Early Tuesday eveningToday had been busier than any other day in some weeks, at least it felt like that. That morning he’d copied memories
[1] with Harper, signed paperwork for St Mungo’s, but he couldn’t remember what memories he’d copied. Then there was a less than reassuring blank through the afternoon. He remembered coming round in the same chair he sat in now, nose bleeding profusely, head spinning. Edwin had been there. Morwenna from years ago. They’d obliviated
[2] him. But what had they taken? What had happened?
Fenny had been surprisingly attentive ever since, holding regular conversation, breaking off from finishing
Twilight. He reminded him regularly that he would be receiving a visitor, and had brought Lawrence back to the same interview room. The fact he couldn’t remember was uncomfortable and aggravating the headache from the obliviation. He rubbed at his temples alternatively with his remaining hand. Hitwizard Stump had taken pity on him to not bind his arms to the chair, just his legs.
There was a knock at the door, and the hitwizard stood to let in his visitor. Glancing between the petite figure of Hannah and Lawrence at the table, he muttered he’d leave them to it, and left.
“You
came,” he greeted Hannah, a mixture of relief and sadness weighing his features down.
“Of course I came.”
Hannah replied quickly, stepping into the small room. It took her back to months ago when she’d been in here, harassed by irate aurors wanting answers she’d refused to give. It was a relief to not be in a cell again. Goodness, it was a relief just to see him!
He wanted to hug her tight, which she’d never accept in a month of Sundays. “I can’t get up, but you can come, sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite which had been vacated.
“It is good to see you at long last.” It was almost five months
[3] to the day he had killed her, after all.
Not wasting a moment or even really taking him in, the petite witch rushed over, bending down to wrap her arms around her uncle, a highly uncharacteristic move.
“Thank you.” her voice whispered in his ear.
He wrapped both arms tightly around her, holding her slight form as if it might float away if he let go. All the years as a child, and how quickly she’d outgrown being hugged even though he’d always felt he should try to show willing. Here she was alive, free, hugging him and thanking him! This was better than he could ever have asked, and despite himself, he cried.
“You know I’d do anything for my Hannah,” he replied with an emotional waiver, eyes screwed tight.
She did. He had.
Hannah pulled away and stood back at her full height, looking down at him with a frown. Now she did take the time to really look over him. Weight gained, scruffy, bearded, but healthier. The Ministry were looking after him better than he had himself. She noted the watery eyes but chose to ignore it.
“I know.” She attempted a weak smile, before moving to sit down like she’d been instructed by the hitwizard outside.
“They told me you’re moving tomorrow.” Hannah’s gaze found his and she leaned forward, elbows resting on the table between them. “To St Mungo’s.”
“That’s right,” Lawrence confirmed, hastily wiping one eye and then the other to get rid of the burning tears. One had broken free to stain his cheek, and he rubbed at the warm drop, trying to compose himself. “They offered me a choice, Azkaban, or hospital. They think I hold some missing piece to helping dementor victims, or something.” He reached his hand across to her. “Anything’s better than a wait in the North Sea.”
He shrugged and met her eyes. Was she well? He couldn’t tell, but he was pretty sure it was rather warm for wearing a polo neck sweater. He so wanted her to be well, and happy. It was everything she deserved.
“What about you, are you free?” Lawrence meant
of Ira, which had been their mission in the living room of Miranda and Ignan’s house. “They told me she’s dead, Almasy. Hardly believed them.”
“She’s dead.” Hannah responded quietly. “Free is relative. I’m not in a cell.” Her eyebrows rose as she watched her uncle. He was anything but free and was about to sign his life over to something that could very well end his life.
“Why did you agree to this, Uncle? It’s not better. Elliot wants to hurt you. Surely you see that?”
“
Everyone wants to hurt me, Hannah,” her uncle interrupted, unable to meet her eyes. “You wanted to hurt me,” he added in a quieter volume, glancing down. The night he blew up the Leaky Cauldron
[4] she’d refused to heal him, and Ira Almasy had punished her. He had never expected to see Hannah again, never to be forgiven for being involved in the werewolf fights.
[5] “But isn’t taking that risk, if I can help, better than being a sitting duck in Azkaban?” He asked, “these dementors won’t leave me alone.” He shook his head and appealed to her better judgement. “And if she does, then I deserve that fate.” He pressed his palm to the table between and sat up straight, not keen to discuss his own situation when this might be their last encounter.
“What have they got you doing, if freedom is relative?”
While Lawrence spoke, Hannah looked down at the table, her eyes following scratches made by prisoners kept within for hours on end. She’d been in this room. Had Lawrence made any of the marks?
“I didn’t want to
hurt you.” She’d found herself fixated on that more than his questions. “Everyone thinks that I
want to hurt people. Because of what I am.” Her own eyes glistened the the threat of emotion. “You- you’d been behind the fights. You found the muggle for me to rip apart. You
knew about kidnapped werewolves.” She didn’t once look up, her gaze still fixed on the table. “After me taking you in when you got out, you did that. You knew and you helped.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, both studying the tabletop.
“I never knew the wolves were kidnapped,” Lawrence maintained, as if made it somehow better, “and I made sure the Ministry knew about it after we left.” He sighed, “but I won’t deny my actions the past year have been dishonourable.” Downright awful, to say the very least. “That’s why I have to go to St Mungo’s.” He curled his fingers into a fist, “because I’ve terrorised a country with dementors, and hurt people. There’s something
wrong with me.”
He felt sick to tell her, to disappoint her. Hannah, who had been brought up so haphazardly by his sister and her new husband, who didn’t fit in with their ideals but adored her time with him. Hannah, who he’d pretended to be the father of at primary school parents evenings so someone would go to them and be proud of her achievements.
Those tears were pricking his eyes for a different reason now.
“One of us has to come out of this with a life worth living. Enough about me, Hannah.,” he spoke firmly, “
What about you?”
“That bitch can’t fix what’s wrong with you.” Bright eyes snapped up to him, her gaze intense. “People think you’re evil, Lawrence.” Hannah just thought him a fool. “They don’t know that you’re just an imbecile.” Her words were said with her usual serious tone. It was rare for the witch to make a joke.
Her blunt words were only fitting for her. She’d always been able to surgically deliver her opinions on anything he did, even when she’d been too young for Hogwarts. No filter.
Imbecile stung, but only because it was what he’d called himself. Truth. He swallowed down the insult. Better to be thought of as evil.
Hannah suddenly shifted away from the table, sitting back. She raised a hand to brush back some bushy hair.
“I’m alive and angry.” He wanted to know about her. “Johann helped with the flat. It’s...habitable.” There was anger now in her voice, resentment. “Every fucking day I get to relive my trip to Azkaban, only now it’s not in chains.”
“We will all have our day.” Lawrence muttered in return, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Something deep in his subconscious led him to believe that Hannah would come out of this alright. That there was a shift, a retribution waiting in the wings somewhere. His head was too jumbled from the obliviation to understand where it was coming from.
“Better than chains and for her,” he agreed, “but still not right. You deserve better.” He wet his lips, considering his words. “I am glad you’re together, looking out for each other.” Did she know that one too had helped Almasy? Was that why they stuck together?
“How long is the sentence?”
“Seven months and fourteen days from May 16th. 228 days.” Hannah was quick to reply. Her eyes shot up to the right as she considered. “4 months and 7 days now. 129 days. 30th December.”
A very near future, he thought.
“We’re not together, me and Johann.” Awkwardly, the witch pulled the sleeves of her jumper down further, covering her hands. “He’s ah… he’s found someone.
He isn’t a criminal or a werewolf.” Or female. “I saw him with
her once. Friends.” She was looking back down at her hands, nervous. She’d not said a word to Johann, questioning if he knew, if he’d be mad at her and only add to the list of people who hated her.
“I’m sorry, I misread.” Lawrence felt heat rise to his cheeks. He was permitted to sometimes read
The Prophet but it didn’t cover the changes in relationships and scandal like
Witch Weekly. “She could appear human, couldn’t she?” He shrugged, referring to Ira. “Despite being a cancer amongst us all. It’s why we must stick together. Otherwise she’s the only reason.”
Whatever death had come of Ira Almasy back in May, it was too good for her.
“They told me Layton went with her. Do you believe that?”
“I want to.” It was Hannah’s turn to shrug. “But that would be too easy and he’s like a cockroach. He can’t die.” He’d be back, she knew it. It was difficult enough to believe Ira was dead.
“Me too,” Lawrence agreed, “he’s too slippery.” It was disconcerting to believe that Ira’s intelligent henchman could still be out there somewhere. “Ask your non-boyfriend when he last heard from him, maybe.” His lips twitched into a regretful smile which was gone before it fully formed. Hannah didn’t have many options for friends it seemed, but he didn’t want her to trust someone who might be in touch with Layton.
There was another awkward pause.
“Heard from your mum, grandpa?” Lawrence asked, quite sure the rest of his family had resumed pretending he’d never existed.
“Grandpa came to Azkaban.” He was easier to talk about than her mother. Cynthia Bombay had visited a few days before but Hannah didn’t wish to tell Lawrence about
that visit. “He’s got really bad. Nan sent him by himself. She’s disowned us both now.” Hannah continued to pull at a thread on her sweater sleeve as she spoke. “Both of us got the shit luck with mothers.”
“Well, they’d say they got ‘shit luck’ with their children and brothers.” Lawrence suggested, shrugging. “Don’t get to choose family. I’m glad dad came to see you in Azkaban. He’s nearly blind as a bat now, isn’t he?” A faint smile grew on his features as he thought about his father, Hannah’s grandfather. “I visited him after I got out,” he clarified, “hid in his shed so your gran didn’t see me. Amazing that he’s not given up despite those two. I guess he’s more like us.” He gestured between them both, the hint of a smile returning to his tired face. Talking about family reminded him of better days.
“What are your plans for when the seven months and fourteen days is up? Nothing to keep you here, is there?”
Lawrence spoke a lot, as if he feared a lingering silence taking over. Hannah wasn’t about to complain, having spent a life content to let others do the talking. It had always made more sense to her to listen.
“You’re still here.” He was the only family that hadn’t disowned her. “Will they let you have visitors at St Mungo’s?”
Hazel eyes snapped up to meet her gaze. Surprised, and visibly touched by the suggestion that this might not be the last time they would speak. He was preparing for the end in so many ways, like a man on his deathbed. One way or the other, he would die in Azkaban, either with his soul intact, or gone from the dementors.
Hannah didn’t have to come and visit him. She had her own life to lead and it was best she lived it away from all of them, given how poorly they supported her. His niece was better off with her non-boyfriend, the cat and her charred flat. They were safer friends, easier ties.
But she always had been fond of him. Despite her blunt opinions of how he should live his life, she’d more than once declared she’d prefer to live with him than her own parents. But he was fond of Hannah, and he’d often acted more like a parent than his sister could ever manage. If she’d been his own daughter, he’d have been proud of her. Despite all they’d been through, he’d still be proud today.
“I… I don’t know,” Lawrence admitted. He hadn’t even considered it. “You’d come, if they’ll allow?”
“I guess.” His niece gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders and glanced towards the door of the small room. Was any of this private? Were they being listened to? Were they being watched? “No one else is going to visit you are they?” There was a tiny amount of humour catchable in the way the witch raised her eyebrow but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
Probably not, Lawrence thought to himself, apart from Harper.
“I haven't decided yet. About leaving. But if I stay here, I'll always be watched, never free. I know that.” Pulling at the hem of her jumper, Hannah stared down. “I kind of like working at Azkaban. No one wants to talk to me.”
“Hm, nearest you get to corpses again.” Lawrence supposed. When he’d stayed with her, Hannah had told him a bit of the job she’d held on Level Two before they’d removed her post.
“Hannah, you’re not obligated to visit, or stay. I’d be happier knowing you were free, wherever you go, than miserable for the sake of concern for me. I didn’t tear apart the fight and stop your heart to have you throw away the opportunity to be free again.”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” Hannah said, staring down at her hands. “You’re the only family that would do anything to help me. You’re the only one that cares.” She bit her lip, frowning. “Isn’t that worth keeping?”
“Of course,” Lawrence’s voice cracked, “of course.”
End
[23 Aug] Hold my Hand [Hannah, Snapshot]