WHO: Owen Dearborn WHAT: Reunions WHEN: After this WHERE: Azkaban
Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban was still a terrible place to be, even when you knew that you were leaving immediately. Owen couldn't imagine being trapped in here for ages, convinced that you would never see the world outside the prison's walls again.
It was for the best that the politics and paperwork and policies that normally were in place for a visit to Azkaban had been swept under the carpet, and that all the red tape the Auror office normally operated behind went ignored. This was a rescue mission. And so once Owen made sure that Kevin was safe with a babysitter, he contacted Francine Goldstein, the only other person he knew who'd been openly plotting their loved one's breakout nearly as long as they'd been incarcerated, before they joined Kingsley and the rescue team.
Many of the records had been lost to the technology bonfire, but that wasn't going to slow Owen down. He knew that his duties as an Auror meant that he was there to help everyone, but it was clear that he was going to be distracted until he found one person in particular.
"Dearborn. Over here," another of the responders waved him down the hall toward one of the rooms. He couldn't remember who it was; all he could focus on was what he was implying. Owen nearly bowled the man over as he booked it toward the cell, blasting the door open without pause.
It had only been a bit more than a month, but it looked as though Zef had been in Azkaban for years. Her hair was wild, her arms shackled in chains, the light seemingly having been drained from her eyes completely. A jolt of terror shot through Owen, remembering Rabastan's threat that he'd made sure she was on the other side of a Dementor's Kiss. "Zef?" Owen called out, approaching her slowly and casting a spell at the cuffs around her wrists to unlock them.
Zef's head shot up, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you want this time?" she demanded, her voice cold and tired. "I'm not playing this stupid game again."
Owen dropped down next to her, throwing the chains that still sat in her lap across the cell and taking her hands in his. "Zef, babe, it's me. It's over. I'm going to take you home. Kevin doesn't know yet; he's going to be so happy to see you."
She stared back at him in disbelief that was edged more with fury than excitement. A few moments later, she pulled back and spat in his face. "Keep his name out of your mouth," Zef hissed at him, her eyes filling with hot, angry tears. "Aren't you bored with this yet? Fuck you."
"It's not a--- god, babe, what did they do to you?" Owen asked, it more rhetorical than something he expected an answer to. They had time for that later. For now, they just needed to get out of here. "I promise you, Zef, it's not a trick. It's not a trap. Lestrange is dead. You-Know-Who is dead. It's really over. It's me." She continued to look skeptical, although the slightest hints of hope were playing at the edges of her eyes, her fingers tightening around Owen's. "Everyone is getting out of here. Let's join them, yeah?"
Zef glanced at the open door of the cell, catching sight of other muggleborns being lead past the door. The screams that usually accompanied someone being taken down the hall weren't there. Her eyes darted back to Owen again, her whole body shaking with adrenaline as she fell into him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tightly. "Let's go home. And if you're lying to me I'll kill you and everyone you love."
"That threat sounds so much better coming from you," Owen replied, scooping his too-light wife up into his arms to carry her out to the ferry. "Let's go home."