Dorcas is torn to pieces (certaindoom) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-09-23 19:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | - 1980/09 september, dorcas meadowes, leoben yaxley, walden macnair |
Who: Dorcas Meadowes, Leoben Yaxley and Walden Macnair
When: Wednesday, 23 September 1980; night
Where: Ben's stables
What: Interrogation and Betrayal
Rating: Sadness and violence
Status: Completed log
It'd been five days now. Five days of slow and methodical torture, in both the emotional and physical sense. Leoben had never bothered to do this for so long before. People responded to pain and fear and so that was, more often than not, what he usually went with. This was different though. This was new territory for him. This long, drawn out process. It was almost tiring. It would have been, were it not so absolutely intriguing to him. There was a point though, in every session, that the prisoner had to be questioned, and that was what he intended to do today. After yesterday's session with the journals, he knew there was at least one avenue he could exploit. She hadn't been sleeping. And as much as he could make her talk with any number of spells and torture devices, veritaserum was just simpler. Leoben flicked his wand to light the stable as he closed the door behind him, disregarding her completely until he'd conjured a chair for himself and taken a seat behind the table attached with the listening device. "Good evening, Miss Meadowes," he greeted, as customary and polite as ever. As little as she had been sleeping the past few days, the combination of the cold and the thoughts of her friends and the journal conversations and all she'd wanted to say but hadn't and the pain of saying her goodbyes had kept her up all night. Pacing and sitting and pacing and there was even another attempt at the door, something she had not tried in two days. She thought. Even if she could keep some track of the days, she was starting to lose her sense of time. But there was one thing she could do, and that was to take the smoothed out parchment by the door - Yaxley's damn list - and shred it into so many pieces that it was nothing more than confetti which was thrown into the unlit incinerator. Some small shred of defiance that had been sparked by the realisation that it did not matter if she played his games. Or perhaps anger at the realisation of just why he had allowed her to have her journal and how it was a form of emotional torture all of its own. Or just simple frustration at her helplessness and the knowledge of how startlingly short her life was. But that had been hours ago and now it was dark again and she was sitting on the floor, glaring at the man who had just entered her prison. "Go to hell," she murmured quietly, without even thinking, although there was a brief expression of horror at the realisation that she had actually vocalised her thoughts. Oh, so they were going to play this game again. Well, no one could ever accuse Leoben of being inconsistent. His wand was out in a flash and the word crucio on his lips as fast as ever. It seemed, over the course of the day, Miss Meadowes had had a bit of spirit injected back into her. It wouldn't have been so annoying if he didn't already have other things to worry about. Well. Not worry. He certainly wasn't worried. He kept his wand trained on her as he rose from the chair. "Obviously I have been too kind to you," he growled. Really, he supposed, it was his own fault. Two days without a physical reminder of what would happen if she disobeyed was far too long. Dorcas was expecting it this time. She knew, as soon as she heard the words that were supposed to remain only in her head that she would be punished, but knowing it was coming did not, in any way, lesson the agony that she felt as Yaxley's cruciatus tore through her. The reminder of the price of defiance was painful and well-learnt as she screamed and thrashed on the ground. She didn't mean to say it. God, she didn't even understand how she was supposed to think any more without sleeping and without eating and oh yes, being held prisoner by a completely insane madman. But all she could do was scream out her regret and frustration. Leoben held it for another long minute, a thorough reminder of manners, really. When he lifted the curse, he all but glowered down at her, clearly annoyed at having to do this again. It looked as though he would be keeping his wand close on hand tonight. "That is not the correct response for a greeting, Miss Meadowes," he said. "I said, good evening." It was a matter of principle, more than anything. It was an exercise in control and power and putting her back into her place. For as much as he'd been thinking the past handful of days, he was sure he knew what he wanted out of her now; where they had to go and get to before she died. But one thing at a time. Dorcas knew the words Yaxley wanted in response, but even as she held herself, aching and panting from the after effects of the cruciatus, the best she could force out was a gasped, "Hello," which was still not what she wanted to say either, but if it would keep him from cursing her again, she could fucking play nice or whatever this was. Even if she hated herself for it. Although not as much as she hated herself for the next rasped words that came from her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Please don't..." Again, without even realising what she was saying, that she was actually apologising to the man who tortured her, only that it was all she could think to say. Leoben nodded and settled into his chair again, though he made a point to keep his wand in his hand, a tacit, but constant reminder that punishment was only ever a spell away. The less they had to dance around, the better for both of them. He let her go on, hardly paying attention to her apologies and pleas. He was more interested in taking in the room again. One he usually knew so well, and yet still seemed empty and dark without his array of knives stuck to the strips on the wall. Something else was missing though, he was sure of it. And she had been so quick to defy him and be so utterly rude... And yes, there. His list was missing again. Leoben made a quick, visual sweep of the floor before flicking his eyes to Dorcas again. "Miss Meadowes, where is my list?" he inquired, deadly calm, but with the threatening edge of a well-sharpened blade. Dorcas had known he would notice that the list was gone, he noticed everything and she had wanted him to notice just a few hours ago when she had shredded it into so many tiny pieces. Now, however, it suddenly seemed like a very poor decision on her part. A decision that would only lead to further torture and pain. But she also knew better than to refuse to answer a direct question. Somehow that lesson had engrained itself in her mind as some quiet refrain of questions demand answers even without the reminder of his cruciatus. "I destroyed it," she replied quietly as she stared at the ground, her voice oddly flat - neither proud of her actions nor remorseful. "Tore it to pieces." "Hm, of course you did," he mused idly, again looking over the ground. "But I'm afraid there is a conspicuous absence of shredded paper on the ground. What have you done with the pieces?" Leoben had a vague sort of notion that was only solidifying as truth in his mind as he again, looked for even one piece of the torn list. It wasn't as if there were a lot of hiding places in the stable. This time her head did tilt up towards Yaxley, a slight frown on her face and yet again there was no choice but to answer. "The incinerator," she replied in the same, flat voice and her gaze went back to the ground. It was not as if there was anything that could be done about it now with how thoroughly she had destroyed it. After all, she'd had nothing but time in which to devote to its destruction. Leoben sighed and glanced towards the incinerator. As he'd suspected. It was the only thing in the room that could really carry anything. Again, it was simply out of principle that he was even a little angry. He didn't care about that particular copy of the list. It was the blatant destruction of property that bothered him. "That was very rude, Miss Meadowes," he said, as if speaking to a child. In one way or another, he supposed he was. Someone who he was almost sure didn't know any better. Someone that had to have proper behaviour taught and repeatedly reinforced. "Retrieve it." That got her attention and she looked up again, this time with a startled expression. She wasn't even sure how to respond to his demand. Retrieve it? Didn't he understand there was nothing to retrieve? Just little tiny pieces that she could never hope to pull out of the incinerator, never mind that she was not sticking her hand in that thing. "I... I can't," she stammered, not sure what else to say. But she didn't want him to think she was willfully defying him either, even if she was in some way, it wasn't on purpose, she just couldn't. "It's...too small. There's too many pieces." Better to focus on that than her fear of the incinerator itself. Leoben remained unperturbed by her confession. "I fail to see how this is my concern," he replied sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd given a demand and he expected compliance. A lack of such, would, as always, result in punishment. Which he thought she really should know by now. If she wished for another round of the cruciatus before she retrieved the pieces of his list, then he supposed he would oblige. In any case, he remained impassive, clearly not willing to budge on the issue. "You will do as I say. Retrieve it." Dorcas continued to stare at him for a long moment, not sure what to do and then she realised there was nothing to do but slowly move to her feet. Nothing to do but comply, whatever that meant when it came to retrieving tiny scraps of parchment from a pit of ash. A pit of ash that contained her journal, her wand, her brother. She stared blankly at the incinerator for a moment and then back at Yaxley and then her feet were moving, one after another, but still slowly as she walked towards the incinerator. The door was opened and she continued to stare. It was one thing to throw the bits of parchment into it. It was another to retrieve them. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes and reached one hand in. At the first touch of ash, she quickly drew her hand back and turned, her hands clutching around her stomach as she started dry heaving. The thought of her hand in her brother's burnt ashes was too much and she couldn't think of anything else. Leoben only observed for a moment. This was, he supposed, a good enough time to introduce some incentive. Some reward - even in the form of a lie - that didn't revolve around torture and pain. Or at least, wouldn't in her mind. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin vial of potion. "Apparently," he started, "You have not been sleeping well." Which wasn't exactly any sort of tremendous insight, but it was an effective enough way to slide into this. "This will help," he mused idly, turning the vial in his hands. "Though I'm afraid, I do not see very much incentive to grant such a reprieve when you can not follow even simple instructions." Dorcas looked back to Yaxley, her eyes falling on the vial of potion. The prospect of a sleeping potion - she didn't even care what kind any more, whether it was dreamless or not - was promised, blessed relief and she couldn't even think to try and figure out why he was offering a sleeping potion when he was supposed to be killing her today or... it didn't matter. A sleeping potion was worth it, she told herself over and over again as she turned back to the incinerator and her hand went in again, this time with her eyes open as she tried to pick out tiny individual bits of unburnt parchment as best as she was able, collecting them in her other hand. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to throw up food that wasn't even in her stomach. But a sleeping potion was worth it, she reminded herself yet again, even as her hand was in her brother's ashes. God... Christian. He was, out of all of her family, the one she had loved the most. Her baby brother. The one she tried desperately to protect from everything going on around her. The quiet, sensitive brother who could have never hurt another person, who didn't deserve any of this. Who had been killed because of her. Because of what she'd done. Killed and dismembered and throw into the very same incinerator that she was now rifling through and... A sleeping potion was worth it. Leoben watched almost intently, gauging her reactions. That had been the right time, he assured himself. He gained a quiet sort of compliance from it, and that had been part of this. All for a sleeping potion. Which wasn't even a sleeping potion. If Ben hadn't needed to keep such a straight, unamused face, he'd have smirked. When she was finished - and he did wait until he was sure she was finished (though likely be her definition rather than his) - he floated the pile of dusted parchment from her hand and onto the table he was sitting closest to. Carefully, Leoben uncorked the vial and floated it through the air to her, letting it hover in front of her face to take herself. There was something in him that was very attracted to the idea of letting her drink the veritaserum on her own, without force or prompting. Nothing but the desperation of one dangerously sleep deprived. Who knew. Perhaps if she was particularly good, he would dig an actual sleeping draught out for her. And Dorcas did drink it. She had never actually had veritaserum before and the strange taste of... well nothing on her tongue caught her surprise only in that it was not like any sleeping potion she knew. Then again, Yaxley seemed to have a rather strange ability to make things smell like nothing, so she supposed taste would not be all that more difficult. The vial was drained completely and set on the table before Dorcas retreated to her corner, intent on curling up and getting whatever sleep the potion would allow. The thought that Yaxley was lying to her did not occur to her, even if it should have, especially with the unfamiliar taste of the potion. She was too tired. She just wanted to sleep. A few hours in which she could forget everything that was happening to her. A few hours to rest. Leoben gave a flick of his wand and vanished both the vial and the pile of ashy scraps. It had been an exercise in compliance and nothing more. He observed her curl up for a moment. A moment of quiet to let it infiltrate her completely. He did not want half answers or any dodging of questions. He was reasonably sure that she wouldn't be able to, and that between her own exhaustion, the potion and the threat of his wand, that this would be a relatively easy session. "What is your full name?" he asked after a long moment, finally settling his eyes on her properly. Dorcas didn't understand why he was still there. He had given her a sleeping draught. Didn't that mean he was going to allow her to sleep? Why was he asking her questions? But she wasn't given any real chance to question as her mouth opened and another reply spilled flatly from her lips. "Dorcas Adelaide Meadowes," she replied without a second thought. At least not before answering. After was another matter entirely and her expression changed to horror as her mind slowly began to process what was happening. Honest answers, poured out without hesitation. Even if she had never taken veritaserum before, she knew well what it did and she pushed herself up slightly from the ground, staring at Yaxley in dismay. No, he couldn't. He couldn't do this to her. He... Except she had done this to herself. She had willingly taken the potion without a second thought and now she was going to be forced to betray everyone. Perfect. Leoben nodded and conjured a sheet of parchment and a dictaquill - so very similar to what he'd used with her dear baby brother. Again, he remained impassive to her horrified stare, ignoring the change in her demeanour as she realised what he'd done. He wondered, vaguely, how productive this was going to be. He didn't actually have very much faith in the organisation of the so-called Order. After all, they hadn't proved very effective and protecting their families. How could they even begin to fight a war? No, this was more out of obligation and the desire to destroy her faith and loyalty than to actually expect very many useful answers. He turned idly to the marble. "I do hope you're listening, Mr Longbottom," he said quietly. It was no use if no one actually heard it, after all. The knowledge would never really leave this room, and as much as he could taunt over the journal network, it would be so many times better for someone to hear it coming straight from her mouth. Every traitorous word. Leoben set the dictaquill up on the parchment and then turned his attention back to her. "Miss Meadowes, who are all the current members of Dumbledore's resistance organisation?" Information he already had, yes. But he wanted her to say it. She fought it. Oh, how she fought it. Anything in her desperation to keep her mouth shut, to refuse to give him the answers he was asking for. It didn't matter that he knew the answer. She was being forced to betray everyone she loved and cared about, to name them to this monster. And Frank would hear every traitorous word. But she didn't have the strength to truly resist. Certainly not to do anything like bite off her own tongue and instead the answers poured from her mouth. "James and Lily Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Caradoc Dearborn, Marlene McKinnon, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones, Alastor Moody, Mundungus Fletcher, Minerva McGonagall, Sturgis Podmore, Benjy Fenwick..." She paused for a moment to breathe, even through the veritaserum as the answers grew harder, but she couldn't actually stop. No matter how desperately she wanted to. Instead she closed her eyes and continued, now naming off her closest friends, with a long pause between each name. "Octavius Pepper. Emmeline Vance. Dedalus Diggle. Sirius Black. Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Edgar and Calypso Bones." She had somehow found her way into a sitting position and when she was finished with her whole, traitorous list, she buried her face against her knees, silently willing him to go away. To leave her alone and not ask any more questions. As if that might somehow work. Leoben's eyebrows raised at the odd name or another. Certainly names that had not appeared on his list. He made a mental note to update it, to find family and inform Rodolphus. To see what was on record. A new project. He was almost excited. He let the dictaquill finish it's quick scratching and then turned his attention back to her. "When you were so very interested in taking prisoners, where was the basement you were using as a holding facility?" This time there was very little hesitation or fight before she started speaking again. The house was protected by the fidelius and that was one bit of magic that was stronger than the veritaserum, but still she could not stop herself from saying the few details that she could provide, which was still too much. "A safehouse. For the Order. It's in Leeds. I can't- I can't tell you any more than that." She stopped short of revealing that it was under the fidelius charm, although that was likely fairly obvious by her inability to provide any specific location beyond Leeds. But there was some line between what she was being forced to reveal by the veritaserum and what she was simply telling him because she did not think to stop herself that was slowly becoming rather blurred. Leoben lifted a brow. A safehouse. They'd used their safehouse as a prison? Well. They certainly had an odd sense of humour. He wondered if there had been other people there when he'd been there. If he might have been able to lower their numbers if he hadn't been in such a hurry to leave. "Has it been in use recently? For it's intended purpose, not as a prison," he asked and then clarified. "And by who? Specifically." "Yes," she replied. Defeated. "I don't know... who's still there," she admitted honestly. Not as if she had any choice in that. "And I won't go there. I just...won't. I can't. After you escaped almost everyone moved out. Caradoc and Marlene and Stu; they left, I think. Ed and Cally moved too. Dung's still there but I think he's it." It made her head hurt, to try and answer questions that she just didn't have the answers for. She hadn't been paying enough attention to the Order for the last couple of months to even know who was living there and was that horrible of her? She should know these things, even if at the moment it was a good thing she didn't. Leoben watched the dictaquill whizz across the paper, occasionally glancing at the marble in hopes of Mr Longbottom listening on the other end. Idly, he wondered if he felt betrayed and angry, begging for Dorcas to just stop talking rather than betray all their secrets. Hm. "If they left, where did they go?" he asked after a beat, flicking his eyes back to Dorcas. This at least, might be used to some advantage. To compromise their locations, or at least, make it very inconvenient for them to stay where they were. Certainly they would have trouble planing if they were already on the move. Dorcas's gaze remained fixed on the ground even as she continued to answer Ben's questions. She was all too aware of the listening device on the table, of the fact that Frank might have been listening... if he hadn't turned her off by now. She didn't know if she would have blamed him if he had. She was disgusted with herself. She could only imagine how he must have felt. But still, she had no choice but to answer. "Other safe houses. Marlene was at Dig's house in Ballycroy for a while, getting patched up. After she escaped the Ministry. Ed... Ed and Cally bought a house in Brighton." That hurt. "I think Caradoc and Stu went to the safe house in Norwich. I don't know. Everyone moves a lot. I've lived in seven houses and a hut in the last six months. Since you fuckers are trying to kill us and all." Again more information than she needed to provide but she couldn't seem to stop talking. And that brought something more than her dull, muted reactions as she looked up and glared at Yaxley for a moment, continuing in a voice that was shaking with anger and frustration. "And I stopped- I haven't been paying attention because of you." Leoben, as per usual, was not terribly bothered with the accusatory tone she had taken for the moment. He wasn't interested in her insecurities and her actual lack of knowledge. The fact that she thought she was betraying everything, that she was giving everything up to him, that was what he wanted. He wanted her to feel broken and worthless, disloyal. His only comment about the entire thing was a sharp-toned reprimand: "You will watch your mouth." He waited for the dictaquill to finish recording her answer. When it was finished, he pulled it off the paper. "Gobbo," he said, almost casually. With a crack, the house elf appeared, looking very nervous to be back in the stable. Leoben did not notice. "Send Walden in. He will be most interested to hear the rest of this, I think. Scotch for both of us, as well." Gobbo nodded frantically and disappeared back to the manor. He scurried to the drawing room where Walden Macnair was waiting. "Mister Macnair, Master Yaxley is ready for you sir." There was a book open on the table in front of Walden as he waited for instruction, not that he was actually taking in the words. He was sure that he had read the same four sentences at least a dozen times over and that was just within the last few minutes. Ben's invitation had intrigued him and he was understandably distracted as he waited for his friend in the drawing room. Walden was slightly startled by the voice and he snapped the book shut, staring across the room at the creature. He stood up, leaving the book on the table, and he followed the elf out of the drawing room until they were eventually at the stable doors. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he pushed open the doors and stepped inside. He looked between Ben and the girl and he couldn't fight the smirk that drew at the corners of his mouth. "Sir, you keep a very clean stable. I can't smell a thing." Leoben waited, letting the silence sit without comment. Walden would undoubtedly be interested in this and so he deigned not to move on until he was here. It wasn't a particularly long wait and Gobbo quickly poured the scotch and left the decanter before Ben waved him away. "Well, yes, all but for the halfblood filth," Leoben commented wryly. He conjured another chair next to his and offered the glass of scotch to him. "Do have a seat. I was waiting for you to finish." He took a sip of his own scotch and set the dictaquill back up. "Miss Meadowes, who was responsible for the recent assault on my wife?" The question was somewhat sharper than usual. Both he and Walden had an acute interest in this and though Leoben had a short list of suspects, Dorcas Meadowes remained at the top of it. All the better if he was right and Walden witnessed the confession. Dorcas looked up fearfully at the addition of a second Death Eater to the stable. She didn't know why he was there. She didn't know anything about him really, except that he'd been the one who had owled her Edmund in a box and that alone was more than enough that her expression of fear quickly turned to a glare. She didn't understand why he was here now, unless it was time to put her in a box or... And the fear was back on her face just as quickly as it had vanished as she tried to push herself further into her corner. Everything became clear at Yaxley's question and it felt almost as if her heart had stopped. Evangeline Yaxley had been Evangeline Macnair when they'd been students at Hogwarts. "I was," she replied, finding another thoroughly interesting spot on the ground to fixate on. But no, she couldn't just stop there, no matter how desperately she wanted at that moment to take all the blame on herself, regardless of the undoubtedly painful consequences. After everything Fabian had done for her, and even Dung, she couldn't betray them. She couldn't. And yet her mouth was opening again. "Dung- Mundungus Fletcher. And... Fabian Prewett. They helped." The forced admission - no, betrayal - sparked some last little bit of anger in Dorcas and suddenly she looked up at the two men, her eyes narrowing as she gave them a look of pure loathing. "And I hope she's disfigured and never gets out of bed again," she snapped. Walden took a seat in the chair that Ben provided and he leaned back as he studied the girl crumpled in the corner. She had a sort of pathetic look about her and he had a hard time imagining that this was the girl who had been giving them all such a difficult time. Had she been anyone else he might have felt sorry for her. Maybe. Probably not. He leaned forward when Ben asked his question, lifting his glass to his lips. His sister had been attacked because of what he and Ben had done, and though he didn't blame himself or his brother in law, it did anger him that someone had been coward enough to take it out on his innocent little sister. That was crossing a line. The names left her lips and he didn't notice that he had risen to his feet until he was hovering over her, his drink and chair abandoned somewhere behind him. This girl had the nerve to whine about her family being attacked and then she turned around and committed the very same acts. And Fabian Prewett. Walden felt a small bubble of betrayal and he bent down and grabbed Dorcas by the front of her shirt so he could lift her to her feet. Without another thought he punched the left side of her face with a closed fist, not caring if he was crossing one of Ben's well drawn lines. "Whose idea was it to attack my sister?" Leoben didn't move to interfere. Instead, he sipped his scotch, idly crossing a leg over a knee to observe. He wouldn't have brought Walden if he'd thought it would get out of hand and he was sure he remained in control of the situation. No, right now, he remained very much passive, only glancing at the dictaquill to ensure that it was getting everything. Walden could ask all the questions he liked. It was nearly as much his business as it was his own, and so he remained unperturbed, even in the face of Walden's more physical idea of punishment. He only chewed thoughtfully on an ice cube, content to let Walden hold the reigns for the moment. It was a nice reprieve. Dorcas cried out as Macnair's fist smashed into her face, pain blossoming across her cheek as her head was forcibly thrown to the side. And still the answers came forth, even with the knowledge that every word was just going to cause further pain for herself. At least now it was only her. At least now she wasn't going to be forced to drag Fabian and Dung into this any further. Because it hadn't been their idea. it had been all hers and she would rather take the pain of his fists than betray her friends any more. "Mine," she replied, spitting out a bit of blood that was pooling in her mouth before looking up to meet Walden's gaze head on, in a show of strength that she didn't truly feel. "It was my idea. Because I wanted to make him stop. I wanted him to know what it felt like to have your family hurt. I wanted to make him suffer for everything he's done." Walden stared at her as she spoke, his jaw set as each word wiped away the wall that was containing his next angry outburst. He hit her again, just as hard, and in the exact same spot. His mother had always taught him to treat women with respect but this girl didn't deserve even an ounce of it. He held her against the wall hard, and then the look of rage melted away and he smirked at her, which really should have scared her more than anything he had already done. "It seems that you and I share an unexpected acquaintance." Another cry, louder this time as Dorcas's head snapped to the side again and her face was throbbing with sharp pain that radiated far beyond her undoubtedly now-broken cheek. More blood filled her mouth, its taste bitter and metallic on her tongue but her efforts to spit it out this time only brought a fresh wave of pain and her mouth slackened, the blood dribbling over her lip and down her chin. Confusion was on her face at Walden's comment but she did not bring her head back up to look at him again. Nor did she have any retort or comeback to offer. She could not imagine sharing any acquaintance with the man who was brutally destroying her face. It was not possible. Unless... Well there was some possibility that perhaps Dung had business dealings with this creep before he'd had to go on the run? That must have been it. If he was even telling the truth. Walden noticed that she wasn't looking at him and now that his rage had been replaced with amusement, he released her shirt and stepped back. He turned back to the table and picked up his glass, taking a long drink before turning around to face her once more. He was aware that by telling her about his relationship with Fabian he was also telling Ben, not that he was really bothered by this. Ben was a business man and his friendship with Fabian was a business arrangement, of sorts. "You're friends with Fabian Prewett, are you? Are you two close? Did he ever mention his friend, the Death Eater? I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say no, but I thought I should ask, nevertheless." With the absence of Walden's hand grasping her shirt, Dorcas tried to brace herself against the wall but soon enough she was sliding down it and on the floor once again. She was quite all right with that. Walden and Ben were both ignored as she gingerly reached to touch her broken cheek, wincing at the pain of contact. Her hand moved instead to drag across her chin, to try and wipe off the blood that only ended up being smeared across her face. But when Walden kept talking, she looked up sharply in surprise. First there were questions and the answers were given before she could even process what he was saying. Talking hurt, but she did not have a choice in how she replied, other than to shorten her answers to direct responses. "Yes. He's one of my best friends. He never... no." The last was said with as much vehemence as she could manage, which was not much any more. Fabian was friends with this man? With the man who had murdered her brother and sent him in a box and Fabian knew he was a Death Eater and how he had contributed to her torment and... No. No. No. No. It wasn't possible. There was no way. Fabian would never do that. "You're..." she began to add, averting her eyes. She wanted to say that he was lying, but the potion would not allow it, not without the knowledge that it was the truth. "Your friend neglected to tell you that he was hanging out with a Death Eater. That seems like a rather large detail to keep from you." Walden crouched down so that he was back to eye level and he smiled at her. He was amused. "Did your dear Fabian ever tell you about the volumes of Dark Magic that he borrowed from me? Oh, and when his brother was stabbed his fiancé came to stay he came and lived in my manor for an entire week. Did he tell you about that?" Walden put his hand to his chin reflectively. "I learned a lot about the way he ticks during that week. You can tell a lot about a person just by watching them. Do you think that Fabian Prewett has it in him to be a turncoat?" Dorcas's expression was one of pure horror as she stared at Walden. Perhaps if she had not been so deprived of sleep, perhaps if she had not spent the last five days being emotionally and physically tortured, her mind might have put up some greater resistance to the suggestions that Walden was putting in her mind. Instead, it was as if pieces were slowly clicking into place. The Dark magic that Fabian had used to curse the jewellery box, that she had not questioned at the time because she didn't want to question it. His steering her away from pretending that the poisoned scotch had been sent from Macnair. His sometimes disappearances. Even the way he had written to her in the journals the night before, the way he had understood. The way he'd known. He knew what was happening to her. He might have even... She gave a hard, painful shake of her head as she tried to banish those thoughts from her mind. No. Except that it fit. It fit in so many horrible, horrible ways and her eyes welled up with tears as the answers to Macnair's questions came in soft, tremulous words. "No. No. He never told me." And then the answer that tore at her heart even as she gave it. The answer to Macnair's awful final question that she had to answer honestly even as she closed her eyes and tried to silently will herself into resisting. "Yes." Her answers made the smile on his face grow and then he laughed at her final answer. The sound echoed in the stable and he shook his head. "Your faith in your friend is reassuring. He is so lucky to have such a true friend. The next time we talk I will be sure to let him know exactly how much faith you actually possess." He chuckled again and then rose to his feet, smoothing out his trousers as he went back to the table for his drink. This didn't make the attack on his sister right, not even close, but knowing that at least one of the people responsible was this miserable certainly helped. He was thankful that Ben had allowed him the opportunity to have a small part in it. Walden took his original seat once more, leaning back and glancing over at Ben. "I seem to be out of questions." Leoben watched without comment, quite comfortable where he was. It was a rather twisted form of entertainment, but one he remained comfortable with. He sipped his scotch. There was only one brief moment when he paused, over the knowledge of Walden fraternizing with one of them. And then the addition that he had let him stay. And that he was still alive. A conversation for another time though. He pulled his pocket watch out and glanced at the time. For now, it was getting late and he had other things to attend to for tonight. His eyes on Dorcas lingered critically, taking in the physical and emotional abuse and, after a moment, deeming it enough tonight. His real work would begin tomorrow. And so he nodded and rose from his chair, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of ice. "Good," he said dismissively. "I think that is enough for tonight." Leoben inclined his head slightly to Dorcas, a caricature of manners and politeness. "Good night, Miss Meadowes." Out of his pocket, he pulled another thin vial. It was barely half a dose of potion, but it was the real thing, this time. Standard dreamless sleep. "For your cooperation." Both men strode out, again leaving the stables dark and cold. The vial was clutched in Dorcas's hand, long after Yaxley and Macnair had left and she remained unmoving on the ground aside from the shivers that shook her small body. Freezing, miserable and in pain. Her mind was filled with too many thoughts, each one more terrible than the next. She had betrayed her friends. She had revealed the Order's secrets, given away locations and turned her friends into targets, all because of a potion she had willingly taken. Because she had been selfish and hadn't been thinking and had just wanted to sleep even though she should have known. She should have known better. And Frank would have heard every last word of it. Every last traitorous word that spilled from her lips. He would know how weak she'd been, how easily she'd turned on them all for nothing more than a sleeping potion. He'd tell the others. They'd all know that she betrayed them. And Fabian. Even at the horrible thought that he could have betrayed her, that he was friends with a Death Eater - no, not just a Death Eater but Walden Macnair - she still felt some strange measure of guilt over just thinking that he could be a traitor. Was a traitor. She didn't know. One of her best friends, a man she'd been close to for thirteen years, who she'd shared more memories with than she could even count, who she would have sworn she knew so well and yet she hadn't known this. Doubt began to fade and even the most innocuous of comments turned traitorous in her mind the longer she sat there, just staring into the darkness. The vial was finally regarded at some point - she didn't even know how long she'd been sitting there - and she moved to uncork it with one shaking, exhausted hand. She needed sleep so desperately she could no longer think straight. Just a few hours to let her mind rest, to stop thinking and dreaming and hurting and... No. The vial was crushed suddenly and deliberately in her hand, shards of glass embedding themselves into her palm as she squeezed the little tube of glass with more strength than she would have believed she possessed at the moment. She didn't deserve it. |