WHO: Noëlle Zabini & Jasper Williamson. WHAT: RIP Octavian Williamson, loving husband and father of 2. WHEN: Feb 2017. WHERE: A cemetery. WARNINGS: None.
Seven husbands in, Noëlle was very well practiced at playing the grieving widow. By husband three she’d learned to forgo the waterproof mascara because you looked much more distraught with black streaks running down your face (even if it pained her to look less than perfect). By husband four she’d learned that if she was struggling with actual tears, pretending to wipe away tears that weren’t there yet bought her enough time to get the real tears flowing. Now, her ability to cry on demand deserved awards. In her opinion.
But with two living children who were actually upset, attention and sympathy was less on her than usual and Noëlle had taken the opportunity to step away from the crowd and wander further into the graveyard. The run mascara still guaranteed that she would look upset if someone tried to talk to her, but she could pause on the headache inducing crocodile tears.
She was enjoying the brief respite when she heard footsteps approaching. Sniffling and focusing on getting the tears to well again, Noëlle turned towards the sound. “Thank you for - oh, Jasper.” She reached out to take his hand, fully committed to her role even if it meant playing nice with her former step-son. “Wasn't it a lovely service?”
Jasper, whose eyes were red as he'd stoically attempted to hold back real tears throughout the service, stared at Noelle for a long moment. "What are you doing here?"
“The same thing as you,” Noëlle replied without skipping a beat, giving Jasper’s hand a squeeze that was firmer than necessary and letting out a shaky breath. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Jasper yanked his hand out of her grip. "You're disgusting," he informed her, grief quickly moving from the sad ache in his chest to red-hot rage. "You're a disgusting piece of shit and you have no right to be here."
Noëlle moved her hand to her heart, her shock not entirely feigned at Jasper’s sudden outburst. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed, taking his elbow to drag him further from the crowd. “I know you’re upset at the loss of your father, but I also lost someone I loved dearly and I have just as much right to be here.”
"Loved?" Jasper asked, unable to decide what he was most incredulous about. Her words or her blatant acting. He shook her off his elbow as they stopped beside another open grave, a pile of dirt waiting next to the plot to fill it in. "You couldn't even string together a eulogy that was even halfway accurate about him!"
There were so many arguments she could make to try and prove Jasper wrong, but being able to string together a coherent argument went against her overcome with grief act so instead she let out a sob, hand reaching up to wipe her eyes again. “Let’s not fight, Jasper. We’re the only ones who know what the other is going through.”
What? Jasper stared at his Number One Suspect for the Probable Murder of Octavian Williamson for what felt like an eternity, memorising every detail of her (obviously) fake act so that he could explain it in detail in court at a later date. Once he'd nailed her for the crime.
"Stop talking," he warned. "Stop talking, and don't come to the wake, or I will have you forcibly removed."
“Oh Jasper. I know you’re,” she paused, trying to remember if he was an auror or a hitwizard, “...a member of the law enforcement, but you can’t have me removed from my own husband’s wake.”
"Since it's on private property, and you're not invited, I can do what the fuck I like," Jasper reminded her. "Stay away from us."
“Trust me, once the will has been read, I’ll gladly stay away from you. But until then,” Noëlle gave a brief smile and a shrug. “I think it would look strange if your father’s loving wife was barred from the wake, so I’ll be in attendance.”
Jasper curled his hand into a tight fist as Noelle mentioned the will. It was the motive, obviously, and here she was spelling it right out in front of him. Blatantly. Knowing he was an Auror. And smiling and shrugging like she knew he couldn't do anything about it, couldn't prove it, couldn't do anything about her.
So he reached over and patted her shoulder. "My condolences," he said as fakely as she'd been acting with him. And then pushed her into the gaping hole behind her.
Noëlle’s scream was genuine as she toppled into the open grave, landing with enough force that her fake tears were joined by real ones. “Get me out of here right now, Jasper, or I swear you'll regret it.”
Deciding that he really wouldn't, Jasper about-turned and walked away.