WHO: Hugo Nott & assorted NPCs WHAT: A day and a half in DMLE custody WHEN: Today WHERE: DMLE holding cells WARNINGS: Death, injury detail
The first few hours, he wasn’t conscious. Someone healed him a little, bandaged the stump where his foot had been. Dug shrapnel from his leg. Didn’t remark on the other one. Didn’t recognise that old wound, just the superficial new ones and the blood. He couldn’t die before standing trial, after all.
Later that night; a moment of lucidity. He became aware of the sounds around him, the occupant of the cell next to his. Someone checking on him, swearing softly when they saw that he was awake.
When Hugo reached out to take the glass of water he’d been offered, the burns on his arms were more obvious.
“We should get the Mediwitch again,” the guard sighed to his companion.
Hugo threw the glass of water at them, but it barely landed a few inches past his feet. And when he sank into painful sleep, it was a fitful and dreamless rest that only lasted around an hour.
Maybe he was in Azkaban, and maybe he could escape that way. He didn’t doubt that people would be flocking to free their relatives or friends, and Hugo could do an impersonation of a simpering Mudblood if he needed to.
That bloody Mediwitch again, he assumed it was the same one. Put something on his burns this time, rebandaged his foot. All very minimal. No one wanted to spare him any pain, and they hadn’t noticed his delirium growing.
He expected that usually they’d get some kind of visitor, but he didn’t expect one given the shambles that he assumed the Ministry was in. In his waking moments he started wildly preparing his defence, muttering and mumbling words that he recalled from his previous trial. Innocence, Imperius, completely unaware. His wife would be there for him, his darling Elsa who’d revelled in his stories of murder and lies and had come up with her own at the same time. She’d cried on the stand, insisted on his innocence. She’d been too clever for him, she’d left a contingency plan in case he’d ever murdered her. Maybe that was the real tragedy of their marriage, that she’d died of something else entirely rather than by his hand. She’d testify for him, Hugo thought deliriously. He laughed. She really was too perfect, too clever. Their son would take after them, he’d grow up and go to Hogwarts and be top of his class. They were already discussing the party they’d have before Theodore left for his first year, invite all of the families. The Notts might be comparatively poor, but they could throw a party. Elsa was a glorious hostess, charming and —
A little more sleep.
The bloody Mediwitch again, maybe not the same one. Put something else on his burns. Checked his foot, Hugo snarled at her as she recoiled in involuntary horror at the wound. Left his other leg alone again, and the dark magic free to spread where he’d carefully restricted it from poisoning his blood too much for so long.
Without a wand he was running short on time and life and everything he’d tried to prolong.
His breathing was shallow, his forehead awash with sweat as he started to go over more memories. His wife — her memory was strangely fleeting now. The other Death Eaters, his friends. His wife, he couldn’t bring her likeness to mind. Gerald and his paintings and his sons and Hugo’s own beloved goddaughter. Where was his wife? Evelyn and her daughters. Ignatius, good little Thea. His wife would throw a party for them all. Hugo did like them very much. Even the ones he didn’t like; Pettigrew and Humberto and more. Hugo hadn’t minded trying to denounce them in order to escape prison. The Imperius curse was such a good ally, made it so easy to escape justice.
Humberto may have been the illusionist, but Hugo was the escape artist.