InsaneJournal

Who: Fabian Prewett, Bill Weasley, and the solicitor, Madam Aethelflaed
What: Clue smuggling
When: Early morning, Saturday, 18 July 1998
Where: DMLE holding facility in the Ministry building
Warnings: Language, passing discussion of murder.



One of the things Fabian had learned in Azkaban and never forgotten was how to let time pass without anything happening. There was nothing he could do other than deal with the jibes of his gaolers, who were happy to tell him how he was going back to Azkaban, and wait for rescue, such as it was going to be. He had no idea what time it was when they ushered Bill into his cell along with a witch whom Fabian recognised as one of Mr. Fletwock's later associates.

He got up from the bench where he was sitting to greet Bill, moving a little slowly. He'd had some tending for his visible injuries, but Fabian thought he might have a cracked rib or three from where Lady Noir threw him off, not to mention the headache he'd had since he'd knocked his head into the stove. His vision was clear, at least. "Bill." Bloody hell, he didn't remember her name. "Madam. I'm afraid we won't get a lot of time here, and I've been through this before, so I know what the procedure is. Let's get settled and then I can tell you my story."

The solicitor nodded and pulled a legal pad out. “Of course. Please start with anything you’ve told the DMLE.”

Bill carefully hugged his Uncle, checking for obvious wounds as he did so. “First, do you need medical attention? They can’t deny you that.”

"I have banged up ribs from Lady Noir and a banged up head from when the poor bloke whose wife we didn't save knocked me into the stove. But they healed all the visible cuts and bruises. Take off your jacket, Bill," Fabian added absently. "It's hot in here." He had the urge to shake his head and ignored it; it was just going to make his head hurt worse.

Turning his attention to the solicitor, he said, "I've been questioned already. Several times. This is what I told them." And he launched into a recounting of the events of the preceding evening, starting with the pub where he and Sirius had been drinking, through their walk back to their apparation point, seeing the green flash, and trying and failing to save the victim. The only piece of the story he omitted was the gathering of the evidence, which was still in his own jacket, lying safely on the bench that served him as seating and, if he wanted it, an uncomfortable bed.

“They questioned you while you have a head injury? Before you talked to your solicitor? Nice. I can understand the husband mistaking you for the attackers, but not the Hits.”

Bill took off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair. He wasn’t used to Fabian mothering him, but if he could displace his worry, so much the better.

“I thought you should see this,” Bill said, laying The Prophet on the table. “Scrimgeour has managed to progress from blaming the victims to blaming the witnesses. He’s a real piece of work.”

Fabian picked the paper up and skimmed the front page, snorting as he got to the quote from Scrimgeour. "I'm not surprised. He's had a hard-on for sending the lot of us back to Azkaban since we got out. Begging your pardon, ma'am. At least this time he hasn't beat the shit out of me to get me to give up anybody's name." He glanced up, as if he were looking for some kind of surveillance device. "Yeah, I know you lot are watching and listening." He managed to stop himself from swearing again. "Enjoy it.

"Have you talked to the family? How's your mum taking it? How about Bilius?" Fabian added, refocusing on Bill as the solicitor scribbled notes down. Fabian started to say something about Gideon, but his brother's name sat sour on his tongue. All Gideon would have had to say was I told you so and Fabian didn't want to think about that. "Bilius hasn't been taking any of this well. Make sure someone's with him to keep him from doing anything stupid. Maybe Hannah."

Bill shook his head. “Charlie’s spreading the news. Gwenog’s with him at our place. She’s probably buried in Charlie’s stray animals by now. Don’t know if you heard us last night, but we stopped by and met the charming Hitwizard Currie, who told us to come back with your solicitor.”

He turned to the solicitor. “Madame Aethelflaed, any chance of bail for Mr. Prewett?”

She looked pensive for a moment. “Not a very good one. The pardon helps, in that they can’t just send him back for a parole violation, but they have plenty of options and it seems that they’re convinced they have their man.” Bill frowned.

Fabian was shaking his head before Madam Aethelflaed had finished speaking. "Don't waste your time on that. What you should be heading off is attempts to send me back to Azkaban without trial. Also--and I know you can't do this alone--emergency measures that will allow that kind of thing. Ministerial decrees, decisions of the Wizengamot, that kind of thing. Scrimgeour's more interested in shoring up appearances than catching Lady Noir. It'll bite him in the end, but he thinks he can stay ahead of it.

"Has anyone talked to Andromeda, or Sirius' brother?"

Bill shook his head. “No, I don’t know them. I hope they didn’t find out from the Prophet. I’ll talk to Headmistress McGonagall, she’ll know who to contact.” Bill sighed. “I’m more worried about them moving you to Azkaban for your own ‘safety’ prior to a trial that will never happen. A bail hearing means at least they have to keep you close, even if it gives Scrimgeour more opportunities to lie in the press.” He paused. “I can’t speak to the press myself, that would be the opposite of ‘keeping the bank out of it’, but you have friends.”

"I trust you to find the right people to do what needs to be done. For the press and for Sirius, and for anything else that needs doing." Fabian looked over at Madam Aethelflaed again, "Is there anything else you need right now? Or should I expect you back tomorrow?"

"I think we have a start for a defence, Mr Prewett." But Fabian could read her expression. His odds weren't very good.

"You'll do what you can, I know. Now, Bill, give my love to everybody, especially Gwen and your mum, and if you can, talk to Andromeda and tell her I'm all right for now. And don't forget your jacket." Fabian reached over and scooped up his own jacket by the collar and handed it to Bill. He gave his nephew an avuncular embrace and murmured low in Bill's ear, "right inside pocket".

Bill took the hug. “I love you, too,” he said to his Uncle and to the people watching them. He shrugged into the jacket, noticing the smell of smoke and the charring. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the stray strands behind his ear. “Grandmother insisted I return to her immediately, and give her a full report. It’s why she isn’t here raising Holy Abbott Hell.

“Don’t worry Uncle F. We’ll take care of everything.” They both knew he couldn’t, but what else could be said?

Fabian nodded. "Good luck," he told Bill and the solicitor both. They were all going to need it.