"But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." (William Shakespeare: Hamlet Prince of Denmark: I, v)
Eleanor placed a mug of steaming hot tea on the small coffee table before her. She sat on a well-worn sofa in the living-room of an old Victorian house in the north of London. The house had once belonged to her parents, and she had lived in it for most of her life until a memorable June afternoon six years ago, when she had accepted her first teaching position at Hogwarts.
The turquoise evening light in the garden behind the bay window had begun to fail and the room was now shrouded in shadow. A fire crackled quietly in the fire-place, but she did not get up to switch on the lights. Her cat, Isis, lay sleeping in her lap, and she didn't want to wake her. So she watched as darkness crept up the walls and the flames cast flickering shadows on the ceiling. Lost in thought, she gently threaded her fingers through the soft fur of her pet.
Two weeks had passed since Lucius' arrest and her visit to Knockturn Alley. The school year at Durmstrang had finished, and instead of packing her things and her familiar and quartering herself with her lover at Malfoy Manor for the summer, as she had done for the last few years, she had quietly moved into her old place. It had taken her a few days of spellwork, shopping and minor repairs to get the deserted house back in order, and she had to admit that as far as the luxuries of living were concerned, things could be better. But she wanted to be as close to the center of action as possible.
She sighed. When she was idle and alone like tonight, she felt a thick fog of depression descend on her. She had tried to divert herself by cooking a meal, muggle-style to kill time, reading some of Lucius' grimoires, which she had removed from the vault at Gringotts, that he had set up for her, and had practiced the evasion of unforgivables that she had learned from her demon invocation. Nothing had helped.
She thought back on the conversation with the lawyers. After careful study of Lucius' black book of shame, they had decided that they could influence probably three of the seven wizengamot judges, not enough for a majority, if a judgment would be put to the vote. They had decided to go ahead and try anyway. Eleanor had stipulated that each recorded transgression could only be used once, as had been Lucius' modus operandi.
They had also discussed the sentence they would try to promote. She had told them that life in prison was not an option. After some debate Belisarius had got up and pulled a thick folio from the shelf. He had begun reading, while Desdemona, Tethering and herself had discussed ways to get access to Lucius in Azkaban. She simply wanted to see him. Tethering wanted to discuss his defense. He also wanted to get ammunition in order to have the illegally obtained Veritaserum confessions suppressed as evidence.
Finally Belisarius had closed the folio tapping his manicured pale fingers on the heavy leather binding. "Exile," he had said. Tethering had nodded slowly. "We could get exile," he'd said. Eleanor had leaned forward. "Exile from what?" she had asked.
Belisarius had tilted his head and calmly explained. "Exile from our world. The sentenced offender is stripped of all magical abilities, or should I say, hexed so he cannot execute them. His wand is brought before him and broken, and he is banished from all wizarding places, to spend the rest of his natural life among muggles. He is given enough means to survive for a week. No one may aid him and no one may come after him for revenge under threat of the severest penalties, and to all wizards and witches he is as if he were dead."
She had felt a sick chill spread through her at the advocatus' unemotional words. Lucius Malfoy reduced to life as a muggle. Holy Hecate! She shook her head at the irony of it all. He wouldn't make it for even a week, but probably go down in a blaze of glory, taking as many muggles with him as possible. Exile was almost as terrible as a death sentence.
Tethering had obviously noticed her disappointment. "We have to strive for the possible here. If we get Lucius sentence reduced to the point where the public cannot see the punishment inherent in it, we'll have something close to civil war on our hands. Your common wizard and witch on the street wants to see blood. And the fact that someone as prominent and feared as Malfoy is the accused does not help. Even if we could blackmail the entire wizengamot into letting him off, he'll be as good as dead. He'd have a lynch-mob after him for the rest of his natural life. No one would accept the sentence."
She had hung her head. Of course Tethering had been right. And so they had worked out the final details of their game plan and had parted.
A sudden tapping noise on the glass of the bay window made her look up. It was finally dark outside, but even in the inky shades cast by the old trees in the garden, she could see that a small flying animal was softly hitting the glass. With a sigh she lifted Isis, who mewed unhappily, and set her down on the sofa. Then she gathered her robes and walked up to the window. The culprit was a bat.
Eleanor decided that this probably was no ordinary bat, as its sonar should have told it better than to fly into a window. She flipped the latch and opened the middle pane. Immediately the bat zoomed through and came to land on the floor before her. For a moment she thought she had an animagus before her, as the bat rapidly grew and transformed. She quickly reached for her wand, but then she recognized the black hair, and pale arrogant features of Mr. Belisarius' assistant.
Desdemona stepped into the room. She had exchanged her elegant black office robes for some revealing Muggle club-wear that involved the very inventive use of black latex. She bowed curtly. "Professor, good evening." Eleanor closed the window. "Please, have a seat. May I offer you anything?" The vampire gave her a quizzical look. "Your left jugular, perhaps," she suggested.
The witch smiled at the suggestion. "I did not know vampires had a sense of humor. I thought more along the lines of a goblet of blood." Desdemona sat down and stretched lazily. "Oh, that's okay. Wouldn't want to dull my appetite. My employers have a message for you. I offered to come by and tell you, as I am done for the day and am on my way to dinner." Eleanor walked back to her old place on the sofa. "Well, your food will find you irresistible, I'm sure."
Desdemona bared her fangs at her in a feral smile. "And yourself? Tempted?" she asked. The red-haired woman took a calm sip of her tea. "You know your competition," she suggested. "Therefore forgive me, if I don't answer. I would not like to offend. What is the advocatus' message?"
The vampire looked at her. "Curious. I have always thought that Lucius Malfoy brought out many things in people. I never counted loyalty among them." Eleanor leaned back. "Strange as it may sound, but I am merely reciprocating." Now Desdemona finally laughed out loud. "Him? Loyal? Oh my dear, this conversation is priceless. He must have hexed you good."
The witch reached for her cat again. "I guess so if taking a cruciatus on oneself to keep the other person safe qualifies as a hex." The vampire stared at her. "He did that?" she asked. Eleanor lifted an eyebrow. "Your message, please, Desdemona."
Her visitor sighed. "Permission has been granted for a visit to Azkaban prison. I guess we finally talked to the right Unspeakable. Their treatment of all the accused in this case is highly irregular. It seems that innocent until proven guilty has been temporarily suspended as far as suspected Death Eaters are concerned. You are to meet with Advocatus Tethering tomorrow at 11:00 at the Ministry, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They will issue permits and a portkey."
Eleanor felt anticipation and fear at the same time. She would see him again, but how would he be? What had they done to him? She realized her hands were trembling. With outward calm she got up, lifting Isis. "That is excellent news," she said. "You people are worth every galleon! Well, thanks for delivering the message in person, Desdemona. I guess I mustn't keep you from your evening's entertainment." She walked up to the window and opened it, having little patience to indulge the vampire's desire to share polite unpleasantries with regards to Lucius Malfoy.
Finally the vampire had retransformed and flown off. Eleanor grabbed Isis and executed a few excited twirls round the living room, robes flying. "We're going to Azkaban," she cried in exultation. "We've made it!" She knew it was only a small victory, and she was not too pleased with the warped ethics that got her there, but she thought that her dark wizard grandfather Falco would probably have condoned her behavior.
After a rather sleepless night she dressed, had breakfast, killed a few hours with spell-practice and finally found herself outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where Tethering and a dour-looking auror were already waiting for her. Tethering had a conspiratory gleam in his dark eyes as he shook her hand. "We are making progress," he told her. "I have some good and some bad news, but for now let's concentrate on our visit." He held out the parchment with the permit to the auror, who promptly produced a portkey, and a second later they stood in the grey courtyard of an incredibly ancient-looking fortress.
Eleanor could hear the roar of breakers and smelt sea air as she looked about her. High walls built of impenetrable grey granite towered around her on all sides. They were broken at regular intervals by small, narrow windows secured by iron grills. The air felt cold for a sunny June day. She shivered, and thought that the cruelty and despair of the Dementors still clung to the place like an evil, sticky aura of misery.
Moments later a heavy gate opened and two uniformed aurors walked towards them, their feet echoing on the pavement. Eleanor blinked. The two young officials looked very familiar, and she realized they were both Durmstrang alumni who had studied Defense against the Dark Arts with her.
The aurors were certainly surprised to see her, but after it became clear that she had permission to visit a notorious Death Eater, their welcome cooled perceptibly. Eleanor hung back, and decided to let Tethering take care of the arrangements. She craned her neck to look up at the rows upon rows of cell windows, wondering where they kept Lucius.
Tethering spoke with professional calm with the aurors, while she followed the group back through the gate and down a long torch-lit corridor. Moisture ran from the walls and slicked the flagstones that paved the floors. She gathered her long, black, button-down robes to prevent them from dragging though the slime on the ground.
They wound their way up crooked staircases and down long echoing corridors punctuated at regular intervals by heavy iron cell-doors. She thought she heard hoarse screaming behind some, crying behind others. Auror guards with drawn wands stood at every corner and eyed them with mistrust as they passed. As the minutes of their march wore on she felt the misery of the place seep into her and finally stumbled along as if through a waking nightmare.
Suddenly the aurors stopped before yet another door. Eleanor tore herself out of her stupor and watched them. She would never forget the next few minutes of her life, and even years later would shudder at the memories.
She hears the harsh crack of metal on metal as they unlock the heavy cell door for her. She turns to the two aurors and Tethering, digging her nails into her palms as she hears herself plead. "Please, ten minutes alone with him. That's all I'm asking." The advocatus nods, the two young people look unhappy and uncomfortable, but finally they stand down. She has taught them everything they know. They feel they owe her. "Fine," the young woman says ungraciously, "Ten minutes."
They push open the cell door for her. Behind is blackness, and the stench of indignity, of despair, of death. She steps forward without a thought but for him, and as her eyes adjust to the faint crepuscular light, she sees him. A lump of humanity, bent over, head in his hands, sitting on a low wood bench. At the noise of her entrance he looks up. She thinks she can read hatred and defiance on his pale face, until he recognizes her.
Abruptly his crouched frame straightens, he strains towards her with a clink of metal, only to be brought up short. His hands fly to his throat and she realizes with a sickening churn of her stomach, that they have put an iron collar around his neck, with a chain leading to the wall. It allows him only to stand, to sit and lie on his "bed" and to use a covered wood bucket they have put next to it.
In a rush she is with him, bridging the gap that he cannot cross and throws her arms around him. He holds her, fiercely, like a drowning man would grab a plank of wood. She tries not to let him realize that he is one step away from crushing the very life out of her. His face bends to her neck and she feels him breathing her in in long gulps of the same air that his arms are squeezing out of her. She lets him.
"Eleanor," his voice is unfamiliar: quiet, secretive, rough. She eventually moves back in his embrace and dares to look at him. Over two weeks in Azkaban. He is filthy: hair matted, cheeks and chin bristling with an unchecked growth of a beard, his ragged prison uniform handed down to him from another unfortunate inmate without being cleaned first. No one could get a garment this torn and filthy in such a short time.
She now sees how gaunt he looks, realizes the yellowish hue of his skin and eyes. 'Veritaserum,' she thinks angrily. Overdoses will invariably affect the liver, and in his case they seem to have immersed him in it. He is malnourished and jaundiced, and the iron collar has left the skin around his neck abraded and scabbed, and her anger flares up to heights she fears she will not be able to control.
All her instincts are pushing her to try empathicura, the magical skill of drawing a person's injuries into oneself and then controlling one's own body to heal them. But the deadened feeling that permeates her as she tries to touch him that way tells her that the cell has been fortified against all magic. Everyone it keeps will have less powers than a squib.
She releases the touch-points, simply wrapping him up in her arms. "I am so sorry, Lucius." He shakes his head. "Don't be," he answers her with surprising gentleness in his new strange voice. "I've always known it might end this way. You are the first friendly face I am seeing in this hell-hole." His hands come up to caress her face, and she is shocked how rough and calloused they feel.
"I am here with Tethering," she whispers. "We are doing everything we can to get you out." He gives a mirthless chuckle. "No chance, they have fucked me up for good this time. They've completely done away with interrogation protocol. There is nothing I haven't told them." She bristles at the implications. "If they tortured you…!" she starts, her fury finally finding an outlet, but he runs his hands over her back as if to calm her, then sits down on his bunk again, beaten, drained.
"No need," he tells her softly. "Any liquid I've got in this place so far has been pure Veriaserum. So I can either die of thirst or confess. Sadly, I realize that I have chosen confession. The Dark Lord will find fault with me, I'm afraid."
He runs his hand over his eyes, and her body suddenly aches with the defeat she senses in him. She becomes aware that over the past years she has been – among other things – in love with his outward polished perfection. She can upbraid herself for the shallowness of the sentiment, nonetheless, it is there. To see him like this is pure agony.
She is on her knees before him now, imploring him. "Lucius, don't give up. They won't get away with this. We are using your book, we'll turn some of the judges. Right now public opinion may be against you, but over the last few days they have arrested people at random, just on the mere suspicion of being Death Eaters, innocent and guilty alike, and thrown them into prison without formal charges. Folks won't stand long for that kind of lawlessness."
His face is level with hers now. His grey eyes are gleaming with a short flare of his old arrogance. "Yes," he growls. "They must be scared witless of us. And rightly so. No one has ever threatened their silly little safe world like that. Now they think to fight fire with fire, but they lack our ruthlessness, and they will lose."
She stares at him. Even now, even here, he still thinks like a Death Eater. "Do you think Voldemort will save you?" she asks. He tilts his head, his hand coming up to gently trail over her neck. The corners of his mouth briefly twitch with a pained ironic smile. "No, my dear, the Dark Lord will kill me. I am now a warlock, a traitor to my fellows. I can expect no mercy."
Eleanor moves in, holds him, with nothing more to say, no hope to give. She is certain now that they have reached the nadir of despair, and what felt like a fight that could be won, out there under the blue sky and in the open air has been reduced to the false illusion it really is, here in the dank, cold darkness of this ancient cell. She feels him breathe, his arms around her. And she believes in her deepest heart, this will be their final good-bye. She wills herself to hold on to this last memory of him as tears fill her eyes.