AN: This is my second post today, I'm making up for lost time!
This one, like Repressed is kinda vague. I think. I don't know. Maybe. I hope it isn't too confusing though. Also, it's rated for mature content. Happy reading :)
Don't be afraid to leave your thoughts!
Secrets
A man is on trial for murder. A woman cries herself to sleep, but not for what one might think. Both have secrets. They have more in common than one might think.
X
"I dunno what to do...what have I done? What-I-he-I didn't have a choice, he was gonna kill me-"
"Shhh...it's okay. We'll figure it out. We'll figure this out, I promise."
X
Present
A light flickers.
Once.
Twice.
Three times before burning out and throwing the room into total darkness.
The room is a cell, located deep within Azkaban. [Where nobody will hear you scream.]
One man occupies the cell, content by the loneliness. By the darkness. He stares up at the ceiling, lying flat on his back with his arms crossed over his chest. He's waiting.
It's been seven months. Seven months since he's seen the day light-the sun, the clouds, the rain, the trees and the grass. Seven months since he's breathed fresh air, listened to the traffic on the streets and the birds chirping. Seven months since he's seen her.
For seven months ago he was arrested for murder. There were no questions, no interrogation. He waved his right to a lawyer, admitted to the charges against him. His trial only began two months ago, in which evidence by the prosecuting wizard was shown to the Ministry. All of the evidence pointed the finger at him. The trial is really only to prove that he was guilty, and for the Ministry to decide on a reasonable punishment. And he has sat back, silently awaiting his fate. Ignoring the disappointed, disapproving, disgusted gazes of his peers. His friends. His enemies. Ignoring the sad, pleading gaze he feels burning the back of his head urging (and failing) him to glance back.
For all intensive purposes, he is as guilty as guilty comes. [In more ways than one].
X
He's looking for an escape. Drunk. Drowning his sorrows in a bottle of firewhiskey.
She's lonely and unhappy. Drunk. Hoping to find comfort and companionship in a bottle of tequila.
Both find so much more the following morning. And the memories of a forbidden rendezvous play over and over in their heads, like a slideshow of snapshots until they find each other a month a later.
Then two weeks later.
One week later.
Every Friday and Saturday night.
It was nothing less and nothing more than an illicit affair, kept secret.
[And yet it's always something more].
X
Present
He tries to forget. He tries so hard to forget her. To forget her warm, chocolatey brown eyes and her beautiful, luscious smile and the freckles across the bridge of her nose. He tries to forget the feel of her soft, curly hair between his fingers and her smooth skin against his calloused hands. He tries so hard to forget the way her body reacted to his, felt against his and fit perfectly with his. Like his wand to his wand hand.
He tries and he tries and he tries.
But her smile haunts his dreams and sometimes he swears he can hear her laughing in the dead quiet of his cell. Her eyes continue to capture him and it kills him slowly. And he longs, so badly, to feel her. To kiss her. To hold her. To love her. To have her just one more time.
X
"Run away with me."
It isn't a question.
Or a request.
It's a statement.
A soft spoken, hopeful demand.
He needs her.
She looks at him, skeptically. Her eyes narrow in confusion and curiosity. "What?"
"Run away with me," he repeats. "Leave your sorry excuse for a husband and run away with me. Let's just...let's go."
She shakes her head, ignoring the way he describes her husband of five years. "We can't.."
"Why not? We can go to Paris. Or Italy. New York. We can travel the world, never look back," he murmurs, tracing circles on the small of her back with his fingers.
"Our lives are here. My business is here, my family is here, my…life is here," she whispers.
"He's here.."
"I'm sorry," she apologizes.
He needs her.
She needs him.
It's just not the same.
X
Present
He could've saved her. He could've prevented...this.
He could've been the one.
But he had believed her. He had seen the bruises. He had confronted her about them. He had threatened to kill the lousy excuse of a man for laying a hand on her. [He'd thought about it before out of pure jealousy]. But she was stubborn and stupid and she insisted and insisted and insisted. And he was stupid enough to listen.
X
"I'll kill him. I swear to Merlin I'm gonna fucking kill him!" he growls, pacing around the bedroom.
She's crying, tears trickling down her cheeks as she tries to calm him down, following him around the room. "Please, please calm down-"
"Calm down? You want me to calm down after what you just told me-are you mental?"
She flinched at the tone and sound and level of his voice. "Please-"
"And what the fuck is your problem huh? Sticking around, staying with him-defending him!"
"He promised he wouldn't do it again-"
"He's lying," he snaps. "That's what they all say-"
"This is different," she insists softly.
"Yeah? How?"
"He doesn't-didn't mean it," she says softly. "I...the war really screwed with his head and-"
He scoffs, shaking his head in disgust and disbelief. "You're fucking joking. The war screwed with everyone's head, not just his."
"Please," she pleads softly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him around to face her. She takes his face in her hands, stretching onto her toes. "Please don't do anything."
"I can't just...I can't do nothing. I won't-"
"For me..."
[He should've refused].
X
Present
He tries to condone his actions. [He wasn't thinking clearly. She knew what she was doing. She knew what she was talking about. He was just the jealous guy on the side]. He tries to give answers to his own questions. [Why didn't she call him sooner? Why didn't he show up sooner? Why didn't he fight for her?].
He has the entire Wizarding world, the whole of the Ministry, fooled. Not that it was hard, in fact, it was almost too easy to convince everyone that he'd done it. That he'd committed murder. It's like everyone was almost too quick to believe him, given his past.
Perhaps he's a masochist. Perhaps this is punishment for the things he should've done but didn't. Or, perhaps, it's just the right thing to do.
[A good liar is someone who can convince another person of their innocence, when they're guilty. An even better liar is someone who can convince an entire population that they're guilty, when they're innocent].
X
"No. No no no no no! I won't let you-"
"You don't have a choice."
"What the hell does that mean? You can't do this, it's-"
"This isn't up for discussion! I didn't tell you so that you can talk me out of it-"
"Why, then? Why'd you tell me?"
"Because I love you."
X
Present
A clock ticks.
And ticks.
And ticks.
And she listenslistenslistens, until finally she has enough and she pulls the plug to her clock radio out of the wall.
The bedroom is dark. She finds comfort in the dark. She stares up at the darkness, where the ceiling should be, hiding under the covers in the comfort of her own bed. She's lonely.
It's been seven months since the death of her husband. Seven months since she laid him to rest in his family's plot-he always claimed he wanted a quiet funeral, none of that War Hero "bullshit". Seven months since she's smiled or laughed or felt anything other than sorrow and pain and distress. Seven months since she's seen his face.
She'll cry herself to sleep tonight, just like every other night. But not for the reasons one might think.
Her family consoles her. Her mother holds her in the early days of this nightmare while she sobs against her pillow into the early morning hours. Her father shields her from the prying eyes and the reporters, protecting her from the outside world. Her best girlfriend brings her ice cream and chocolate in a naive, but appreciated, attempt to make her feel just that much better for only a few minutes. Her other best guy friend picks her up off the kitchen floor, dumps the remainder of fire whiskey down the sink drain and puts her to bed when she can't even stand let alone stand life and love and everything in between.
They think she cries for her lost husband.
X
"Tell me something you've never told anyone," she whispers from her position on the bed in his flat. She's wrapped in his green and black sheets, leaning against the headboard while she watches him at the door leading out to the balcony.
He smirks, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Something like what?"
She shrugs indifferently. "Anything."
He looks thoughtful for a moment before squishing the butt out in an ashtray next to the door and making his way across the room towards her. He crawls onto the bed, lying sprawled out on the mattress with his head in her lap. He shivers when she rakes her fingers through his hair. "I didn't hate Potter because he was the Chosen One. I hated him because he, unlike me, had real friends. Everyone wanted to be his friend and wanted to be around him. The only friends I had were either bribed or threatened by my father."
Silence. But silence is okay, because silence is understanding.
"Your turn. Tell me something you've never told anyone."
She smiles softly, resting her head back on the headboard, her chin tilted towards the ceiling. "I'm afraid of never being good enough. I over compensated and studied harder than everyone else because I thought that if I was smarter and wittier that I could prove I belonged there. I thought that by getting good grades and helping everyone else that I would gain respect, that people would like me."
"People liked you, don't worry."
"Not everyone. Not at first. And definitely not you," she points out.
"Well, no. But I appreciated brilliance when I saw it."
X
Present
She never wanted to be that person. (But then, who does?)
She never planned to be the woman who left her husband in the middle of the night to occupy another man's bed. She never thought she would find comfort in anyone except her husband.
She never thought she'd fall in love with another man.
Nor did she ever think she'd be that woman. The woman who stood by while her husband abused and harassed her. The woman who was weak enough to believe his excuses. The woman who was even weaker, who believed her own excuses. [It's only temporary. It'll get better].
She should've left.
She should've gone to Paris and Italy and New York.
She should've ran away with him.
But she let fear cloud her judgment. Fear of flying. Fear of falling. Fear of giving the very last piece of her she had left, to him. And yet he'd already had her, all of her.
X
She's lying on her back, he on his side. They're both fully clothed, but her shirt is pushed up over her stomach. His hand is drawing circles on her bare stomach and she watches, smiling softly. The look on her face is one of awe and adoration as he too watches the movements of his hand. He tilts his head down, placing a barely there kiss to her stomach.
"A baby," he whispers.
"A baby..." she confirms.
He doesn't even ask if he's the father, because he already knows he is. She hasn't slept with her husband in months.
"I'm scared," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We'll figure it out."
[They never got the chance. She never got through the first month].
X
Present
When she closes her eyes late at night, he's staring back. His smoldering grey eyes, full of lust and passion and love. [Her love for him scared her. His love for her scared her more]. When she turns out the lights and rolls over to find sleep she feels his arms around her. Holding her. Protecting her. Whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Comforting her. Lulling her to sleep when she can't find it herself. [Falling asleep is harder now].
It's when she's alone, without her friends and family, that she thinks about all the things she could've done differently. [She couldawouldashoulda]. But it doesn't do any could. Because her husband is still dead. Because she's still alone, no matter how her friends and family surround her.
Because a man is facing a fate that doesn't belong with him.
X
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello..?"
A sniffle. A whimper.
"Babe...what's wrong?"
A sob.
"I need you..."
Panic. A shuffle.
"Where are you?"
Another sob. A shaky breath. A broken voice.
"I'm at home-"
"Is he there?"
"Yes.. He's dead."
X
Present
He squints when the light from the hallway spills into his cell. A guard steps into the doorway, providing him a shield.
"It's time."
And time it is. Time to seal his fate. He's sitting on the edge of the single bed. He nods, pushing himself to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his expensive, tailored robes. It's the only luxury he's allowed, and it's only because he's going back court. He lifts his arms out, allowing the guard to conjure up chains around his wrists and ankles.
He follows the guard all the way to the transportation room, where they Floo to the Ministry building in London. He walks with poise and elegance towards the courtroom. And even when he enters the courtroom and all eyes land on him, including hers, he holds his head up high and his shoulders square. He ignores the whispers and the glares and derogatory slurs as he walks towards his chair. Alone.
X
He watches her from his position on the bed, as she stares at her reflection in the tall standing mirror. She's fully clothed. So is he, minus his shirt. Her hair is dirty and greasy as she hasn't washed it in days. [Has her husband even noticed?] Her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed and her lip red and purple. [Does her husband even care?]
She looks awful, in every sense of the word. And yet she looks beautiful in his eyes.
She places her hand on her stomach, rubbing small circles over the fabric of her t-shirt. And he blinks back tears of his own as heart drops into his stomach. He crawls to his feet and walks towards her, hesitating for a moment before he runs his hands down the length of her arms, intertwining their fingers and wrapping his arms (and hers) around her waist. He buries his face into the crook of her neck and she leans against him, her body shaking with sobs. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.
"It's not your fault...it's nobody's fault."
It's in that moment that he makes himself a promise. He'll protect her forever, no matter what.
X
Present
The Minister enters the courtroom, and everyone rises to their feet. Shaklebolt takes his seat at the front of the room before calling the court to order and bidding "the accused" to stay standing. "Do you, Draco Malfoy, understand the charges being held against you?"
Draco Malfoy nods. He can feel her watching. [He can feel everyone watching him, but she is the only one who matters].
"And you're still pleading guilty?"
"Yes." His voice resounds around the courtroom, echoing through the otherwise deafening silence.
And then another voice speaks out. And dammit, he's missed that voice.
"Draco Malfoy isn't guilty of anything." Her voice is strong. Confident.
The blonde whirls around to face her. But she isn't looking, her gaze is instead focused on the Minister. He shakes his head, willing her to look at him. Silently begging her to stop talking.
The Minister is confused. So is everyone else in the courtroom. "Why do you say that, Mrs. Weasley?"
Hermione Weasley nee Granger raises her head and pushes her shoulder back, ignoring the curious, surprised gazes of her friends and family. Ignoring the man on trial, trying to save her. "Because Draco Malfoy didn't kill my husband. I did."