c. montgomery (loveischarity) wrote in snitched, @ 2008-11-05 14:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | azkaban prison, character: charlotte montgomery, character: justin finch-fletchley |
Who: Charlotte & Justin
What: aftermath
When: 5 November, after a little visit by Bellatrix
Where: Azkaban
Rating: G
Status: Complete (logged)
After almost two hours of laying very still upon the floor of her cell, trying to calm the excruciating pain that spilled over her ribs with every stupid breath, Charlotte finally dragged herself up and wobbled across the room and into the corner, where she collapsed again, head and shoulder pressed against the stone wall in an attempt to keep herself upright. She was too tired to start banging on the wall, so instead she wearily let herself slip a couple inches and jiggle the loose stone between their two cells.
"Justin." The attempt at a neutral voice came out closer to a plea, but she couldn't do anything about that and after a short pause raised her voice a little. "Justin." Please come before I pass out, she thought fervently.
Of course Justin had heard all about Bellatrix's visit. How could he not when he was just next door and every cry was like a knife on his nerves. Several times he'd nearly screamed out for the insane Death Eater to stop, to 'visit' him instead, but two things stopped him. One was pure fear that rendered him mute, the second was the knowledge that Charlotte would not want him to suffer for her sake - even though he was sure she would welcome relief from pain right now. So he did the only thing he could, he stayed by their corner, didn't hide his face and the tears or try to block out the sounds, he remain still and closed his eyes, offering prayers to a god he wasn't even sure he believed in anymore.
When Bellatrix left, he let out the breath he'd been holding as the madwoman stalked away, and waited. Charlotte would need time to recover and asking 'are you all right' was just too stupidly pointless. She would let him know when she was ready and he would respond.
The wait seemed to take forever, the chill from the stones settling into his bones, but he didn't move. Except once, to retrieve the one thing he'd saved to give Charlotte as thanks for her sharing of the sandwich last week. It was a crudely fashioned tiny chess knight, made out of the wooden spoon provided with his gruel and by using a piece of stone as a tool.
He heard the feeble sound of her voice as soon as the loose stone wobbled, he was reaching to push it out, giving her time to move her hand. Ignoring the stiffness in his limbs, he stretched his arm out, fingers flexing and seeking.
"I'm here, my Lady."
Charlotte had every noble intention of making a joke, or some eccentric remark that assured him of her wellness or indifference to the punishment. Last week she'd been more severely injured physically and managed a calm demeanour and even a gift of rather epic proportions (given their living conditions). Today, though. Today she hurt far worse, and it wasn't a sharp, clear, bearable sort of pain, it was delocalised and agonising. She'd never been subject to the cruciatus before Danielle, and Bellatrix seemed to wield the spell with an intensity that Edgecombe hadn't matched, leaving Charlotte to learn precisely how badly she could hurt. Twice.
Noble intentions, however, were dashed to pieces as his hand stretched out to her - a kindness she almost couldn't bear - and as she slid down onto the floor, curling around his tired and dirty palm, as she wrapped her own terribly cold fingers around his, she couldn't help but let a sharp sob escape her. And where there was one came another. And another. And soon her face was in the dirty floor, stricken of all coherence and clutching his fingers as if they kept her from drowning in this unbearable misery. Crying in front of people had always been an acute embarrassment of Charlotte's, but even the hot flush of shame that spilled down her ears and neck couldn't keep throaty cries from escaping and she only cried harder at her inability to repress her emotions just this once.
Back at school, Justin used to go to pieces when girls cried on him and would either stutter in a fluster or awkwardly pat them on the back, looking around desperately for someone more capable of offering comfort. His upbringing didn't lend itself to dealing with outpourings of emotion, even though he came from a loving family, the Finch-Fletchleys were expected to maintain that traditional stiff upper lip and never break down unless they were alone. In fact the only girls he ever felt comfortable giving a hug to were Lisa Turpin (first proper date and all) and Hannah Abbott (best female friend). Time and adversity had taught him that stiff upper lips were all very well, but a gentle touch and a firm hug did much, much more for the betterment of the soul. And tears were not a weakness but a human need to purge in order to keep going when needed.
So he didn't think any less of Charlotte for crying and wished he could show it better than just squeezing her hand with gentle firmness. When he felt the splash of warm tears on his fingers, he stretched them out in the hope of brushing against her cheek, in a limited attempt to wipe away tears.
It took her several long minutes before she was able to stifle the noise (physically, through pressed lips and pressure on her chest), and several more before the tears finished falling through his fingers and over her cheeks. She appreciated the touch almost as much as she loathed her own weakness, and embarrassment continued to radiate down over her neck and into her shoulders, flushing an abused chest red. Finally, she was able to let out a long, quiet breath, and she slid her palm out across Justin's fingers, wiping them free of any residual dampness, and then curling them into a fist, which she pressed her lips against briefly.
"You're a true gentleman, Justin," she said huskily before hunkering down onto her stomach (and wincing in remembrance of the damage there), and peering into the crack where his arm peeked through. She couldn't see much if anything, and so gave his hand a little push back toward him, hoping that the light of the windows was strong enough to carry some features through the stone wall. "Can you see me?"
He wanted to tell her that she could cry as long as she liked, but he could also sympathise with the embarrassment and desire to push back the emotion. His own skin tingled from the feel of her tears, breath and the whisper light touch of lips. How long had it been since gentle lips touched him? He could barely recall and that made the action all the sweeter.
"I try," he replied and drew back his hand when she pushed, shifting so his face was close to the gap. There wasn't much light, but Justin's eyes had become accustomed to the dimness now and after a bit of squinting he could see the glitter of eyes looking back at him, the faint outlines of a face and hair. "Yes, and you're beautiful," of course, right now he'd probably thought Charlotte beautiful even if she was the plainest woman in the world. He didn't want to think about his own appearance, not with an unshaven face and matted curls. "I... I have something for you," he blocked the gap briefly as he pushed through the crude wooden chess knight.
A wry smile tipped the corners of her mouth, and Charlotte tried to position herself so that the slash across her chest stayed off the dirty floor but so she could still see. Her side proved the best place, and the most comfortable, if one could use that term loosely enough to apply, and she curled an arm around her head for a sort of pillow. She doubted very much that she looked at all appealing, for though she hadn't seen herself in 17 months, she could feel the weight of the bags under her eyes and the roughness of torn lips. She appreciated the sentiment, however, and sighed out at him in mock disdain.
"Oh my Lord Finch-Fletchley, you were always such a charmer," but she stretched her hand out in surprise now at the unexpected gift, and felt the curl of fingers against fingers and then wood - and she pulled the chess piece into her cell, a surge of ... something... welling in her chest. "Oh..." she breathed, sliding her palms over the curves of the horse. "I think this is the best thing anyone's ever given me." And here, in this cell, with memories of the past so bloody far away, she truly and honestly meant it.
"I'm not sure about always," Justin responded with a wry note in voice even though he was smiling to hear the mockery. That alone indicated his support was helping. If one could still smile and tease, even under such circumstances then he believed that there was still hope. He forced the feeling down low however, not wanting to call Dementors down on them.
The catch in her voice when she realised what he'd given her definitely made having to now scoop his gruel into his mouth with his fingers worthwhile. While he was not the painter Dean Thomas was, Justin had learned to sculpt and carve from one of the grooms who worked at the family stables. Until now, he hadn't had any inspiration, but after what happened to Charlotte, he felt the urge to make some token that she could hold and the chess piece, in particular the knight, was very appropriate.
"Now you'll always have a knight by your side," he said, continuing to peer through the gap, heedless of the cold stone.
Charlotte wasn't quite sure what to say, and so just lay there, rolling the wooden knight about in her palms and then squeezing him away into the depths of one hand before finally peering back through the stones at her cell neighbour. Oh, Justin. They had barely known of one another in school, and yet here they were; it was amazing how quickly one could bond over suffering and weariness, and Charlotte - loathe as she was to admit her vulnerabilities for anything (or so she claimed, for she seemed rather predisposed to emotional outbursts) - had grown rather attached to him.
She wanted to say something. Something about Bellatrix Lestrange. Or about Snape and his rejected slave letter. Or about Catherine. About the essay she was being forced to write. But she could only put on a cowardly smile and clutch his present tighter and tighter, until the edges dug into her hand and she clung to it as if it were a bastion of support.
"As long as I'm in here, all I need is you," she replied, snapping two fingers and pointing one at him.
If he could have seen her expression clearly then Justin would have been sure that she wanted to say more, but since he couldn't, he only thought he heard something else in her voice. He'd heard snippets of what Bellatrix had said, a threat to her family and a demand to write something as an example, and he was sure both were almost as painful as the torture she'd just endured. After all, if someone hurt his siblings because of him then he would be shattered. It was bad enough to have the deaths of his parents weighing him down.
"Hmm... my emotions are mixed on that statement," Justin, shifted so his chin was resting on his hands as he looked back at her through the gap. "Because when we leave, you won't need me anymore."
It was only half a joke. He'd become used to talking with her, the playful banter and even the more serious discussions helped him through the cold, dark days - and he hoped she felt the same. 'Talking' to others over the journals was one thing, but there was great pleasure in hearing a warm human voice and using his own. When they got out (a hope he firmly clung to) then they were likely to be separated and he would miss her very much.
"I wouldn't say that," Charlotte replied, voice a little low, and she was glad for a moment that he couldn't see her expression, for it was a pensive one. She didn't know if she'd ever get out of here, firstly, and she also didn't think she'd forget about him the second there wasn't a wall between them. But maybe that was being too optimistic? Squeezing the horse in her palm, she tried to make light of possibility. "I would surely die without my knight - even if only through paper." And she would miss him if she had to leave; he was one of the only 'friends' she had to help her through this hellishness. Certainly freedom would not change that much, for 'freedom' had become a euphemism for slavery, and unless Snape got his wish, she doubted that slavery was going to be a congenial career.
"Besides," she said a little more soberly; "I doubt I'm getting out of here any time soon." The urge to mention the slave committee came and went, and she sighed. "I'm obviously not very good at staying out of trouble."
Justin sighed softly, only just loud enough to be heard. Aside from the 'article' she had written, he had a feeling it was more a case of her being noticed rather than actively making trouble. Although it was hard to discern what their oppressors would count as trouble sometimes. He'd just become used to making himself as invisible as he could, since his former master sometimes seemed to get annoyed just if Justin breathed. He'd drawn some attention from Astoria Greengrass, but his mind couldn't wrap around the concept of her being as dangerous as the others, so he'd talked back a bit.
"Well, it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere fast right now," he said finally and reached his hand through the gap again until his fingers touched her face. " 'Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you'," he sang in a pleasant tenor voice.
Charlotte laughed a little - the first genuine noise she hadn't repressed in a long while. Maybe the dementors would come, but she was too tired to care right now, and pressed his fingers into tear-raw dimples - some small sort of sign that he was doing a brilliant job of cheering her up without actually having to admit she needed the cheering up.
But she moved his hand away from her face within due course, and, pulling out her quill, began to draw distinct figures on each of his dirty fingertips. "What on earth is that song?" She asked, amusement still glittering through her voice.
The laugh heartened him considerably, especially when he could feel it under his touch, a genuine smile without being forced and he chuckled in return. The scratch of something against his skin caused him to frown in puzzlement slightly, but since he trusted her and probably would have done anything she asked right now to keep her amused, he didn't pull his hand away. "It's from a film... which I haven't seen, but the song was very popular, especially that bit from the chorus which I just sang. The lyrics are rather cynical, but catchy... " clearing his throat, Justin sang her the whole song. He pitched his voice so the sound wouldn't carry further than her ears and tapped his foot against the floor to keep the beat.
When he finished, having remembered most of the lyrics - and when he didn't he would just make it up - Justin smiled wryly. "Not my best, but I hope you enjoyed it?"
And Charlotte laughed and laughed, quiet but hearty little noises at the bottom of her stomach that made everything feel, at least for the moment, inexplicably better. "Well it's a damned sight better than I'd do, I'll tell you that. It was brilliant." When she was finished drawing little chess pieces on the tips of Justin's fingers, she moved on to the palm, where she sketched out a crude clown. She could barely remember what one looked like, but managed, and blew over the ink to help it dry.
"I think the only songs I remember are Beatles songs, but I won't torture you with my voice."
"My choir instructor thanks you," Justin's fingers wriggled slightly as her breath tickled his skin. Whatever she was doing, the puff of breath felt good and even nudged at thoughts and emotions he'd buried years back.
"I refuse to believe it's that bad," he teased, interested whether she would sing if given the right incentive. Hearing the music of Beethoven the other day only confirmed his belief that music was good for the spirit and mentally uplifting as well. Recalling the first time they'd talked properly and their hands had touched, he started to sing, his voice practically pleading with her to join in:
"'Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes...'"
Her grin spread wide and she finally released his hand back to him so that he could see what ridiculousness she'd inflicted upon him. Somewhere underneath this distraction, her muscles and bones still ached, but she felt happy, stupidly happy, for the first time in a while. They were going to come soon, she knew it, but she didn't care. She needed to not care for a little while.
"Cellophane flowers of yellow and green,
Towering over your head.
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes,
And she's gone."
"Lucy in the skyyyyy with diiiiiiiamonds," she crooned, trying not to laugh at her own mediocre talent.
Pulling back his hand, Justin snickered when he saw the doodles, almost losing his place in the song. Her voice wasn't dire, certainly not compared to some, and he was simply happy to hear her amusement as she sang. Grinning, he led them into the next verse, the one that had given him trouble before and now he remembered perfectly. Sitting back to sing better, he raised his voice just a little louder, the pleasure of the song washing over him and taking him back to a happier time.
"'Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain
Where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies,
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers,
That grow so incredibly high.'"
When they were done with the song and as yet were undisturbed, he stretched his clean hand through. "You may inflict me with voice and art at any time you please, my lady, for the first is pleasing to my ears and the second pleases my eyes. And in the interests of symmetry, I beg some more decoration to this hand," Justin's smile was obvious through his high class words.
It amused Charlotte to no end, hearing the stuffy upper class accent of a veritable aristocrat mingle with her horribly regional Berwickian in a song rife with ridiculous imagery. It was such a relief and she smiled stupidly to herself, heart pounding at the unfamiliar emotion. It hurt her face, to smile so much in so short a period of time.
Aha! Another canvas, and upon this one she would achieve her greatest masterpiece; carefully she drew the sky, caricatures of clouds and the sun offset with diamonds and a rather angelic looking lady. She drew a little arrow. Lucy. "Such a charmer, Lord Finch-Fletchley. Your flattery does me good," she announced.
He didn't correct her on his title, which was rightly his brother's unless something had happened to Edward and he didn't want to think about that, and 'Honourable' was never used in conversation anyway. "Hardly flattery when I speak the truth as it is to my mind," Justin replied, curious to see what she was drawing on him now since it felt more elaborate this time. "If only there was a way to frame these pieces of art to preserve them for all time. As it is, they will live on in my memory long after they have faded."
As he talked of art, he wondered if she had ever been to the Louvre or the National Gallery, and Justin wished he could take her to both. One day... when this is over... He filed away the hopeful thought for that 'one day'.
If Charlotte had known Justin was actually brother to a Lord of this or another, she would have been appropriately startled enough not to bandy about with the title, but as it was she deemed it perfect. Lord of Azkaban, perhaps. Emperor of the Lone Isle. That thought made her smile a bit, and as she finished with some mountains near the bottom (to make it clear that this monochromatic scene was meant to portray the sky), Charlotte loosed her grip on his hand and set him free.
"Oh, Justin..." A sigh escaped her lips. "When did things come to this?" Her sudden strike of melancholy went unnoticed to her; she didn't remember when she'd stopped laughing or when the smile on her face had dipped back into an expression of pensive disquiet, but the question came through loud and clear and she felt compelled, despite her pretext of cheeriness, to ask it.
Having pulled back his hand and looked at the scene, smiling broadly, Justin was about to teasingly ask if she had drawn herself on his hand when her melancholy sigh and question made him pause. When did things come to this? He regarded his decorated hands thoughtfully. The answer to that question was not easy to find and define. "I... I don't know..." he said with a sigh that echoed her own. "I certainly never dreamed that I would end up in this situation, not even when it was confirmed that they were back."
He hunkered down again, careful not to smudge her artwork as he trained his gaze through the gap again. "Charlotte... you remember when the information about careers came around at Hogwarts? Did you instantly know what you wanted to do? Or did you have many different paths in mind?"
Careers. God, it felt like a long time since Charlotte had pondered her future in terms of anything more than just getting through to the next day. When had career counselling even been? Oh. Fifth year. Her mouth tightened into a grim mockery of a smile, and she leaned on her elbow, hand still clenched around the wooden carving, and considered the dim silhouette across her. Fifth year was when her baby brother was murdered and when she'd broken down and when she'd destroyed all hope of getting into any NEWT level classes except for herbology and runes.
"I've always been a little fickle," she said slowly, considering the question for what it was and not how history reflected upon it. "I don't think I had any idea what I wanted or where I was going. I just planned to take whatever NEWTs I could get into." There, that was a safe enough answer. "How about you? It must be hard thinking about a wizarding career when you've been raised thinking you'd have a muggle one."
"It was," he agreed, not recalling that her fifth year was the one when her brother was killed. Justin hadn't really known Charlotte back at school, the different years and Houses didn't promote a lot of interaction, and she wasn't one of the DA members either. He did vaguely recall something about a family tragedy, but not the precise timing. "My older brother was always the one who was going to inherit the title, so I never had to worry about that, but it was expected that I would end up in politics or law," he smiled wryly. "Something 'suitable' at any rate. My parents were a bit nonplussed that I wasn't going to Eton, so when the subject of careers came up, I decided to look at Ministry work. I wasn't really brilliant at Herbology and Potions anyway."
She hadn't expected him to and was, admittedly, relieved to avoid the subject. It wasn't something she liked to dwell on - though given the dementors' predilection for making them relieve past, horrible memories, she didn't have much choice in the matter. "Ministry work sounds dreadful, though I suppose you can go into International Law and that might please your parents." Charlotte spoke as if it were merely a matter of course - as if it didn't matter that they were sitting here locked up in cells with a ministry in moral shambles. "I suppose if I could do anything in the whole world I'd want to be an experimental herbologist. Though I don't know if that pays well. Maybe I could write on the side."
"Funny you should mention it, but it was the International side I was looking at. Quite liked the idea of being an ambassador, the idea of negotiating trade deals and brokering peace appealed and I know my parents would have approved of that," he sighed again. "Of course now they aren't even around to see what I will become, should circumstances change for the better."
"You write well, it would be a shame not to do something with that. But experimental herbology? That could be interesting... what sort of experiments would you do?"
"They will," she urged - though she certainly didn't believe that for a second, she had no interest in being depressing for the one person she felt some sort of emotional responsibility to - a peculiar notion but one she held onto despite the fits of logic that decried such conclusions. "And then you will be a great diplomat and I shall have to call you Ambassador Finch-Fletchley and we shall be very smug as we take tea."
"Breed things that aren't meant to be bred, mostly. I did some cursory experiments in Hogwarts but Professor Sprout didn't seem to take kindly to my academic endeavours." She gave a vague sort of breathy laugh. That was putting it lightly.
"Famous ambassador and famous Herbologist, we would be quite the hit in the society papers," he chuckled softly, his smile returning as they talked of a future which might never happen. Whether he would be able to function in everyday life, free from nightmares and all the other issues Azkaban and slavery loaded onto his psyche, was open to debate.
"Don't tell me, you invented a giant man-eating plant that sang?" Justin asked with a teasing note. He remembered seeing a musical about a plant like that and had a sudden vision of Charlotte creating crazy hybrids. "Should I call you Miss Charlotte 'Mad Scientist' Montgomery then?"
"I don't think Mad Scientist would look quite proper in your society papers," Charlotte replied with a mock primness. The idea of being in a society paper for any reason at all made her smile, though she wasn't sure why. "Quite the pair. We shall revolutionise the continent."
"Actually," she admitted, cheeks warming slightly, "I did breed some daffodils that swore." Charlotte's muggle culture knowledge was better than some half-bloods, but her mother had some lines that had to be drawn, and her knowledge of musicals and films was sparse and random. She probably would have been quite delighted by a show about a man-eating plant!
"Swearing daffodils?" Justin couldn't help it, he just burst into laughter and far louder than he intended. "Oh that's brilliant, just brilliant! I would have loved to seen one... or even owned one!" he had to press his face against his arm to control his chuckles and even then it took a few minutes. How long had it been since he laughed until his stomach hurt? Inhaling deeply and then swallowing, he raised his head. "What happened to them?"
Laughter! It was horribly gratifying, and Charlotte's face lit up at it. "Well... Professor Sprout confiscated them. And probably used them for fertiliser." It was a pity, really, though she had never been sure what she was going to do with them. "Just think! I could have had my own personal insult telegram service!"
"I'm sure she kept them for herself, there were times I heard some swearing coming from her office..." Justin grinned. "Or you could have bred them for really unique Christmas presents. I would have loved to have one to tell my younger brother to piss off every time he burst into my room."
She let herself smile a bit more, though wary of the coldness that crept around the edges of her periphery. Supper soon, if her timing hadn't been completely thrown by having the hell magicked out of her. "Could have given them to the Weasleys, though I imagine the Hogwarts professors would have been horribly displeased by a gaggle of daffodil wielding third-years." The idea of Justin telling anyone to piss off made her laugh, and it was with a stifled giggle that she reacted. "Though," she replied brightly, "I hadn't quite gotten them to the point where they could be trained before they were discovered."
"Terrorizing the halls with daffodils... it would certainly be new," Justin sensed the chill as well and forced down his amusement. He didn't want to end the discussion, but also didn't want the Dementors to be attracted in force. One hand moved through the gap once more to find her hand for just one more touch before he pulled back again. "I'll talk to you later, all right? You just rest now, heal up as much as you can."
"Better than some of the things we used to terrorise the halls with," she agreed, taking a deep breath to try and still the fear that lurked at the bottom of her stomach. She gave her fingers a brief squeeze, wishing she could have more (a hug, she would kill for a hug), and then moved away from the wall and toward her bed. From there she could hear the quiet scrape of stone being replaced, and she curled up underneath her blanket, hoping she could fall asleep before they came and let her dreams fight upon the emotional battleground.