...!"
"This isn't the Dark Ages, Master Selwyn." Imogen informed him with a smirk. "I can buy my own dinner..."
"But you shouldn't! You should...you should let me pay! Since I was such an idiot earlier!"
Imogen felt a flood of relief. She tried very hard not to show it.
"Well, you were quite stupid!" she conceded. "That does seem fair!"
"What are you drinking?" he asked, smiling broadly. "Shall we get a bottle of wine?"
There was no doubt about it. He was dreadfully charming and Imogen found herself thanking her lucky stars that her appalling first impression of him in that god forsaken nightclub had seemingly not ruined her chances. They once again spent a large amount of time bickering about Quidditch, but when she mentioned that she had come from her grandparents' house and what a sorry state her grandmother was in, he had been sympathetic and assured her that he was sure that things would get better. They spoke briefly of his family, for Imogen had thought to bring up his sister again to better understand quite what was going on there. But upon second thought she had supposed that not quite the right topic of conversation for an evening like this, so instead she had asked him about his mother, since she had never caught sight of a Mrs Selwyn popping by the office. Phoenix had told her that his mother had died some years ago in a broomstick accident.
"I suppose that's part of why my father got it all so wrong with my sister." he'd mused as she'd reached to pour the two of them another glass of wine. "He hadn't been the most hands-on parent up until that point. He'd always been so busy with the business, we spent most of our time with our mother or a nanny. And then mother was gone and he had to figure out what to do with a teenaged boy and daughter who had yet to show any signs of magic at the age of ten. This is an old family, you know, the Selwyns only married other pure-bloods for ages. Father was the first to marry a half-blood in decades. None of his family approved, but he did it anyway. And then Shelly came along, seemingly not a drop of magic in her and I suppose he wondered if it was his fault for marrying Mother. He did try with my sister, of course. It's just...well...he may have broken with tradition and married a half-blood, but he's a traditionalist overall. He's no blood supremacist of the Lestrange variety, far from it, but he's very much entrenched in the Wizarding world, pays no attention to muggles or their goings on, definitely didn't study Muggle Studies at school! So when Shelly's Hogwarts letter never arrived and he realised he'd need to find a muggle school and encourage her to take up some muggle hobbies and think about a muggle job...well...he had absolutely no idea! He was in quite the state, having just lost the wife he'd gotten himself disowned for marrying, so he...he sent Shelly to stay with some distant relations of Mother's...and it's been downhill with my poor sister ever since."
"Did you see her at all? Before she disappeared, I mean."
"I'd go and visit her in the holidays when I was back from Hogwarts. But the older she got, the more resentful she seemed. I kept visiting but it was difficult. It was as if she both loved and hated me all at once..."
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Imogen mused, sipping at her wine. "Being the magical sibling, I mean. The moment you realise they're not the same as you...you feel just so...well..."
"Guilty?" Phoenix suggested, and Imogen sighed and said:
"Precisely. And you can love each other to death but it'll never change anything. They'll never quite feel the same about you because you're the lucky one."
"And it hurts." Phoenix said, smiling sadly. "But you'll carry on loving them anyway."
The food had been very good, the wine even better, they had shared a dessert and then, not yet willing to part the two of them had headed out into Diagon Alley in search of a suitable bar to prolong their time together, their progress faltering when they paused upon a street corner to exchange a series of more than enthusiastic kisses. Imogen was just musing that, stood where they were, they were no doubt within view of the window of Mr. Selwyn's office, and how though it was no doubt too dark for anyone to see them the thought made their kisses oddly daring, when a shout drew their attention from across the street, to the doors of the Selwyn establishment itself.
Imogen had barely turned to see what the source of the noise was before Phoenix had drawn in a sharp breath at the scene before them.
"Chantelle!" he exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise, and Imogen felt as if someone had just doused her in cold water upon taking stock of the scene.
She saw Phoenix's father before she noticed his sister. The old man was stood in the doorway, his hands held up before him as he stood, expression one of extreme panic.
And there was Rochelle, Imogen saw, stood before her father, a loaded crossbow in her hands, pointing shakily at his chest.
"Oh Merlin..." Imogen began, only for Phoenix to dart forward across the cobbles towards the scene, calling his sister's name at the top of his lungs.
"Shelly! Shelly, what're you doing?!"
Chantelle Selwyn let out a garbled sob, her grip upon her weapon tightening. She looked awfully young, Imogen thought, stood there, wayward strands of hair sticking to her pink, blotchy cheeks, her hands almost covered by the too-long sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt.
"Stay back!" she shrieked as her brother came to a sudden halt some meters away. "I'll...I'll do it! I'll shoot him!"
"You don't want to do that." Phoenix began as Imogen looked helplessly around in the vain hope that she might spot someone to come to their aid, though the street was quite deserted. "You don't want to do that to our father, Shelly. You don't want to hurt anyone, do you? Come on, let's...let's talk about this, okay?"
"He deserves it!" Chantelle exclaimed wildly, tears streaming down her face as her father slumped sideways against the doorframe, positively trembling with panic. "He sent me away!"
"Please, Shelly, just...just put that thing down!"
"He abandoned me!"
"I know you're angry! But..."
"He sent me away when I needed him! I needed a dad and I needed my family and he sent me away!"
"Please, I'm begging you Shell, put it down!"
"J...Jeff says...Jeff says he deserves it!"
"You can't listen to a man like that!" Phoenix cried as Imogen drew her wand, not entirely sure what she planned to do with it. "What does he know?! The man's a lunatic!"
"He understands me!"
"No he doesn't!"
"YES HE DOES! HE LOVES ME AND HE UNDERSTANDS!"
"I LOVE YOU!" Phoenix roared, grasping fistfuls of hair in agitation. "You're my little sister, I love you! He doesn't love you, Chantelle, he's sick in the head!"
"SHUT UP!" the girl screamed, her grip upon the crossbow tightening. "I...I'll do it! I will! I know how, he showed me!"
And all of a sudden, everything happened at once.
Phoenix had lunged abruptly forwards to throw his arms around his sister, and as the pair of them crashed to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs and tears and Imogen was just throwing her arm up into the air to shoot red sparks from her wand in a vain attempt to get someone's attention when there came the distinct clank and a sharp intake of breath...
Chantelle let out a piercing scream.
"NICK!" the teenager wailed, as her brother collapsed down upon the cobbles, crossbow bolt thrust into his shoulder, and Imogen felt her stomach give a sickening turn.
As Mr Selwyn immediately rushed towards his son, Chantelle flopping down to bury her face in the front of her brother's jumper with a sob, Imogen sent a furious shower of sparks up into the air, before dashing forwards, kicking the weapon out of the girl's reach and falling to her knees at the injured wizard's side.
"Oh shit!" she found herself exclaiming in panic, as Phoenix screwed his eyes shut and drew in a shuddered breath. Footsteps upon the cobbles suggested her call for help had indeed drawn attention to their plight, for a young woman dressed in long black robes had come rushing round the corner, her wand drawn. As she drew closer, Imogen recognised the robes she was wearing as those of an Auror cadet. The realisation left just a shred of relief to wash over Imogen, and as she fumbled to yank the shawl from around her shoulders and set about using it to cushion Phoenix's head, she called to the newcomer:
"Get help! Quick!"
The news of Chantelle Selwyn's abrupt reappearance in her family's life spread like wildfire and St. Mungo's emergency division had barely arrived upon the scene before the street was flooded with the scarlet-clad witches and wizards of the Auror department. The wayward teenager had swiftly been taken into custody and spirited away to the Ministry, where a distinctly weary Ron Weasley, still donning his pyjamas under his Auror robes, had sat her down and presented her with a mug of hot chocolate.
"Manipulative bastard." the red-headed Auror muttered as he stood with Teddy just outside the room, peering through the doorway at the trembling teenager who was clutching the mug as if her very life depended upon it, face awash with tears. "How many other young girls do you suppose he's got under his spell? It's sickening..."
"Who's going to speak to her at this hour?" Teddy wondered grimly as Chantelle leant to bury her face in her arms, and Ron sighed and admitted:
"I don't think there'll be any specialist liaison available until morning."
"Well we can't just leave her sat here all night."
The two Aurors eyed the teenager in despairing consideration for some minute until Teddy sighed heavily and said:
"I'll take her to Mum."
Ron frowned deeply.
"Is that a good idea...?"
"No, not in the slightest."
"She still off her face on painkillers?"
"Yes."
"Still not out of bed?"
"No."
"Then why on earth...?"
"Oh come on, Ron. Look at the girl, for goodness sake!" Teddy reached to straighten his robes, his mind quite made up as he observed: "She needs a grandmother."
The house was almost entirely in darkness when Teddy and Rochelle stumbled out of the fireplace, which surprised Teddy somewhat for he had expected his father to be home. Rochelle, clearly bewildered to find herself inside the little cottage, tugged uneasily at the hem of her sweatshirt as Teddy lit the lights with a wide sweep of his wand.
"You just take a seat here, Rochelle." he said, reaching a gentle arm out to usher the mute girl into an armchair. "I'll be back in just a moment."
"I want to see Nick." Rochelle whispered, nevertheless succumbing to gravity and slumping down into the chair.
"Your brother is in very safe hands." Teddy assured her. "The hospital assures us he will make a full recovery."
"I...I didn't...I didn't want him to be hurt..."
"Wait here, Rochelle. I'll only be a minute."
Somehow, when he reached the closed bedroom door, the silence in the house had left Teddy uneasy enough that he found himself throwing the door open with more force than was strictly necessary.
"Mum?" he said, turning immediately once he was inside to close the door firmly behind him. "Have you heard? There's been an incident..." As he turned back he caught sight of the smashed glass upon the floor and his mother's limp figure upon the bed and he promptly cursed under his breath and rushed to her side, the glass crunching beneath his boots.
"Mum? Mum, wake up!" he demanded, shaking her roughly by the shoulder, and when after some agonising moments she did not respond he snatched up a glass of water from the bedside table and threw it over her without so much as a second thought.
Dora awoke with such a gasp that she promptly dissolved into a coughing fit, thrashing about under the covers in a vain attempt to sit up as her son demanded to know:
"What in Merlin's name have you been doing?!"
"Te-ddy!" she wheezed, clamping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her coughing, and she winced when he dropped into a crouch to prod a finger at the damp remains of the potion on the floor.
"Where did you get this?!"
"I..."
"Do you have any idea how strong it is?! Merlin, you could've put yourself in a bloody coma! Where's Dad?!"
"He's...he's at Mungo's with Jasmine..."
"For the love of Merlin, Mum!"
"I...Isaac...Isaac's dead."
At this revelation, the wind was somewhat knocked from Teddy's sails. He rose gingerly back to his feet, his face ashen.
"I...I just...I just needed to...to sleep, Ted. I needed to sleep." Dora confessed miserably, reaching to swipe a sleeve across her eyes, and Teddy squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment and said:
"I'm sorry, Mum. I really am." Reaching for his wand, the wizard set about vanishing the broken glass, and as she watched him, Dora found herself admitting:
"I know I shouldn't do it. I haven't touched anything that strong in a few days now. But I just...I don't know..." she trailed off with a sigh and when he finally finished banishing the remaining evidence she asked him: "What're you doing here, anyway?"
"It doesn't matter." Teddy muttered, shaking his head at the thought of Rochelle sat back out in the sitting room. What on earth had he been thinking?
It was at that moment that there came a soft knocking upon the door, only for it to open just enough for a head to poke through the gap.
"Why is there a strange girl crying in my sitting room, Ted?" Remus inquired quietly as his son looked round at him.
"You're back." Dora observed faintly, but her husband ignored her, instead offering Teddy a raised eyebrow.
"It's Rochelle Selwyn." Teddy admitted, glancing back at Dora to gage her reaction. "There's been a...an incident."
"Rochelle Selwyn?!" Dora exclaimed, struggling to pull herself further up against her pillows.
"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" Remus said, and with that he disappeared back into the sitting room.
"She's accidentally shot her brother Phoenix with a crossbow. She was aiming for their father."
"What?!"
"Apparently Jeff wasn't taking her to archery classes for fun." Teddy's expression grew positively poisonous to recall: "And apparently the two of them are very much in love."
Dora heaved a sigh, reaching to rub a hand across her eyes.
"Poor, silly girl." she muttered. "Is he alright? Her brother, I mean?"
"As well as anyone with a crossbow bolt through their shoulder can be, I suppose. You'll have to ask Imogen when she comes back from the hospital."
"Merlin, of course! They were out for dinner! Is Immy alright?"
"Well I don't think it's quite how she imagined their first proper date, but you know our Immy!"
Dora smiled vaguely.
"She'll be fine." she decided.
"I thought..." Teddy began, feeling foolish, only to plough on regardless. "I just thought...I know you're sick, Mum, but I thought perhaps...perhaps you might...you know...talk to Rochelle..."
Dora cast a despairing look down at herself, but nevertheless reached to straighten the duvet across her lap.
"Go on then," she said. "Go and fetch her."
There had been all sorts of dreadful and frightening situations that Rochelle Selwyn had envisaged upon being taken into custody by the Auror department, but she had not in her wildest dreams imagined anything like this.
For starters she had felt dreadfully awkward when Remus had arrived home to find her sat curled up in his favourite armchair. He was surprised, she supposed, because how could he not be? And yet he'd managed to sound remarkably unfazed by this unexpected home invasion. He'd very politely introduced himself, asked what her name was and told her that it was a pleasure to meet her. After briefly conferring with his son in the bedroom, he had offered her a cup of tea as if she had popped over for a visit in entirely unremarkable circumstances, and he'd even asked her if she liked custard creams because regrettably they were fresh out of hobknobs.
And then, as if this weren't all strange enough, Teddy had reappeared and announced that the Acting Head of Aurors would see her now.
Rochelle had only seen Dora once or perhaps twice in person before. Most of what she knew of her came out of the Daily Prophet and, she supposed, what Jeff had to say about her.
Jeff had always seemed to have a great deal of respect for Dora Lupin and he spoke of her with no small amount of admiration, which had surprised Rochelle given that the witch appeared entirely hellbent on catching him and throwing him in prison.
Looking at her now, Rochelle thought as she shuffled into the room, tea in hand, she found it difficult to believe that Dora could be hellbent on anything. She looked so dreadfully ill.
"Rochelle, is it?" the bedridden witch inquired softly, gesturing to a soft stool that had been pulled out from beneath the dressing table in the corner. "Why don't you sit down, love?"
"I...I don't...I don't know where Jeff is!" Rochelle found herself insisting, not moving a muscle. "I...I don't know about his plans, I don't know anything..."
"Sit down, love." Dora said again. "It's alright, you're not in any trouble."
Rochelle felt tears springing to her eyes and she reached to grasp fistfuls of her sweatshirt in one hand, rocking back upon her heels.
"I...I shot my brother! How...how can I not be in trouble?!"
"I've met people who have done far worse, believe me. Take a seat, your tea's getting cold."
After a sizeable pause, Rochelle at last consented to sinking down onto the stool. Dora watched her sip feebly at her tea for a few minutes, before, her nerves no doubt making the silence unbearable, the teenager said:
"They said in the Prophet you were getting better. But you...you look like hell!"
"Oh, I don't know about that. I almost died, after all. All things are relative."
The two were silent for another long moment. Rochelle sipped her tea, only to stop when Dora asked:
"Why did you want to hurt your dad, Rochelle?"
The girl's bottom lip began to tremble.
"I don't think you want to hurt anyone really, do you? You might think about it, sometimes. It's frustrating, isn't it? Feeling as if those closest to you don't understand you, feeling as if you don't quite fit in. I don't suppose you think I understand you much, either. But you'd be surprised. I've a whole family of misfits, you see. There's not a lot I don't know about not fitting in."
Rochelle's gaze had dropped to her feet.
"But that's the thing," the girl said, voice not much more than a whisper, "you call them your family. I don't have a family. They...they sent me away! They...they didn't know what to do with me! They're no kind of family at all!"
"That must've been very hard for you."
"My dad said...he said it was...was for the best! How...how can it be for the best, sending your own child away?!"
"I'm sure he had his reasons. Not any good reasons, but reasons nevertheless..."
"He said I'd be better off living with...with muggles! With people like me!"
"But they're not like you, are they? The muggles?" At this observation, Rochelle suddenly looked up at Dora, her expression one of surprise.
"That's...that's what Jeff said." she said, evidently shocked to hear the same notion from Dora's own tongue.
"And he's right, I'm sure." Dora said, her agreement surprising Rochelle all the more. "That's the primary challenge of living as a Squib, it seems to me. It's what Pandora seems to struggle with too. Not fitting in with wizards because of a lack of magic, but not fitting in with muggles having being raised by wizards and conscious of their world. You find yourself slipping through the gaps, don't you? And that's where people like Jeff find you."
"He...he's very good to me!" Rochelle began, immediately on the defence. "He looks after me! He's the only one who does! He loves me!"
Dora's eyes momentarily drifted closed. Rochelle watched her draw in a slow, deep breath, her hands coming to clasp together in her lap. Then the old Auror opened her eyes again and fixed Rochelle with a look that was both soft as silk and yet firm as iron.
"Listen, Sweetheart," she said. "Love is a very powerful and complicated thing. Dangerous, even. And when you're very young, like you are, and when your only real experience of love is what you get from your family, a family who seem to have let you down like yours have, it can be very difficult to see what love really is, and most importantly what it really isn't."
"He...he looks after me! He makes sure I...I've got enough to eat and...and makes sure I've got a bed to sleep in, and..."
"And who's bed is that, hm? Is it his?"
At this question, Rochelle's cheeks burned scarlet and she immediately looked down at her feet again.
"You're not the first person I've had this sort of conversation with. That in itself probably tells you something about Jeff's idea of love."
"It's...it's different! It's different with us!"
"It's not, love. And I think you know that, don't you? Besides, someone who truly loves you doesn't fill your head with their own thoughts and beliefs. They respect your thoughts for being yours. They certainly don't encourage you to attempt to murder your own father, no matter who he is or what he's done. Murder is a very serious crime, Rochelle. It's about as serious a crime as you can get. If Jeff truly loved you, surely he'd want to keep you safe from all that? But he hasn't, has he? Because he doesn't love you at all. He's using you, Sweetheart. Just like he used Pandora and Rovena. He's picking out vulnerable girls and manipulating them for his own gain. And where's it got you? Your brother's in hospital and you've been arrested and you're sat here with me. Would you allow that to happen to him, if it were the other way around? I doubt it, because you know that would be wrong. It's wrong that you're sat here with me, Rochelle, and Jeff doesn't care how wrong it is because he encouraged you and he let this happen."
Rochelle slumped forward until her forehead came to rest upon her knees with a quiet sob.
"D'you know where he is now, love?" Dora asked her softly, and she shook her head vigorously. "Did he not perhaps tell you where to meet him, after all this was done?"
"N...no..."
"That's strange, don't you think? Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't make it away before the Aurors got to you. Would he send you out like that knowing what would happen, if he loved you?"
Rochelle's quiet sobbing rose to a sudden wail and she threw back her head and cried:
"What...what am I going to do?! I'm...I'm going to...to go to prison!"
"You've done a very foolish thing, Rochelle, and you're very lucky things didn't turn out worse than they did. But we don't send young girls to Azkaban for falling prey to people like Jeff Fawley. Here's what we're going to do, love. Auror Lupin's going to take you back to the Ministry and you'll spend a night in the MLE holding cells. They make a mean hot chocolate down there, see if you can nab yourself one before bedtime, alright? And in the morning a very nice lady from the Welfare Services office is going to come and see you. She's going to want to have a look at you, make sure you're well and ask you a few questions about what you and Jeff have been up to recently. It's her job to look after you, alright? She's nothing to do with the Aurors, she's just there to help. So you just do your best to answer her questions. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetheart?"
Rochelle gave a mute nod.
"And in the meantime I'm going to be asking the Aurors to write me a report on what happened today. So it's very likely that some of them are going to want to speak to you and ask you some questions. You just tell them anything they want to know, alright? Don't be frightened, just try and answer their questions."
"Am...am I going to...to have to go...go to court?"
"Yes, there will be a hearing one I'm satisfied we have all the information we need. But it'll be me filing that report with the Wizengamot, love. It'll be my signature on that paperwork and I'll be making some recommendations about what ought happen next. And I promise you don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to let anything awful happen to you, alright? There are other places to go other than Azkaban, places designed to help you, to make sure you can make the best possible choices in life. That wouldn't be so bad now, would it? Wouldn't it be good to have some help from the right sort of people? People who have your best interests at heart and not their own?"
Rochelle considered all this for some minutes before reached to wipe her nose upon her sleeve.
"What's going to happen to Jeff? If you catch him?"
"When we catch him, he'll be prosecuted by the Wizengamot."
"Are you going to send him to Azkaban?"
"Without a doubt, I am. And when I do he's not going to be coming out again. So don't you waste your time thinking on him, Rochelle. You deserve far better than anything he can ever give you, and you can have that, too. Don't think about him, think for yourself, alright? I know you can. You can give yourself a better life." And with that, Dora reached a hand out to grasp at thin air and Rochelle jumped a little when the bedroom door pulled itself open.
"Off you pop, then." the Acting Head of Aurors said, and Rochelle scrambled to her feet.
"Will someone...will someone tell me how Nick is doing?" she asked, and as Teddy appeared in the doorway Dora assured her:
"I'll make sure of it."
Once Teddy had ushered Rochelle back out of the room, Dora beckoned to him and he went to stand at her bedside.
"I don't suppose Valbona's been in touch, has she?" the witch wondered, and when Teddy admitted that there had been no news from the Albanian, she sighed and said: "I thought she might see my message in the Prophet, I persuaded them to put it front page."
"Impressive, really." Teddy observed with a vague huff of amusement. "Given how you usually get on with the press!"
Dora smiled but a little for a moment, only for a deep frown to crease her brow.
"I do wish she'd get in touch." she said. "I worry about her, you know."
"You've enough else to worry about without giving Valbona Luga much thought." Teddy said with a distinct air of disapproval. "Take care of yourself, won't you? I mean it, Mum. Now, I best get Rochelle back. Thanks for talking to her."
Once Teddy and Rochelle had disappeared back into the floo, Dora lay listening to Remus clattering about the kitchen, no doubt intent on making a late supper of one form or another. As she listened, Dora wondered about his day, about his long stint sat with Jasmine in the hospital, and she felt the familiar lump rise in her throat to think again on the death of Isaac, and then the overwhelming sense of guilt began to take hold of her again. She was just staring miserably at the wheelchair once again when she heard the distinct sounds of rustling over by the bedroom window.
Reaching instinctively for her wand, the witch turned to stare out into the darkness, straining to hear another sound. But the rustling had gone as soon as it started and after a moment she sighed and put down her wand again.
A moment later outside the cottage, the garden gate was thrown back upon its hinges and heavy footfalls sounded amongst the trees.