Sleeping had been more impossible than usual. Most nights, with the help of potions, Eva was at least able to claim 4 or so hours of rest. Last night she’d been restless, uncomfortable. At 5AM she’d given up and at 7AM she was sat in her office on level 1 staring at a redraft of some documents Glass had told her to check. Their disagreement had been at the start of the week and she was still avoiding him as much as was politely possible.

Normally Eva didn’t venture into the ministry on a Saturday. Her working hours were set at 9 until 5 Monday to Friday. She’d stay late most evenings but she’d never be in at the weekend.
Today, however, was different. Late this morning she had a meeting with Lawrence Musgrave courtesy of Harper. To describe the lawyer as nervous would have been a gross understatement and this was why she’d attempted to distract herself with work.

The agreement had been for just the two of them, Eva and Musgrave. She wouldn’t talk with Harper in there. This was personal. Too personal.

So when the cell door opened to reveal the wizard sat on the bed, Eva’s heart sped up more than she felt was possible. Her bright blue eyes just stared. He looked nothing like how she remembered. He looked deathly. But instead of it making her feel better, it just added to her nerves.

It took a great deal of drive to step forward into the cell and allow the door to slam behind her. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated and she felt it in her bones. Over a decade suddenly flashed by and Eva could see herself in her own cell, the door slamming over and over again.

She said nothing, simply stared at the wizard, eyes scanning his face, his clothes.

She still had those bright blue eyes, alert, wide, terrified. They were fourteen years older, but they were quite the same as his memories dredged up.

When Harper had asked, broached the subject in that business-like, yet oddly motherly tone she adopted when she showed him concern (misplaced, still, in Lawrence’s opinion), he had been altogether quiet. For a man who was now confined to thinking and reliving his past within the same four walls, he’d asked for some time to consider.

She was working with Edwin, that he understood, from the Daily Prophet editions he was allowed to read, doing well for herself, not that he was anything to compare to. To want to come and see him gave an palpitant feeling in his bones.

Plenty of people had wanted a look, humans were inquisitive people, and Level Two were the nosiest yet. Some were upset, others gloated, Lawrence had gone from provoking anger in the first to resigned staring at them, disinterested. Questioning this week had not been easy - it would never be easy - but for a man already at the end, he had gone past feeling. He just… existed.

But the prospect of Evangeline Kuester requesting an audience provoked a reaction in his otherwise grey, tempestuous depression. After some consideration, Lawrence had agreed, if only to break up the monotony. Maybe she might bring some entertaining news, though he very much doubted there would be any humour, delight or release in this encounter.

Perched on the edge of his cell bed, Lawrence folded his crossed legs beneath his elbows. Beneath the thin bed board, were some of the books he was allowed from Harper, the requested parchment, calendar and quills taken away for the day. He was too on edge to read escapism in Alice in Wonderland, his fingers instead pulled at the cuff of his left sleeve, searching for a loose hem to fray in his jitters.

Those same eyes. He doubted he was as recognisable.

Lawrence’s voice disappeared into his throat, and every muscle tensed in his lean body. He took three shallow breaths, staring back at her. Now what. Manners. Respect. She’s Edwin’s adviser..

Very carefully, and slowly, Lawrence unfolded his legs, setting his feet on the cell floor. He stood up slowly, as if approaching a dangerous beast. He dipped his head beneath the shaggy, untamed mess of brown and grey curls and extended his remaining hand, not to shake, but towards the stool which had been left. Inviting his visitor to take a seat.

It took every ounce of Eva’s self control to not take a step back when the wizard slowly rose. It would have been far preferable to be in an interview room with a table between them. That wouldn’t have reminded her so vividly of Azkaban. But that would have meant far more people would have known about her visit to Lawrence Musgrave. Questions weren’t needed from the new minister or anyone else.

But the cell was so small. So dominating.

Eva didn’t flinch when he waved at the stool but her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. Bright eyes darted to the wooden offering before she looked back up to meet his eyes. Sunken, tired eyes with dark circles and framed by the gaunt face of someone who’d not looked after themselves. He looked like a different person, but Eva could see the similarities in herself after months of being surrounded by dementors. The life was leaving him, the glow of hope gone completely.

Surprisingly for her, this didn’t make her happy.

Despite her discomfort in her current situation, the witch lowered herself onto the stool and crossed her legs at the ankles. Her hands sat in her lap, fingers entwined.

“I knew exactly what I was going to say before I walked in here.” Her voice was calm, the practiced tone of a legal professional. “But it seems pointless now. I keep jumping between thinking you were a misguided moron just taking orders or inherently evil. Which is it, Lawrence?”

A beat after Kuester took the stool, Lawrence took a seat back on the bed, though he increased the distance between them. In such a small cell, two in it felt crowded, especially with this much tension.

“A moron.” Lawrence confirmed with only a short pause for consideration. His voice was tense. He didn’t meet her eyes, but his hazel ones focused just off to her left. His throat felt tight, mouth dry. If she wasn’t here to rant, or shout, she was here to talk. He didn’t want to look at her. He licked his lips, and added softly, “you asked to see me… so you might as well say it. Been nearly fourteen years coming.” He drew another shallow breath, poised for abuse.

“You arrested me, knowing full well that they would either kill me or send me to Azkaban for what, as far as both of us knew, would be for the rest of my life. Did you, truthfully believe that I had stolen magic?” She spoke slowly, every word coming out clearly, well pronounced despite the foreign lilt to her accent. Her eyes didn’t leave him, they stared at the eyes that refused to meet her gaze.

“I…” Lawrence began, and sighed, shoulders rolling forwards. He closed his eyes to order his thoughts, tired expression dropping into something sadder. “Back then, I was told what to think, and,” he winced and opened his eyes, still avoiding her, “the more you tell yourself something is true, the more you start to believe it.” He turned his face downwards, disappearing.

“Despite it ruining the lives of…” she paused, frowning “how many innocent people did you basically sentence to death or prison? And please,” now her voice did shake. It wasn’t with fear; it was with anger, “show me some decency by looking at me when you tell me.”

Lawrence pressed his lips together, flinched and looked up, narrowing his eyes. He obliged her request. As if this wasn’t already painful. He’d have almost begged her to beat him up instead of talking. He’d done nothing but talk for hours. About the why and the wherefore.

“Too many.” Lawrence replied, his jaw felt like concrete. One horrible, sleepless night he’d tried to remember them all. “And I won’t defend my past actions.” He replied quietly. “I went to Azkaban for them. I doubt Minister Glass will ask you to carry out anything near as horrific.” His gaze flinched away from her again, but he brought it up again in her general direction while she spoke.

“The difference between us is that I never would no matter who asked. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Yet look at you. You’re straight out of Azkaban and organising dementor attacks on more innocents. And you actually get the full process of the law. What a fucking joke.”

“Neither of us are laughing.” Lawrence replied, hollow. His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, and he swallowed, arms wrapped across his stomach in subconscious self-protection.

This visit would always be for Eva, or about something she wanted to gain from seeing him. Closure perhaps. That seemed to be what most people wanted who he’d hurt. They wanted to feel victorious that he was getting what he deserved. Or, they wanted to shout at him and cry. Kuester was definitely going for the victorious, righteous ending, well, at least so far. If she had a prepared speech, he’d almost prefer she said it.

“What do you hope?” He asked the witch, forcing himself to look up at her.

It was Eva’s turn to look away, to her hands.
“To be able to sleep for a night without screams.” The emotion, the frustration was getting into her voice and bright blue eyes flashed up to him once more. “That’s the worst thing about what happened. I was released from Azkaban after the war but I’ve never been free. Not really. Because as soon as I go to sleep I’m there. Every night I’m there.”

“I did nothing wrong.” Regretfully, her eyes glistened with emotion. “Yet you couldn’t let me go.”

Lawrence shook his head.
“Not without going in your place, or worse.” He agreed, “had I been a decent human being, I’d have let you escape. But I didn’t. All I did was save you the smallest mercy of Level Nine. In that you have your life, be it with nightmares.” He pulled his legs properly up onto the bed and curled against the wall, uncomfortable, but instinctive, folding in on himself.

“But besides the nightmares… are you well? You have a … life?” The former auror asked tentatively, every inch of him screamed how uncomfortable he was to have this conversation. Lawrence didn’t sleep at night - he screamed for different reasons along with dementors, but for his own actions than of someone else. Living with himself when he scrutinised his actions hour by hour each day was proving soul-destroying.

“With no thanks to you.” Her response was quick, biting.

“Of course.” Lawrence muttered, lowering his head in acknowledgement. He swallowed the anger she aimed at him, she was entirely within her rights, he was a despicable human being. “Was there anything else, in your prepared speech for the prosecution, Madam Kuester?”

His phrasing harked back to the eighties when they’d both been colleagues, on decent terms, occasionally meeting in the courtrooms on Level Ten with a charge and a handful of witnesses at the party before the wizengamot.

“I promised you that I’d cheer on anyone dragging you to Azkaban,” Eva frowned. “But I wouldn’t wish those dementors on anyone. Glass wants to send them back. I might very well encourage him to do so.”

Lawrence’s head lifted from his hunched shoulders at this slip of information. Whereas his gaze had unwillingly met Eva for the past few minutes, he was now focused on her without issue. Was this information a plant, to see how he reacted?

“That isn’t public policy, or opinion,” the prisoner replied carefully, he was allowed to read the Prophet. “That would reverse Shacklebolt’s decree, and if true, I revise my suggestion Glass wouldn’t ask you to do anything near as horrific.”

The witch’s brow creased.
“Did you think you would escape them by handing yourself in? Was that your play?”

“I’ll never escape them.” Lawrence replied deadpan. “You wouldn’t believe my motives. Is it true - what Glass wants to do?”

Evangeline nodded. She shouldn’t have shared this information, she knew that. But she suddenly found herself desperately wanting Lawrence to pay for his crimes. She wanted him to suffer indefinitely and she hated herself for it.

“What else can he do about the situation you’ve caused?”

Kuester had a loose tongue, or this really was a bait. Lawrence blinked quickly in succession, eyebrows drawing together as he thought about this new information.
“No, no I didn’t cause the dementors, Eva, they’ve been around in greater numbers since before I got out. They just want fed, they’ll eat whatever they can, and I provided.” Lawrence licked his lips, “is that all he’s considering, sending them back to Azkaban? How does… what do you think about it - really?”

“If it makes the country a safer place. They’ll have enough to feed on with scum like you.” She shrugged.

Anyone that truly knew Eva would know that was a lie. Throughout her career before the war, she’d protected the rights of criminals and even now she wouldn’t truly support such a thing.

“Although I don’t imagine there’s much of you really left in there. How long will the remains last as their favourite food source locked in their prison?”

Lawrence took in a deep breath and raised his gaze to the shadowy ceiling of his cell.
“If I survive that far.” He had hurdles to cross before Azkaban, though for the severity of his crimes, they might consider a death sentence. He wouldn’t elaborate such to Kuester, she’d know as well as Harper what paths lay ahead in the Ministry’s archaic legal system.

“How is our Minister fairing?”

“Perfectly adequately.” The witch stated, her calm tone returning steadily. Then her eyes narrowed, and a quick gaze was cast at the closed cell door. “Do you think someone is going to kill you before you before you face the wizengamot?”

“Are you offering?” Lawrence asked, cocking his head slightly as he regarded Eva. There was a queue.

“You don't deserve the easy way out.” Eva shook her head before moving to stand.

“No,” the prisoner agreed. “But I’d understand if you wanted me dead, Eva.” He rested back against the wall, watching her move to leave. “It was good to see you,” he added gently.

“I don’t want you dead.” She was stood by the door. “You will never be able to make up for what you’ve done. But you can help clear up this mess. If you really do regret your actions you would work to remedy them.” Probably the most sense Kuester had uttered all the time she’d been in the cell with him, Lawrence reflected.

“Yes.” He nodded, and sighed, studying the floor between them. “That’s why I came back to London and walked in. Why I said you’d not believe my motives.” He shrugged his thin shoulders awkwardly. “And I doubt anyone will want me to try, let alone permit me. What can I do from here, but answer questions, hours of questions.” He blinked and looked up, gesturing to her with his remaining hand, “and open old wounds for those who never deserved them.”

Eva hadn’t anticipated that their discussion to find this direction. She’d come without any real expectations, instead just wanting to know why. But to see him actually showing regret, she wasn’t sure how to cope with this new change other than to pressure him to help.

“I want to believe your motives, Lawrence. If you truly do have a conscience, you’ll find a way.”

“Your willingness to believe truth from me means a great deal to me after what I did to you.” Lawrence uttered, humbled, unable to look at her again, ashamed, salt pricking his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I don’t care what it means to you.” Eva replied as she gave the door a bang. “I’m doing this for myself.”

With the door open, Eva suddenly realised how airless the room had felt. She didn’t cast another glance at Lawrence as she quickly left the cell.

End