A/C: Time is a flimsy construct when you've got nothing to measure it by, so consider this a montage of mid-sentence.
June/July
Dear Melissa,
My sweet little girl, we miss you so much! I can't stand not hearing from you. Sirius keeps telling us that the guards just aren't given you our letters. Part of me hopes that's true, but only because we haven't heard from you. If you're reading this, please, please ask the guards to let you send a letter back. Did you get the biro we sent you? You can use the back of this letter-
Melissa lowered the letter, wiping her eyes. "Come on, mum, you're making me cry. That's not fair." She took a few breaths before going back to the letter. Half of her mentally skipped over the rest of the paragraph for her own peace of mind.
Your father's been working with those boys from your school. One of them mentioned that he'll be leaving school after next year. I know things are hard, baby, but we've been thinking that maybe you should do the same? Better, you could study from home and stop by Hogwarts for your exams? I'm sure Sirius can find you some tutors-
"Ugh, mum!" She feels for her, really; but there's no way that'll happen. Even if she wanted to, there's no way in hell that Dumbledore would allow her out of his sight, now. Trelawney is proof enough of how he handles seers. Besides, she needs to go back to Hogwarts. …If the Board of Governors hasn't forced an expulsion, that is. Now that's a question worth wondering.
Melissa finished off the rest of the letter, reluctantly deciding to humour her mother's request and try to pass a letter off to her parents. She never did get a biro, though. It must have been confiscated by the guards. Ah, well, she'll think of something…
Dear Melody,
I hope you're doing well as you can be. France is interesting. Busy. Padfoot has made it his mission to take me to every place in the brochures, it seems. I don't mind it. His heart's in the right place; plus we've gone to see a lot of neat places in both magical and muggle France. We're at our last stop in Nice. The beaches are beautiful here, and on a swim yesterday I met a few teens from Beauxbatons who
-Sorry, Padfoot's calling me to come down. We're taking the train to Barcelona in an hour. I'll write more about it on the way and send you another letter when Maggie gets back.
Love,
Houdini
"Quite the chatterbox, aren't you?" Melissa huffed. This letter is far shorter than his ones from school. That said, she shouldn't blame him, considering he wrote down his reason. At the very least, it's not the only letter that's come in this week. She eyed the next letter, another international one judging by the envelope, and opened it up.
Dear Melissa,
Great news! George's attachment worked out. They have him doing exercises to make sure the fingers and such work properly, though his handwriting looks like an erumpent trampling all over the page.
The last bit had a swipe of ink over it, along with several wide spatters that suggested a fight between the boys.
Marrakech itself is brilliant! The letter eventually continued. We've never seen any place like this. The buildings, the weather, the food, even the air is different! (Smells like spices and flowers, in case you're asking). There's also people singing throughout the day (the wizards say it's a religious thing to call people, which is kind of neat). When we're not learning, we're travelling around the city and meeting other wizards our age. They ask us loads of questions about Britain, and we do the same back (though we still need an interpreter for the most part).
Oh, here's something wild- apparently you and Gin aren't alone. There's something here called a djinn that's known to possess muggles and make them do magic (it's not really the muggles doing the magic, just the djinn playing tricks). It's actually a big enough problem that the muggles know about it. Apparently it doesn't break the statute because it's always been a problem? Don't ask me how that works. I guess that as long as they don't know about wizards it's somehow okay? Except I don't see how that works seeing as the muggles that get possessed believe that they're now witches. It's all really confusing. Anyways, we got told off the other day for leaving a pitcher of water out overnight since water attracts djinn. I'm sure we can all agree that two possessed witches is enough as is.
Melissa slowly lowered the parchment. Eyes blinking at the walls, but the mind stretching farther into a void. "I'm sorry, WHAT?"
She re-read the paragraph, failing to fully grasp what Fred had written. She fought to set it aside, reading on as he talked about magic carpets, a blue city, and tree-climbing goats -all of which should have been amazing to contemplate- yet her mind kept dragging back to that full paragraph of actual proof that magical possession is a thing and a well-known thing in parts of the world! She read the letter five times over, the notion slowly sinking in with each read. There's proof, tangible examples that her claim isn't entirely ludicrous. That's… good. Helpful. Bizarre as fuck. As is the ending note of the letter.
You know, if you're willing to pay again, I'll gladly let you lop off my arm to match Georgie's if it means going on another trip like this.
Ha! As if!
(He'S jOKIng!)
"Well at least one of you is a voice of reason!"
Dear Melissa,
I hope you are well. I'm sorry for not writing to you since school ended. I require permission to use my parents' owl, so with good fortune Jacqueline will be permitted to send this letter to you.
Melissa paused, eyeing the peeking slips from Jacqueline and Amy inside the envelope. Clearly Jacqueline has the same issue as Garrick.
My summer is going well thus far. However, you will be interested to know that there has been a notable climate shift since your incarceration. Actually, I would say it's occurred since last summer. The dark-leaning families are in chaos, badly enough that disputes have happened in the public eye. Most took place after the articles about You-Know-Who. (Alas, my father still refuses to name the informant.) Yet that's not the worst of it. Some people have been killed or gone missing! My relatives suspect they've gone into hiding, or have been removed by their enemies in the chaos.
"Holy shit, really?" The thought whispered under her breath. She practically leaned forward as the letter continued.
There are also anxious whispers about You-Know-Who's inevitable retaliation. With the public's spin that he possessed both you and the Weasley girl (and we must speak of the latter come September), Britain is on edge for what he's planning next. Parties on all sides are now looking towards the Malfoys. I've been told your trial revealed some connection between Weasley's possession and Lucius Malfoy? Whatever happened, it caused the Rowles and Averys to turn on him. They and several others of the Sacred Twenty Eight are putting pressure on the DMLE to reopen the accusations of Malfoy being a Death Eater-
"HA! Oh my god, this is hilarious!"
She rolled on the cot, laughing loudly. Then the laughter wheezed and choked as shadows swooped by her window. Ice flaked across the walls, creeping towards the cot. By the time it ended, Melissa found mind woozy and deadened. Blinking, she eventually noticed the parchment in her hands. Eyes skimmed the pages, registering that there were words on it, but not wholly understanding what was being said, or why they mattered. Giving up on the act, she curled up into a ball and lit the parchment on fire for a bit of warmth.
It's been an exhausting day, anyways. I can use a nap…
Light.
Peace.
Warmth.
Each concept, so profound, claimed unique notices of attention. The guards' patronuses are such small, quiet things. Yet the great bear leaping through the hallway is anything but. Melissa knelt closer, face against the bars, clicking her tongue in hopes of calling the beast closer to her. It didn't come to her. Yet someone else did.
"Bennett," The voice played soft, though the undertone betrayed a note of command. She looked up, finding grey eyes boring into her own.
Gently swaying, she smiled up at them. "Hullo, Lord Black."
He had a frown, always the oppositionist. "How are you faring, girl?"
The answer came in a long breath. "I'm gooood." Her tongue clicked. "Your bear is very pretty."
Someone gave a throaty laugh. It died quickly at the man's glare. His attention returned. "Tell me, the secrets you're protecting, are they worth all of the damage you've wrought?"
Secrets? She thought briefly of the freed orbs, plans and memories alike. Then came the trial, crying families, George's searing stump, the blood on Harry's face-
"It's worth it," The words came with a steel she hasn't felt in some time.
Black's lips went tight. Saying nothing, he walked on; down to the deeper cells. Taking the bear- and its warm light- with him.
Bellatrix Lestrange has been screaming for days. All rage and curses for the world to have the misfortune to hear. Like anyone gives a fuck about "blood traitors" and all that nonsense.
"Banshee on the bay,
Will you go away?
You scare the birdies and the fish,
But no matter how I wish,
All you do is bitch, bitch biiiitch!"
A woman's voice perked from a neighbouring cell. "And what year is that one from?"
"Thirty seconds ago. An original," Melissa answered. She sat up, making half an effort to stretch her arms. "Honestly it's hard to think with all that screaming. She's worse than the whole island combined."
"That's for sure," the woman, Jo Richards, let out a loud breath. "I can't wait to get out of here."
"How long do you have left? A week?"
"Maybe. Whenever the 25th is. It's hard to keep track. Muggle jails are nothing like this."
That comment caught Melissa's curiosity. "You've been to jail?"
The woman gave a snort. "You think that pureblood bint's the only face I've punched in? Nah, I've had my fair share of pub brawls. Especially when a match is on. Say what you want about muggles, at least they know how to take a hit."
Melissa gave a snort. "I'll bet. So, how would you rank each type of prison, overall?"
"Oh, don't get me started!"
"No, no, I insist. Anything to distract me from that bitch's screaming." Said bitch's voice echoed through the building, something about blood and a… genitalia inverting curse?
"...Heh. Alright, then. Let me tell you all about them…"
The boat endured violent winds and crashing waves the entire way to Azkaban. The weather was so nauseously turbulent that Cornelius resorted to placing sticking charms and weather repellants over his hat, newspaper, and cloak just to have some peace of mind. Nevertheless, there was no relief to be had when they finally arrived at the dreary prison. The frigid chill of the North Sea, punctuated with dementors, made Azkaban a wholly miserable place to be. Not even the aurors' patronuses or his own warming charms can do enough to keep the miserable aura at bay. Nevertheless, this inspection is a necessity, so Cornelius stood tall as he walked inside.
Azkaban inspections are fairly typical, despite the awful location. He is to meet with the warden, who will then guide Cornelius and the aurors through the prison. Afterwards, he will speak with the rest of the human staff to see what needs are required to be addressed at the next budget meeting. All simple things, really.
On this day, however, Cornelius's tour derailed almost immediately. The mutters and screams of the prisoners mingled with a new sound. A sound so disturbing that it chilled him to the bone.
The sound of laughter.
"Alright. Next up we have drug users and alcoholics. Not all of them- don't get nervous!"
The shouting was met by warbles of laughter all down the corridor. Cornelius cringed and looked over at the warden. "How are they laughing? What's happening here?"
"What's happened?" The Warden scoffed. "You brought that kid here. That's what happened."
"What?" Cornelius looked around him. Certainly, one of the aurors with him is in his mid twenties, but that's hardly young. Confused, he turned his attention back to the shouting.
"Everyone will get… twelve chances to clean up." The laughter continued, and the woman speaking amended her words. "Alright, alright, fifteen! You get fifteen tries, and if you can't make it by fifteen you're off TO COLORADO! Each week, all of the illegal drugs confiscated in the country- that the aurors and DML don't keep for their own personal use," that comment was met with boos and cackling alike, "will be air-dropped to Colorado. Then we'll turn over all the breweries to the beer-drinking assholes and we're going to let them get smashed, wired, and shitfaced on our new network Shitface Central: This is the real Rocky Mountain HIGH!"
The collection of laughs and whistles was met by a blast from the Warden's wand. "THAT'S ENOUGH, YOU HAGSPAWNS! BACK AWAY FROM THE BARS!"
Like cockroaches, the inmates scuttled away from the bars as the contingent approached. All except one. The Warden glared at that inmate when he reached that cell. "What are you up to this time, Bennett?"
Bennett? The name niggled at Cornelius' memory.
"Just giving a sermon on prison reform," Bennett chirped happily. Now isn't that bewildering! "About how to save money and which kinds of people should be locked up."
The Warden gave a loud scoff. "I suppose mad witches like you will get a pass, right?"
"Oh no, no, no, no! That's the final group: Maniacs and Crazy People!"
Curiosity got the better of Cornelius. "There's a difference between them?" Stepping closer, he was surprised to find the inmate shockingly young. Young, and familiar… Oh! The devil-girl! Now he remembers. A chill went through him as she offered a broad grin.
"Of course! You see, a maniac will beat nine people to death with a steel dildo." There was a choke of sound somewhere behind him. "Meanwhile, a crazy person will beat nine people to death with a steel dildo, but he'll be wearing a Bugs Bunny suit at the time."
"Oh god!" A woman in the next cell groaned into chuckles.
Cornelius blinked in confusion. What on earth is a bug bunny? Why would you make a suit out of it? And… I'm sorry, a steel WHAT?!
"ENOUGH!" The Warden blasted his wand dangerously close to the cell door.
Bennett hopped backwards, waving her hands apologetically. Though her tone was entirely casual as she said, "Alright, alright. I get it. Not everyone's into comedy." Her eyes swept over the contingency. Head tilting back in confusion as she took them in. Then, to his chagrin, the devil-girl zeroed in on him with a manic glee in her eyes. "Oh!" She breathed the word. "Arthur Weasley just won the raffle. Didn't he?"
"WHAT?!" Cornelius jumped back. In his surprise, the newspaper half-crumpled in his hand. Looking down, he opened up the folded over headline of the day. Ministry of Magic Employee Scoops Grand Prize written in bold letters above Arthur Weasley and his family, smiling and celebratory as they dressed in foreign garb for their newly bought trip. With a nervous gulp, he looked back at Bennett. "How did you know?"
"Oh, I always knew he was going to win," she answered dismissively. "What I'm curious about is the trip. Are they still planning to see Bill in Egypt, or are they dividing their time with Morocco to see George and Fred?"
"I- uh-" His mind strained to grasp the bewildering edge of conversation. "Both, I believe."
"Aww, that's nice of them," she cooed. "It's good that the boys can spend time with family…" Her eyes drifted to nothing. Almost as suddenly, they snapped back to him. "You're lucky, Minister. In another time, this visit would have resulted in some nasty bit of business for your reputation."
One of the aurors stepped forward. "Are you threatening the Minister?!"
"Of course not," she answered, eyeing the man like you would an idiot. "I said in another time, didn't I? Though I suppose time is a tricky thing when others only see it in one direction."
Realization dawned on him. "You're a seer, aren't you? I remember, from the trial."
"Of course," She nodded, the smile lacking in wickedness. Arms behind her, her body rocked in a childish sway. "It's too bad how things turned out, but the court did the right thing."
"You… agree with being here?"
She shrugged. "People got hurt because of me. That kind of thing deserves some level of punishment, don't you think?"
"...Yes. Quite right." This conversation has him floundering. That said, to have a verifiable seer in their midst could be useful to him. …If her mind is not completely unhinged when her sentence is over, that is. Clearing his throat, he turned over to the Warden. "Shall we continue?"
The group shuffled quickly down the corridor, Cornelius practically leading the way as he made his escape. Behind him, Bennett renewed her shouting sermon. "Now, where was I? Oh, right, I've saved the best group for last-"
A couple notes about this chapter:
1. Everything mentioned about Morocco is actual info I came across during research.
2. George Carlin's 'State Prison Farms' skit isn't verbatim because it's written from memory for the sake of authenticity (though, yes, I know that much of it by heart!)