"I have awakened in a dungeon,
With chains on my hands.
And my longing ever stronger-
And freedom! You, turned from me!"
- Empress Elisabeh of Austria
The heavy door swung on its hinges and a creaking sound filled the air. The noise hurt her eardrums, and she moved her hands to cover each side of her face.
Like a well-oiled machine, Annabel knew every step. She was used to it by now, after she had seen people being called in and out of that room more times than she could count. The person would walk in, pull on the hard wooden chair that resembled the one she was sitting on. The chair would scrape on the floor, echo against the bare walls, and the empty seat would soon be filled by an austere looking officer. The latter would ask questions, always the same, to which she would give answers, always the same.
No, she did not know this woman. Yes, this was her wand. No, she had never even heard of her before. Yes, she had had an argument with her husband a week ago but their dispute was not related to that old hag.
No, she did not think her husband was having an affair.
A tiring exercise, really.
She had believed it would suffice, at first, to repeat the same thing over and over again. Surely someone would understand the mistake they were making. This was just a judicial error, like it happened everyday. Soon enough, Tom would notice that she was gone. He would search for her, pull some strings. Soon enough, she would be home. And yet, as the hours ticked away, Annabel could not help but think that something was undeniably wrong.
"Healer Selwyn?"
She started at the designation.
Healer Selwyn, she had not been called that ever since she had stepped into that place. Her name, hers, the one she was being called at work, uttered with respect by patients. A name she used to dislike, back at school, for it gave away her roots, her connection with her father and his ties with the Ministry, yet a name of which she had learned to enjoy the whistling of the s and the modulation of the l.
A name she was deprived of here, for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seemed determined to stick to the official, and so she was addressed by her real name, a name her husband was himself desperately trying to get rid of, that had been imposed onto her after her wedding, that she had managed to topple at St Mungo's, for her registration for the entrance exam without being yet wed had allowed her to keep the birth name.
Annabel looked at the man who had now stepped into the room, curious of who dared disturbing the Ministry's procedures.
"My name is Drulius Sweaters" he said while he took off his hat.
"I am a friend of your father"
A member of the Wizengamot, she understood. Her father had no friends, only allies or enemies. Whether his presence was good or bad omen, she could not tell. She gawked at the man who took his seat in front of her and placed a thick leather briefcase on his lap. He pulled out a grey folder that bore her name.
"The Selwyn Case"
She shuddered at the sight. The man cleared his throat, fished his wand from the inner pocket of his coat. He tapped on the folder two, four times before the latter opened at the middle.
"Healer Selwyn, I am here to inform you of the charges pressed against you"
Mechanically, Annabel placed a hand on her belly, like she had done so many times during the past twelve hours. As if this small cluster of cells could protect her against her dire fate.
"As you already know, you have been remanded into custody due to your potential involvement in the death of Mrs Hepzibah Smith"
The man looked straight at her, as if to make sure she was listening. Annabel did not move, fearing that a simple nod would contradict what she had been negating the whole time.
"Mrs Hepzibah Smith has been found dead last week Thursday in her home, poisoned by her house elf named Hokey. Recent analysis showed that the house elf's memory has been altered"
Ever so slightly, Annabel pressed on her stomach. She felt the pressure of her palm, her fingers marking the flesh before she relieved the pressure.
"On the crime scene, Healer Selwyn, your wand has been found. When confronted to this fact, you explained to the officers that you had misplaced your wand weeks ago. Yet you never reported the loss, correct?"
"I forgot to do so" she replied, her throat parched.
The man simply darted her a short glance before he resumed his reading.
"On the day of the killing, you have been seen leaving work earlier than usual, at three p.m. to be precise. You said you went home straight after you left St Mungo's, yet your house elf claims not having seen you before ten p.m."
"I already said she must be confused. I went home and she even offered me some tea"
The man blinked and grabbed his wand with which he tapped on the folder again. A few pages flew in the air, which he seized.
"During your first interview with Mrs Strongbark, you said your house elf, I quote 'offered to brew you some tea'. Was the tea already brewed, Healer Selwyn, or did she offer to brew you some?"
Silence stretched, long minutes during which Annabel opened and closed her mouth.
"I- I don't know, I was not in the kitchen. I landed in my house and there she was, like always whenever I arrive at home, standing by the chimney. She- she offered me some tea, that is all"
The man nodded and pursued.
"Healer Selwyn, can anyone else confirm that you were home last Thursday night?"
"I would like to have a glass of water"
She looked at the door, hoping such distraction would grant her more time. She needed to think but her mind was foggy, slowed by the so many hours she had spent into this room.
The door opened and a tray levitated towards her, carrying a single glass. She grabbed it slowly, brought it to her lips while the man in front of her scratched his forehead. She could tell he was restless, worried. He glanced briefly at the door that had opened, which, she knew, concealed more people from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Officers who were certainly taking notes, examining each movement she made.
He pursued, speaking faster this time.
"Healer Selwyn, your house elf informed us about your latest argument with your husband, Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle. She claimed he had asked you to quit your job, being worried that such position was detrimental to your mental health, but she said you refused. Yet, no less than four days later, St Mungo's hospital received a letter of resignation signed by your own hand"
Annabel finished her glass, placed it on the table in front of her. She was shaking, her fingers like with a mind of their own.
"That very afternoon, your husband, Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, had spent the afternoon with Mrs Hepzibah Smith. You claimed knowing nothing of the affinity that existed between the two of them, is that correct?"
She nodded, her hand now returning to her lap. She pressed it against her thigh with the other, to prevent the trembling.
"That is correct" she managed to utter.
"Due to the doubts regarding your implication in the killing of Mrs Hepzibah Smith, the Wizengamot ordered a search of your home. There, we found some indisputable evidence"
Evidence? She frowned.
"Inside your house we found a vial of zinc phosphide, the exact same type that was used against Mrs Smith. Do you understand what this looks like, Healer Selwyn?"
Annabel was motionless, like frozen in time and space. She tried to recall when she might have ever brought home such thing, but nothing came back to her. She wished she could sleep, even just a few minutes, a brief respite to relax her mind, to help her think clear.
"I- I don't remember ever bringing home some rat poison…"
"I believe you. Yet, your case sadly looks… bad. You need an alibi, a strong one"
"But Maeve saw me"
"Your house elf says otherwise. We did submit her to a magical check up and her memory has not been altered. She may be lying, of course, but this is not what the Department believes. Somehow, those people seem to want to bring you down. You need something tangible. Are you absolutely certain that you did not meet anyone once you were home? Some neighbour maybe?"
She shook her head, memories of that afternoon slowly resurfacing. She saw herself landing inside the hallway, dusting off her clothes, stomping on the floor with her ankle boots at her feet. She recalled the soot falling on the carpet, dark snow smearing the wool, Maeve who apparated a second later, asking about her day. "Like always" she had lied, for she had cried between each patient she had seen, retreating in her office or in the nearest bathroom, aware that each consultation would soon be the last. She was meant to quit at the end of the month, an agreement found with her boss after he had received the letter sent by Tom. Saying that she resented him was an understatement, she was furious, enraged like a wounded beast. Hurt, and from such pain she had drawn strength. She had not talked to him ever since the argument, enforcing on him the same unfair rules he had once imposed to her.
And yet, now that he was out of sight, away to tend to whatever business he had out of town, leaving her with not a soul to help her, she drastically missed him.
—
The coin was flickering, catching the light as it turned, rolling effortlessly on his knuckles. Despite the dexterity such move required, his face displayed nothing but a certain aloofness, an expression he had never quite managed to dispose of ever since childhood. To anyone who did not know him, Tom Riddle would have looked uninterested, bored even, as he was listening to the man in front of him.
Yet, Tom Riddle was not bored. He was nervous.
In front of him sat a man with a belly as big as an inflated balloon. He was the proud owner of an impressive collection of cursed teaspoons, and despite his unusual hobby, no one else than Azkaban's vice-director. A contact Tom soon realised could come in handy. "Do you have anything to sell?" he had asked Tom with a haughty after he had walked in Borgin and Burkes a few years ago. He had stopped many times on his way to the counter, to look closely at the various items that were on sale, a little too closely for Tom's taste. But like so often with important people, the man had been easy to entertain, for he loved to talk about himself. Getting him on his side had been a child's game. With a sleight of hand, Tom had been able to find out all he ever wished to know about the famous prison, and more…
"She will be sent to the lower storeys" the man said before he pulled out a parchment from the inside pocket of his coat. He unrolled the document which showed a map of the prison, the island, the sea that surrounded it.
"There" he added as he tapped on a range of cells.
"This is where we keep valuable prisoners, political opponents, family members of senior officials, people like that…" he winked.
"She'll have a room all by herself, healthy food coming from the island's vegetable patch, lots of fresh air. She can have books, paint and brushes, take a walk outside everyday. We have everything a nice little lady like yours might need" he nodded appreciatively, as if he was promoting a resort rather than a detention centre.
"We will send you a list of things you can ship her. Toiletries, photographs, anything to keep her entertained. We will not allow any knitting basket though. As a simple… e-hem, precaution"
Tom shrugged off the man's allusion. The very purpose of him sending Annabel to jail was to prevent to commit an irredeemable act. He needed not another reason to worry.
He asked, to change the subject:
"What about the Dementors' influence?"
"Oh, there is none. They fly, you see, and most of them feel rather at ease on the higher storeys of the tower. The ground floor is absent of it, which is why it is where the staff's living quarters are located"
Tom nodded.
"And what about visits?"
The man opened his hands, palms showing to the ceiling.
"There is nothing money can't buy"
A purse appeared on the table, strings untied, showing a multitude of golden coins. The man grabbed the money, weighed it up, chubby fingers kneading the leather. Tom watched how the man's face lightened up, how he hastened to hide the pouch inside the inner pocket of his coat.
Tom glanced at his watch, it was late afternoon already, two days after Annabel had been summoned to the Ministry. The moment he had left, right before shit hit the fan. A calculated move, for he had known that the officers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would come get her soon after her wand would be found.
"She must be there by now" he muttered, an indescribable sadness gripping him.
"Not yet" replied the man who shook his head.
"The ship is not allowed to get closer than this" he traced an invisible circle around the island. "Passengers are then transported by small boats"
"Is it safe?" Tom blurted as he pictured Annabel on a makeshift craft, the boat pitching dangerously, a constant swing caused by the waves, the wind. He imagined her staring at the ship that stood out against the sky, both hands gripping the edge of the craft, her vision blurred by the rain, her clothes wet, sticking to her bulging belly. Or was the sun actually high in the sky, searing, her face red from the scorch? Was she wearing a hat, he wondered, to protect her beautiful face, or was she donned with a lifejacket if she were to fall into the water? Were her hands tied up, to prevent her to flee? He imagined her with her arms close to her chest, to keep herself warm, to self-soothe. She must be feeling so lonely, so scared.. Oh, how much he missed her already.
But she should not be sad, and nor should he.
After all, he was doing this for her own good.
His dearest, dearest Annabel.