Snapshot written with Kit

“No Nan?” The first thing that came to Hannah’s mind slipped from her lips. She was stood by the wooden seat next to the table, her wrists cuffed together with a single chain running down to her ankles. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a mass of bushy waves, not having been washed in several days thanks to the lack of opportunity to bathe. The black and white uniform hung off her body and she looked tiny in the dimly lit, grey room.

She’d known her visitor would be family. That only meant a few people and most hadn’t bothered to contact her in months. The excitement of finally seeing someone that wasn’t a guard or another prisoner immediately vanished when she saw he was alone.

Anthony Musgrave’s fingertips grazed the stone door frame as he entered, feeling his way in unfamiliar territory. The air had a salty tang, owing to the North Sea, and he still felt sea-sick for the trip from Charon’s Point to visit. The guards here gave short instructions, didn’t accommodate for his impaired vision. He had navigated walls with his hands, rough beneath his palms.

Hannah’s voice gave him direction of where she was in the grey room, and he turned, orienting himself, a hand reaching out instinctively in her direction, checking for obstructions. In better light he’d have less trouble, but nothing was well lit here, or so it seemed to Tony.

“No, love.” He spoke, face creasing into a sympathetic, troubled expression at hearing her, at being near her after weeks and weeks. His only granddaughter, his only grandchild, even if she was a woman and independent. She would always be special to him. Why August and Cynthia could not understand, he had no clue.

“They don’t know I’m here,” grandfather admitted, finding the table with his hands, running them over the edge, staring through his thick lense to Hannah who he couldn’t make out clearly. If they hadn’t taken his wand he would have made light to see her face better. “But bugger them, how are you? Been worried sick, Hannah.”

To see him in such a manner and after such a long time, Hannah felt her stomach drop. She moved to help him find the chair, but the rattle of chains was the least of her problems when the guard yelled, instructing the prisoner to back off. She reluctantly did as ordered, staring across at her grandfather as she evidently tried to make out what he could of her. No wand, no magical aid for his sight. Azkaban was supposed to punish her, not him.

“You’re the only one.” If her mother and grandmother didn’t know he was there, he’d lied about where he was going. She couldn’t imagine her mother approving of such a visit to the disowned daughter who’d shamed the family along with the criminal brother.

Unlike her visit with Knox, the guards didn’t leave them alone. Today a large burly wizard stood in the doorway, blocking the extra light that may have been able to enter the room. Anthony Musgrave wasn’t a ministry official; he was the grandfather of a prisoner, a criminal. That didn’t afford them privacy.

Rather uncharacteristically, Hannah reached her hands forward as far as the chain would let her, grasping his.
“I’m glad you’re here, grandpa.”

At her touch, his face lit up, a smile, one his daughter hadn’t inherited, but was reminiscent of happier days with Hannah’s uncle, spread across his ageing features. Hannah’s grandfather had been lucky - he had aged well considering he was eighty, and to smile as he did now made him appear to be a much younger man. He squeezed tightly back.

“Oh my girl,” he uttered, momentarily a little overcome with emotion for her, which he swallowed back with a strong blink of his highly magnified eyes. “I’m glad too, they tried to lose the paperwork twice, but I know your rights. I had to get here. Had to see you were alright.” He inhaled a shuddered breath, “It’s all such a confusion, they won’t tell us anything straight. But I don’t suppose they’ll tell you anything either. What a to do. Are you allowed to sit down my dear, can we talk?”

Lowering herself into the chair, Hannah leaned forward, still grasping his hands. When sight was lacking, touch was appreciated and Merlin did she also miss human contact, however much she’d always hated it.

“Have you heard anything of Uncle Lawrence?” her voice was low as she skipped the polite small chat to get straight down to her biggest question, “He risked everything for me and I’ve not heard anything since. He was gone when I woke up. They won’t tell me if they know anything.”

Grandfather had been about to enquire on granddaughter’s health when she slipped in a question of her own. He was startled by it, but didn’t interrupt with her explanation.
“He… he’s in London. What do you mean, gone when you woke up? What happened?”

“They arrested him?” Now it was Hannah’s turn to look confused. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this news. “It’s not been in the papers? They arrested me after he killed me and he was gone.” Questions suddenly flooded her, the frustration of being kept away from any news had been unbearable. But could her grandfather even read the paper anymore? Her tired eyes swept over his.
“Nan doesn’t talk about me does she? Or him?” tears threatened the corners of her eyes.

“It has, girl, but do they not let you read it?” Her grandfather replied, “Boy handed himself in, blessed relief, he - killed you? Whatever do you mean, you’re alive. It was that Professor who nearly died. Are you feeling right? And no… no they… don’t concern yourself with your grandmother - put me straight, whatever’s happened.”

“They don't even give me a quill and parchment, Grandpa.” He was confused. No one really understood. “It doesn't matter now, it's happened.”

“What’s happened? Hannah, what a to do. All we hear is you’ve been arrested. The paper said you were involved in attempted murder, a Hogwarts Professor, and your old boss at the hospital. That’s why you’re here. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, your nan refused to read it aloud to me, but I read it myself.” Hannah’s grandfather explained, “But Lawrence, he handed himself in, straight to the Ministry. Front page news, seventh of April. It’s er… almost a month ago. Bugger me that they didn’t tell you. But we can’t get a thing out of them about it, just that he’s under guard, alive. Though whatever’s afflicting him, it might have been merciful of Merlin to have let him slip the night. What did he do to you, girl, he’s not well, I know you want to heal people but…”

The old wizard folded forward, his face creased in emotion at how conflicted he was. His wife, his daughter and son in law all refused to speak about it. He had nobody in the family to talk it through with, and both his son and his only grandchild were locked up for a string of crimes that had yet to be properly explained.

“He saved me grandpa.” A look of concern flashed across her face. “You don't think I tried to kill someone, do you? It was never supposed to happen like that. Lawrence, he's...he's dangerous, not ill. Look, I was trapped in something, a blood contract because I'd been desperate in October. I couldn't get a job anywhere and my family didn't want to know.” There was a edge to her voice at that. “I was in trouble and the only way to get out of it was for Lawrence to kill me and Miranda Elliot to bring me back.” It was perhaps a relief that her grandfather's sight wasn't good enough to see the now faded scars around her wrists and neck from silver burns.

“Lawrence had to make her bring me back but Carstairs said he killed Storm.” Suddenly, it felt easier to talk about Lawrence than herself. “He's not ill, Grandpa. You know he was responsible for the Leaky Cauldron blowing up?”

“The papers say that… yes…” the eighty-year old former Gryffindor replied with concern. “I would never want to believe you tried to kill someone, Hannah. But to get caught up in magic like blood contracts, that’s so very dangerous. That could have killed you. My only granddaughter,” he reached up a hand as if to touch her face but it didn’t find her, returning to clasp her hands again. He could hear her chains moving. “The Storm fellow, he’s alright, didn’t die. And Lawrence took himself to London, best place. They’ll keep him safe, so he can’t harm anyone else. Why are they keeping you here though, they must know the truth of what happened by now. My granddaughter has been through hell and back!”

“The truth is that I broke the law.” She pulled her hands away, frowning. The chains rattled loudly. “A lot.” It hadn't yet clicked that Storm wasn't dead. “Don’t go thinking that I’m innocent, because I’m not. The Ministry and the whole wizarding world have fucked me up but I made the wrong decisions as well. Now I’m paying for them.”

Her grandfather sighed.
“This isn’t how I imagined you would be when you grew up, but you always wish the best for your children. Is it because of being… being a werewolf? Is that where it all began?” He asked, trying hard to understand.

“You can’t even say it without pausing or struggling so imagine how strangers feel.” Hannah bit back, frustrated that even her grandfather stumbled over the word. “Apparently, I’m a dangerous monster.” She lifted her arms up to show him, the chains rattling loudly.

It was now that tears formed in her eyes. “Overnight I went from the odd person you just kept a distance from to a vicious creature that would rip your throat out. I did nothing and everyone suddenly hated me.” The tears fell, dripping down her cheeks as her voice broke.

“You’re not - you weren’t - I never…” Hannah’s grandfather began, stumbling over his words more since she pointed it out. He could hear the upset in her voice and it tugged at his emotions too. “I wasn’t sure how to say it, you’re not it, you’re Hannah, you’re a healer, you’re a daughter, a granddaughter, a witch. It’s not fair.” He reached for her, despite the guard’s grumbling from the doorway, and went to wrap his arms around her, to prove she was not a monster. “If I could take it from you, I would. You don’t deserve this. Not my clever, beautiful granddaughter!”

Her grandfather’s actions only made it worse as Hannah let herself finally release some emotion. The guard could go to hell. Since the night at the Storm home, everyone had been cruel, cold, judging. But not this man who sat there holding her hand and believing in her. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the last push before she lost it and the tears fell as she let him hold her, her body shaking with sobs. Life was unfair, cruel.

“Back to your seat, Musgrave or I’ll throw you out!” the guard at the door shouted, stepping forward with his wand raised.

“You’d throw a blind old man out, when this might be the last time he sees his only grandchild?” Tony retorted, still clutching Hannah. Her hair wasn’t quite as soft as he remembered and she felt frail. But she was still his granddaughter.

But despite his protest in return he did release her eventually, and his backside found the visitor’s chair again.
“I’m sorry it’s not all of us, I really am. Some of us don’t know how to forgive, to understand.” Hannah’s grandfather apologised. “Just us boys, well… your grandad.” He slipped off his thick lenses and rubbed them on his handkerchief from his shirt pocket. His face behind them was recognisably and older version of Lawrence, which the glasses disguised. “He’d be here if he wasn’t unwell.”

“He isn’t unwell.” Hannah managed as she tried to calm herself down, wiping away the tears with the grubby sleeve of the striped dress.  It was tough, the chain allowing her to easily reach her face. “You always see the best in people,” It was ironic when he couldn’t see. “But don’t bother with me and Lawrence. Focus on your daughter.”

She started to rise to leave, feeling far too vulnerable after the display of sudden emotion.
“Cynthia?” There was surprise in his voice as he slipped his glasses back on. “Why would you give a rat’s arse about her after the little she’s ever done for you?”

“Because she’s the only one who hasn’t turned into a criminal!” Hannah was still full of emotion she was struggling to push back. “My mother, for all of her stupidity and selfishness is the only one who hasn’t ended up here!” The tears started again as she stood, angry, frustrated, upset. “How long did it take you to finally see me, to get in touch? I’m an embarrassment to the family and you’re the only one that still believes in me!”

When she started, she found it harder to stop, harder to pull herself back.
“But don’t, Grandpa. I was responsible for Ignan Storm nearly dying and I don’t care!”

“You do,” he countered, “I believe you do, somewhere beneath everything that has happened to you, hardened you.” There was a break in his voice as he addressed her, not quite looking at her exactly, following the out of focus image of her he could make out. “And she’s only not been in here for never taking a risk, for never standing up for what is right. I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, I - I don’t care that you’ve made wrong choices. I just want you home…” his heart appeared to be breaking as he appealed to her, though August always said he could be a little soft on family. “Home,” he repeated, “And happy again.”

A laugh escaped her, somewhat manic.
“Happy?” she blurted out, shocked. “I have nothing to go home to! When I get out of here, there’s nothing!” The tears wouldn’t stop, it was like someone had turned on the tap and wouldn’t switch it off.

“I want to go back to my cell,” she looked across at the guard who nodded, glad to finally be done. She started to move past her grandfather. “I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“Me too... ” Anthony Musgrave echoed, reaching an arm out to her, his hand finding her wrist where her chains were attached, “Love you.”


End