WHO: Becca Dunstan & Graham Montague WHAT: A visit WHEN: Today? WHERE: Azkaban WARNINGS: Azkaban
Stepping foot on the stones of Azkaban, Graham understood now why this place was feared so much. He could feel a chill creeping in, not just down into his bones but deeper further, soul deep. He pulled his robes closer and squared his shoulders, following his guide to the cell he'd announced he wished to see.
The door creaked open and Graham peered in, struggling to see in the dark. A quick movement brought light from his wand, and he could see the occupant of the cell. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the weird feeling in his gut.
"Hey Becca."
It took Becca a moment to understand what was happening, blinking rapidly against the sudden appearance of light. That there was a figure and a voice wasn’t a reassurance of anything. She was fairly sure (when she was sure of anything), that she’d imagined people there before.
She shifted slightly, but otherwise didn’t try to move from her place in the corner of the cell. The hardness of the wall was the only feeling of stability she had, of a solid presence that didn’t seem to move. Finally, her voice sounding faint and cracked and not the least bit like her own, she said, “Hello.”
Graham just stared, his mind processing what he was seeing. He’d always thought he’d known how awful Azkaban (hadn’t he admired the Lestranges for their refusal to bend, for surviving the years here), but it was different seeing Becca here. Like this. Any excuse he’d told himself as to why he was here disappeared for the moment, being replaced by the thought ‘what would Imogen say’.
“Hey,” he repeated again, stupidly, as if he hadn’t already greeted her. What did you say when you sprung a surprise visit to someone in jail. “This was a surprise.” The comment instantly seemed as stupid as his repeated greeting as soon as he said it.
“I don’t know what you expected,” Becca replied after clearing her throat, the words feeling unfamiliar in her mouth. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been since she said something out loud. She wasn’t so sure how long she’d been there at all. “What did you expect?”
“Not this.” He waved his hand around the cell. “I mean, I don’t know what I expected, but…” He glanced down at his feet. “You being a muggleborn. That was a surprise.”
“Because you couldn’t tell. You can’t tell. But I’m here anyway because of people like you.” The anger she’d been feeling for ages bubbled up, helping her voice be more steady, more weighted. The hard edge to it was impossible to miss.
“You put me here, but I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be here.”
“It wasn’t my call,” Graham protested, but even to him the words sounded hollow. He’d parroted the lines he’d heard from his fellow Death Eaters, his fellow Slytherins, taunting people he hated just so he could fit in with them. But it was different, seeing Becca here like this.
“Anyway,” he changed the subject abruptly. “I can’t really stay long. I have people I need to visit.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his cloak, in a flurry rearranging the contents before pulling it off.
“Here.” He held it out to Becca, still not being able to meet her gaze.
She didn’t reach out to take it, staring at Graham in disbelief. Disbelief that he was there, disbelief that she was there, her mind a flurry of thoughts and emotions that didn’t all make sense. That couldn’t make sense.
Very little seemed to make sense anymore.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Why?” Graham seemed confused by the question. “I thought — it’ll keep you warm. And there’s some chocolate in the pocket.” His sudden burst of pity was making him even more uncomfortable than he’d felt previously. Is this what had made Layla fuck up so royally?
Becca continued to stare. She didn’t understand why he was there, why he was trying to be nice, why he was trying to do anything. It wasn’t enough to make a difference, and Becca didn’t understand why he might think it was.
Slowly, she pushed herself up to a standing position, wishing she weren’t so unsteady on her feet and wishing Graham weren’t so much taller. But she stood her ground anyway.
“Unless you’re going to offer to get me out of here, I don’t want anything from you.”
“That’s above my pay grade,” Graham replied, starting to feel stupid holding out his cloak like that. “I mean, there’s stuff even I can’t just… do.” Graham tried to imagine the reaction Yaxley or Bellatrix would have to him taking Becca out of Azkaban. It would definitely not go down well.
He set the cloak down anyway, trying not to shiver again at the cold.
“Why are you even here?” Becca asked as her eyes followed the cloak for a moment before snapping back up to Graham’s dimly lit face. “What were you looking for?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, glancing around the cell again. It had started out as just a whim, because he could and he was bored and then he wasn’t thinking about how much it sucked that Imogen had left the country without saying anything or that Willy was dead.
“I realised I could so I did, I guess.”
“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. I don’t want you here.” She didn’t want a Death Eater in her cell. She didn’t want a Death Eater anywhere near her. She didn’t want Graham the Death Eater to be looking at her and pitying her but doing nothing to help and everything to contribute to her being there.
If she’d the strength, she might have slapped him. As it was, she glared as hard as she could manage.
“Fine,” Graham replied flatly. This had been a bad idea. He frowned, turning to leave and getting almost out the door when he paused for a second.
“Willy’s dead,” he informed her without turning around. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear.” He closed (slammed) the door shut a little harder than he meant to, locking it behind him.