dante avery (infernos) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-25 23:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | dante avery, violet slughorn |
WHO: Violet Slughorn & Dante Avery
WHAT: Violet tries to convince Dante to surrender to the DMLE
WHEN: May 25th, evening
WHERE: France and [REDACTED] (phone conversation)
WARNINGS: Sadness and a bit of awkward
No matter what awful things he’d done, Dante was still a human being. A human being who’d lost just about everything important to him. A human being on the verge of despair. He kept telling her to let it go and forget about him, but he kept replying to every message she sent. It almost seemed like he wanted her to give him a final reason to give up on everything. As for what he would do, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to find out. People who felt they had nothing left to lose were especially dangerous - to others and to themselves. Perhaps speaking would persuade him where hexting failed. It was worth a try. Violet dialed, and greeted him softly when he picked up. “Hi.” He almost let the phone keep ringing when he glanced to see who it was. Almost. Instead, the part of him that was lonely and sad took over. Dante never had been good at letting go. Even though he knew he should have let Violet go when she left, he couldn’t. He’d held onto his feelings like he had with Vic and anyone else he’d ever cared about, and now everything he’d ever wanted was out of reach. “What do you want?” His voice gave away how defeated he felt, how tired he was. “Just to talk,” she replied. She had her suspicions as to where he might be. She knew how to track his phone if he hadn’t turned off location services. It could wait. For now, she had to try to convince him to surrender and plea bargain for the best possible circumstances for himself. It seemed unlikely that he’d be able to escape. She didn’t know whether he was too injured or simply feeling too depressed. His only remaining options were being caught and getting nothing, or death. “How bad are your injuries?” “Why do you care,” he tried next, because he still hadn’t figured that part out. She’d left; surely that meant she didn’t care what happened to him? Dante was still convinced they would both be better off. Whether he died or disappeared entirely, it didn’t really matter. At that point, it seemed more cruel for her to stay involved. “Because you’re my son’s father,” she replied. She knew that leaving him was the best choice. Having no contact hadn’t spared Ian and Thea from being harassed at school for having a Death Eater for a father, though. Besides that, if her son was at all like her, he’d be hurt rather than grateful if he discovered that his father chose to throw away a chance at having contact with him. “Leaving doesn’t mean that I’m indifferent to whether you live or die.” Dante scoffed. It was hard to see that from his perspective. Everything she’d told him to do pointed him to a life behind bars, which was no life at all. He might as well be dead, he thought, if that was what she wanted him to do. “Funny way of showing it.” He inhaled deeply, trying to cool his temper. “My father’s dead, by the way.” Violet was silent for a moment. “I heard about Vic and Clem, too. I’m sorry for your losses.” “Yes, I’m sure you are.” Dante shook his head. She was probably glad. He and Vic should have left weeks ago. They should have - “Have you gone back to England yet?” The only death she was actually happy about was Lord Voldemort’s. Otherwise, she would have much preferred that all of the Death Eaters serve time in a Dementor-free Azkaban, with sentences varying in duration based on their crimes and potential for rehabilitation. Many of them would be in for life. Depending on if the prison reforms included parole, a few might be eligible for parole in ten to twenty years. Only time would tell. “No, not yet.” She paused, contemplating just how much to tell him. “I haven’t decided whether I want to live in England or move abroad permanently. I would stay in England to give you supervised visits with our son, though.” “You should leave for good,” he stated, still unwilling to consider what she was offering. He didn’t want that to be the way their son knew him. “Don’t look back. And stop -” His voice shook a little. “Stop calling him mine. He’s yours.” “He’s ours.” It most certainly hadn’t been immaculate conception, but Violet held that retort back in favour of mildly reinforcing the truth. “I got an omail confirming that going forward Azkaban will definitely not be guarded by Dementors, and inmates will be allowed visitation privileges.” He was trying to push her away again, yet he wasn’t hanging up. It made her more determined to stay on the line. She worried what he’d do to himself if she severed ties at this point. Or to others, but at this point he seemed too tired and defeated to go anywhere. “...you’re too injured to leave.” It was not a question. Dante chose not to respond for a minute, instead just sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. He probably could have left if he’d tried. Could have found someone to help him. Could have found his mother and sister one day. Instead, he stayed. He didn’t really know why. He wondered if it was because he knew he’d always be looking over his back, and he’d already spent so many years on edge just like that. Finally, “I don’t believe you. Or them.” It was easy enough to prove that she’d received the omail. There were a few tapping sounds before she sent over a screencapture of the confirmation to his phone. He doubted her and the Ministry for good reason, but he wasn’t hanging up on her. That was something. “Who’s your lawyer and what firm does he or she work for? I’ll forward the omail and they can verify for you.” When he felt the buzz, he pulled the phone away from his ear to look, and sure enough, it was a message from her. Dante still wasn’t sure he could believe it, but he was wrong about the existence of the omail. Maybe -- No, he thought with a frown, he wasn’t going down that road. “I’m not telling you anything else. You can’t fix this.” “I’m not trying to fix it. That’s up to you and your lawyer,” Violet replied. “All I’m doing is telling you about new prison reforms so you can make an informed decision.” She sipped her tea quietly. It was his choice to make, and she wasn’t going to plead with him. Unless he chose to surrender and have visitation privileges with their son, her sense of responsibility to him ended with giving him this information. Before she could think of how to delicately end the conversation, the baby abruptly shifted position, slamming her solidly in the bladder. “Ah--!” She tried to maintain composure, but when she spoke next, her words were noticeably hurried. She needed the toilet, fast. Otherwise she was going to have an embarrassing accident on her cousin’s sofa. “I need to go! Goodbye!” With that, she hung up. “Violet?” The phone was silent on the other end. “Violet?” He’d been trying to push her away, but now that she wasn’t there, his heart was in his throat. Was she okay? Was it the baby? “Fuck.” He slammed his hand against a wall. “Fuck.” Violet didn’t want to call back, and especially not while the little one was still pressing right into her bladder, but she hadn’t intended on ending the conversation quite like that. So she sent a short hext. Very physically uncomfortable right now, can't really talk Setting her phone aside, she grabbed a book and made a hasty retreat to the bathroom. It was only later that she realized he might interpret the situation as her going into premature labour. |