Dorcas is torn to pieces (certaindoom) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-09-22 16:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/09 september, dorcas meadowes, leoben yaxley |
Who: Dorcas Meadowes and Leoben Yaxley
When: Tuesday, 22 September 1980; night
Where: Ben's stables
What: Saying goodbyes
Rating: C for creepy
Status: Completed log
Day four. Dorcas was grateful, at least, for the windows in the stable that allowed her to track the passing of days. At least she was, until her thoughts turned to the fact that it meant four days had gone by and her friends had not managed to save her. Were they even trying? Of course they were, she told herself. They had to be. But it had taken as long to rescue Al; longer with Sirius. They would come for her. They would find a way to convince Yaxley to let her go, or figure out where she was and break through the wards. They had to. They wouldn't let her die here. Food, water and a day without being subjected to the cruciatus had restored some of her strength, but it could do nothing for the exhaustion she felt from hardly sleeping, or her confusion and fear over what was going on. Or her loneliness. She almost hoped that the house elf would return, even if it hardly passed for company. Not to mention that even with the previous day's sustenance, her throat was once again growing uncomfortably dry. She had abandoned her place in the corner and instead moved to lean against one of the legs of the table where the marble was stuck, her cheek resting against the cool metal. She would not lie on the table itself - she had a pretty good idea of just what it was intended for and that was not a place she would willingly go. Ever. Another attempt was made at describing her surroundings - no more helpful except for the addition of the house elf's visit. Yaxley's damnable list had been taken from the wall and read in its entirety before the parchment was crumpled in her hand. And then she just talked. She didn't even know for how long, only that it was dark again and she was still talking, softly telling stories from her childhood, recounting escapades from Hogwarts. Happy memories, from a happier time. "...You have no idea how proud I was of myself. I had a whole team of first, second and third years all lined up, marching back and forth in front of the Great Hall with these big signs saying NEWTs were oppressing their freedom. I... I can't even remember why, but I had a very good explanation at the time. Really. And then there was the time when I was a little girl and my neighbours got this puppy that I was so jealous of because I wasn't allowed to have a dog. But they left it out every night and it used to make these sad noises because it was cold and lonely and I felt so bad for it. For months I used to sneak over into their yard after dark and wrap the puppy up in my coat and take it home with me and let it sleep in my bed before taking it back in the morning. They eventually figured it out and were so pissed off but I didn't care..." Leoben had taken the hurried and stuttered account of yesterday's events with Gobbo with little interest. She was fed and clean, which was a better state than he'd left her in before. He was sure he was being very generous. Now though, it was time to see her again, hopefully in a slightly more tolerable state than he'd left her in. He hoped she'd stop crying today. He was sick of her tears and sobs and the disgustingly weak way it made her speak. There were better things to do today. And so he came back to the stables, floating one glass of ice and his own crystal decanter of scotch in front of him. There was also a bottle of ink. Under his arm was tucked two books. Everything set itself on one of the tables and Leoben conjured two chairs. "Good evening, Miss Meadowes," he said, sounding somewhat weary. He stood behind his chair and nodded expectantly toward the empty one opposite him. "Please, have a seat." Deeply ingrained manners dictated him to stand until she sat. That, and a general need to prove a point, and that the society he had sworn to fight for - as deteriorated as it seemed as of late - did have a set of rules that he followed very strictly. Dorcas's seemingly endless stream of stories came to a sudden and abrupt halt as Yaxley entered the stable and she looked up at him with what was becoming an all too familiar mix of fear and loathing. For all of her desire for company, his was not wanted and her arms tightened protectively around her chest as he approached. The assortment of items he brought with him and the sudden appearance of two chairs was confusing, but at this point no more so than any of his other behaviour. After all, if he was so concerned with ensuring she was fed and cleaned, why not invite her to sit and share a glass of scotch with him, or whatever it was he had planned for this evening. It made as much sense as anything else that had happened to her - which was to say little to none - but it was not as if Dorcas had any say in the matter anyway. Still, fear brought hesitation and there was a moment where all she could do was eye the chair warily before she finally pushed herself up off the ground and moved to sit with a slight, silent nod. It was at least more comfortable than the ground, but she didn't particularly like being forced into a position that felt vulnerable and she was quickly bringing her feet up onto the upholstered cushion of the seat so she could curl up and rest her chin on her knees, her eyes fixed on Yaxley. Leoben only waited until Dorcas was seated that he sat himself, though he ceased paying attention to her long enough to pour a glass of scotch for himself. There was only one glass. He had no intention of sharing. He sat back in his own chair, relaxed though certainly incapable of being accused as sloppy or lazy. Vaguely less uptight. He wasn't even wearing a tie. He eyed the room, looking for discrepancies. He noticed nothing until his eyes fell on the door again and he paused. His list was gone. The List - as it had come to be in his mind - had been sitting next to the door for months. It was not, incidentally, his only copy. He wasn't careless enough for that. But the principle of the manner was that it had been there and now it was not and he sighed, sipping his scotch and glancing across the floor until his eyes rested on the crumbled ball. "Miss Meadowes, you will smooth over that list and put it back where you've found it," he said, insistent and demanding, though not really cruel or threatening. Yet. For all that she had told herself over the last two days that there was nothing to do but do as he asked, to comply in order to avoid further punishment, what she had mentally prepared for was answering his questions. Not being ordered around to actually do things and somehow physical compliance seemed harder, although she did not know if that was because the thought of moving was tiring or because it was yet again not what she was expecting. Still, eventually she had pushed herself up from her chair and was moving slowly to retrieve the balled up parchment. As if she was trapped in some thick fog where everything seemed dull and slow moving, she began smoothing out the parchment on the table as best as she could. Once again her hands were shaking slightly although this time it was out of effort as she resisted the suddenly powerful urge to just tear it to bits right in front of Yaxley to spite him. Instead she just kept running her hands over it, more firmly and for far longer than necessary until she carried it back to the wall. Maybe tomorrow she would throw it in the incinerator, she thought as it was re-hung and she slowly returned to the chair to curl up in it once again. She still did not say a word. She was not entirely certain she could without saying something that would get her tortured so instead she simply remained silent. Silence and compliance and she would get through this. Leoben watched carefully, absently noting the shake of her hands and just how long it took for her to (mostly) unwrinkle the paper and put it back. Quite a bit longer than need be, he was sure. Still, it wasn't a very large concern of his right now. Much more troubling was the way she was curled into the chair and he sighed, frowning at the tight, frightened animal way she was seated in the chair. "Do sit like a person, Miss Meadowes," he said, sounding further annoyed and exasperated at having to spoon feed every detail of this to her. If this was how it was going to be, he really ought to just cut her to bits right now. She wanted to cry out in frustration at being ordered around like this. At having no choice but to do as he told her, at the fact that she couldn't even sit how she wanted to sit, at the fact that she had to hold her tongue, at the way he tried to act as if this was all perfectly normal and he was so very polite when really he was just a monster who would crucio her in a moment and... god. Her mouth opened as if she were about to offer a retort about being more of a person than him, but she quickly thought better of it and her mouth snapped shut as her feet fell heavily to the ground, her arms wrapped around her stomach instead and her gaze fell to her lap. Fear trumped the urge toward defiance. Leoben nodded and sipped his scotch, leaning forward again and flipping the larger of the books open. It was expensive looking - because it was expensive - and leather-bound and full of numbers. The smaller of the two was still sitting in the corner. It was her journal. It was though, for now ignored as he scratched in some numbers on a blank line, meticulous and neat. He was quiet, almost ignoring her completely for now. Leoben filled out three or four lines before he glanced up again, barely pausing. "How are you feeling?" he asked. It was a familiar question, but he wanted to see how far he could push today. How much she had left in her. Dorcas frowned as Yaxley appeared intent on doing nothing but drinking his scotch and doing some sort of work as he made her sit with him. A million questions (most of them laden with some degree of sarcasm) went through her mind, but all remained unasked. Was there something wrong with his office or wherever he usually did his work? Did he find her company preferable to his wife's? How was his wife, by the way? Thankfully the strength allowing her to think such thoughts in the first place was also enough to fuel her restraint and still she remained silent as her gaze flickered idly around the now well-explored room. Her journal caught her attention and her fingers curled reflexively around the fabric of her shirt, tugging at the material as she thought of the possibility of writing to her friends, of having some form of communication with them. And then the awful possibility that they would not want to speak with her. Her eyes fell back to her lap, only to be drawn up again by Yaxley's question. How was she feeling? Again, a myriad of possible responses, but this time her answer was simple and honest. "Like I want to go home," she answered quietly, actually meeting his stare for the briefest of moments before looking away again. Leoben didn't look remotely perturbed or even affected by her answer, instead flicking his eyes back down to his ledger and scratching in another row of numbers. Again, he let a silence settle while he finished the page and the put his quill down, again finding his somewhat relaxed position in his chair as he reached for his scotch. He took a sip of it and then chewed idly on a bit of ice before going on. "Is that better or worse than Sunday?" he asked, pausing and then adding, "Today is Tuesday, for your reference." Her confusion at just what was going on here was quickly becoming unsettling and she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as Yaxley fell silent again. And then another question, this time one she was not actually sure how to answer. "I...don't know," she replied. Likely not what he wished to hear, but it was honest. She didn't know anymore. She couldn't measure the difference between one kind of misery and the next. Physically she thought she might have actually felt better, if only marginally. Something about not being crucioed in the last twenty four hours, she was sure. Mentally, on the other hand... well that was another matter entirely. Exhaustion and fear and confusion were taking their toll on her mind. Which was not an explanation she felt like offering but with the knowledge that her vague uncertainly was not likely to be accepted, she added a soft, "No, worse." And then a moment of silence before she dared to ask a question of her own, no more specific than her answers had been. "Why are you doing this?" Leoben, again, didn't react to her answers, or even to the pause in between. He was gauging her, content to let her talk herself into whatever answer she thought she had to give. He didn't want to break her yet. Or rather, he needed to see how broken she already was, and where he could push. It had to be methodical. "I will be asking the questions, Miss Meadowes," he said idly, not sounding even irritated by the assertion. He was still in control of the situation. Another sip of scotch, another crunch of ice between his teeth. His eyes fell on her journal for the first time since he'd sat down and he considered it for a moment. "I am going to let you write," he said finally. "You will be unable to read or write behind wards, even other people's. Do be careful what you decide to communicate. Should I see hints and warnings, I will be most displeased." He pushed her journal across the table towards her and conjured a second quill out of the air. "You will be monitored, obviously. Say whatever you like." For now, was the unspoken addendum. For a moment, Dorcas remained frozen, the journal untouched and unopened in front of her as she simply stared at it. For all that she wanted this, she suddenly had no idea what to do and her throat was suddenly even more dry than it had been. She looked up at Yaxley. "Could I...have a glass of water. Please," she asked, this time remembering the "magic words" as he had called them, even if it had taken her a moment. Her gaze went back to the small leather bound book in front of her and finally she flipped it open, turning immediately to a blank page. She didn't want to read whatever had been written in the last few days. She didn't want to read if she couldn't see wards. She didn't want to think that there was no concern over her, no plans for her rescue, nothing but the few idle, frivolous words that people were actually willing to write publicly these days. Or worse, the gloating of the Death Eaters. And then there was the question of just what she could write. She wanted to plead for help, to beg for someone to murder the bastard sitting right next to her and come rescue her, but that was clearly not an option. She took the quill and dipped it into the ink, for a moment contemplating stabbing it right through Yaxley's hand, but instead it went to the parchment, her writing as small and pained as she felt. i- i'd really like it if someone would talk to me right now. i don't know how long i'll be able to write. i just really want- please. i don't care what. stories or just that you're there and reading and i lost my wand and i can't read wards so please don't She was about to set her quill down when the realisation struck her that this might be the last chance she had to talk to her friends and she started writing again, more quickly this time, as if she were able to just ward to them instead of leaving it all to be publicly seen in all of its weakness and desperation. i miss you all so much. and i'm sorry and i love all of you and i hope i'll see all of you again soon but if i don't please take care of each other. for me. Leoben said nothing, instead watching and occasionally sipping his scotch. Her request for water was one that had to be carefully considered. She'd had water yesterday, certainly. He had been most generous in that regard. But she had also asked passably politely. It was certainly a vast improvement to where they had started and he supposed good behaviour ought to be rewarded. And so, after a long moment, he conjured a glass and poured water from his wand for her. Idly, he wondered if he was being too generous, if he was giving her too much. After all, he was going to kill her. As it was though, he watched her write for a moment and then turned back to his ledgers, opening to the back this time, where Dorcas's words were scrawling themselves over a blank page. He would keep a careful eye on this, certainly. Only so much could be allowed. He was going to let some of her friends do the breaking for him. Because certainly, she had to know that these would be her last moments with them. Waiting for her friends to respond felt like it might kill her all on its own as she stared at the parchment, looking up only as Yaxley set the glass of water in front of her. "Thanks," she replied quietly as she gulped half of it down. She did not even think about the fact that she was actually thanking her tormentor, she was so fixated on her journal. And then a response. And another. And Dorcas picked up her quill and began writing back, hesitantly at first and then more quickly. The myriad of emotions that started to consume her were overwhelming. Relief, that they cared enough to write to her. Frustration, that she could only say so much in response. Guilt, at the pain that she was undoubtedly causing them. Comfort and grief all at the same time. It was confusing. But still she kept writing, not wanting to let a moment of this strange allowance go unused. And she did know. Deep down she knew she was writing her goodbyes to her closest friends, as much as she tried not to think of it in those terms even as tears welled up in her eyes, spilling onto the parchment. The questions she could not answer were avoided and evaded in favour of what comfort she could find in easier, or at least simpler conversations. She was careful, exceedingly so, not to write anything that would give Yaxley an excuse to take her journal away again, or at least she hoped as it was somewhat difficult to know just what was allowed with his limited instructions. Leoben watched with little real interest. It was the eye of an observer and an opportunist. He wanted to know where he could push and where she might break. They were things he couldn't find out on his own, not without days of research and effort that he wasn't interested in. It didn't take him particularly long though, to get somewhat bored of the conversation. He had never been one to actually pay very much attention to the journal network. He found it frivolous and boring really, and it wasn't long before he flipped back to put another few lines of numbers in. Eventually though, he flipped back to monitor, and it was then that he saw a ward to himself. Bellatrix. He very nearly smirked his amusement before writing back to her. He was endlessly glad that someone appreciated his methods. For a few brief minutes, it was almost as if she could just lose herself in her journal, even with as much as it was hurting her to know this was likely to be the last conversation she would ever have with her friends, it was a distraction. It was the interaction she had so been craving in the hours she spent talking to the listening device. But the questions she couldn't answer were weighing on her and she didn't understand why they wouldn't just accept that she couldn't tell them anything. Her quill finally paused for a moment as she glanced nervously at Yaxley and then back at her journal. Another gulp of water and she didn't want to ask, she didn't want to do anything to disrupt the quiet that allowed herself some measure of comfort, but she didn't see any other choice. "I... don't know how to answer them," she said, still staring at the parchment. He could undoubtedly see for himself just which questions were going unanswered and giving her such pause when her other comments were all over the page. Leoben glanced over the page, pausing his reply to Bellatrix long enough to investigate exactly which question she was referring to. He, for a moment, considered just telling her to do what she'd been doing in the way of avoiding and dodging. But then, that simply wasn't very interesting, was it? "Tell them to direct their questions to Mr Longbottom. I am certain he will be able to address their concerns," he answered as he refilled his scotch glass. It had, after all, been a couple of days since he'd really spoken to Mr Longbottom. It would be rude to leave him out of it, after already involving him. She shouldn't have asked, she quickly realised, but now that she had she had no choice but to write what Yaxley told her. She didn't want to drag Frank into this any more than she already had, but a scribbled ask frank was added to the page before she turned her attention back to other conversations, trying to recapture those brief moments of forgetting. And soon enough she was immersed in her journal again. She wasn't even thinking about trying to get some message or plea for help to them now. All she wanted was this. These few moments of comfort and conversation and human interaction with someone who wasn't a complete and utter monster. A comment from Fabian brought even the faintest hint of a smile to her lips. He understood. He understood that all she wanted was to talk about happier times and more pleasant memories and as much as it tore at her heart because they both knew this was it, she could not help but smile softly even as tears continued to run down her cheeks. And then there was even a slight laugh, bitter and sad as it was. The sound seemed foreign and her fingers went to her lips in surprise but she just kept writing as quickly as she possibly could. Leoben hardly looked up. His eyes flicked over comments and he even took his time sipping his scotch and crushing a cube of ice between his teeth before he turned back to fill in another line of numbers. "Say your goodbyes, Miss Meadowes," he said, hardly more interested than he'd been since he'd given the book back to her. Because he wasn't particularly interested. He had, for a moment, allowed an escape. Her laugh, strained and brief as it was, was just a reminder to him that as overly nice as he was being, there was still a task to carry out and he could not lose sight of that. Besides, he had all he needed. Though much of the conversation did not particularly interest him, it was enough to know where he could push boundaries. Enough to give him a few ideas. Dorcas looked up at Yaxley, the faint smile instantly gone from her face and replaced by a thoroughly wounded expression at the impending loss of her journal. She wasn't finished. There was so much more she wanted to say, so many more people she wanted to talk to. She wanted to argue, to plead for just a little more time but instead all she could manage was a dull nod. She had been wrong earlier, when she thought that waiting for responses was the hardest part. This was so, so much worse and the tears came harder now, streaming freely down her cheeks as she wrote her goodbyes. There was a crushing finality to her words, to her pleas to be remembered, but god, not like this, to her almost open acknowledgment that she was going to die, to her continued apologies, to even the simple word goodbye. And then when she had finished, when she couldn't take any more, the quill was slowly set down, the journal pushed away in resignation and Dorcas drew her legs back up to her chest, buried her face in between her knees and sobbed. Which was all very much enough for Ben. He closed his ledger and drained his glass. He still had some details to work out, and he was no longer interested in simply toying with Dorcas. The effects of imprisonment and torture were already taking a toll on her and he knew he was reaching a point where if he was going to do something, it would have to be soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not tonight. With a wave of his wand, both chairs, quills, ink wells and the decanter of scotch disappeared. He had no regard for her at all now. It would likely send her sprawling to the ground, which he didn't think so was so bad, as that was where he'd found her. He chewed on another cube of ice as he tucked his ledger under his arm. He had only a moment to glance at her journal before he flicked his wand, sending it flying into the incinerator. Leoben barely seemed to notice, only smoothing a developing wrinkle in his shirt as he listened to the fire flare and eat at the pages. "Good night, Miss Meadowes," he said finally, dismissive. Leoben extinguished the flames of the incinerator, which he had, for the last few days, left burning. But the heat was sapped from the stable almost immediately, it's warm glow chased away by the crisp, September night air. Ledger in one hand and glass of ice in the other, Leoben left without another word. Dorcas did not even notice as Yaxley started preparing to leave. She didn't notice anything until the chair vanished out from underneath her and she was suddenly dumped on the ground with a cry of protest. She looked up with her red and puffy eyes to give him another wounded look, only in time to see her journal flying into the incinerator. "No," she cried, but even her protests were soft and weak. And ignored. And then she was alone yet again. And quickly left to realise what a kindness, as perverse as it was, that the incinerator had been with the warmth it had brought to the room, as well as its soft, glowing light. Instead she was left in the cold and the dark with nothing to do but replay the all-too-brief journal conversations over and over again in her head. There was no longer any comfort in the words of her friends. It had been tainted now. Tainted by her goodbyes and the finality of it all. She supposed the next time she saw him would be when he came to kill her. That was what this had to mean, wasn't it? That this was it. She only wondered how long he would leave her here to freeze before he did it. |