Continued from 8 Nov 2011, Bloody and sacred, truth and lie

7pm
8 November 2011
Temporary Detention Cells
Department of Magical Law Enforcement


The rest afternoon had gone about as well as the start of it. Figaro had been roused from dozing in the conference room and the interview continued. Auror Trainee Fauna Blake's line of questioning was at best agile and clever and able to suss out actual answers from the ever-more-erratic eighteen-year-old suspect. At worst, young Blake found herself frazzled, dead-ended, and unable to eke even the simplest information from an old friend who wouldn't help himself.

As the hours wore on, breaks or not, Figaro oscillated wildly from mood to mood as he tried to maneuver some kind of reprieve. At his most cooperative, he mumbled one-word half-answers. But the majority of his waning energy was spend attempting to stall, negotiate, and divert attention from his non-answers. He was equal parts belligerent, panicky, nearly weepy, and overcome with fatigue.

---

Going on 5pm, Figaro had asked about that ham sandwich after finally filling in the blanks of the three days surrounding the robbery. He'd been to the shops for provisions in the late morning of the 3rd, ordered Merlin's Pizza twice, and received an owl from his brother.

But when questions pivoted to his visit to his mother directly after Raine Almasy's interview, and missing Sellaphix documents, everything fell apart. Shouting, crying, wild exaggerations, insults of a personal nature, even a obviously false confession. He found himself convinced again that Level Two was going after him to get to his mum. (Which meant she was the last person he wanted to owl.)

Figaro was left under supervision to cool off, Fauna retreating to regroup.  After some discussion, it was decided that there'd be no more progress and that Figaro Sellaphix should be a guest of Level Two for the night.

"Nothing like a night's sleep to put things in perspective," Zora Roh had advised on her way out to Malfoy Manor.

---

By 7pm, Figaro was being checked in at Temporary Detention. Fauna had paperwork to do at the imposing desk. Figaro had a chair he was supposed to wait in. He bounced his leg to keep from shaking, and he crossed his arms, holding his fist against his mouth while he gazed into space. His eyes were red from crying.  He was afraid of being locked in a room all night; it was only seven, it'd be twelve hours to morning. But Figaro was also relieved there'd be no more questions.

Fauna stood in front of the large desk, filling out the last of a stack of forms regarding Figaro Sellaphix's home address, employment, and emergency contacts. The detention officer had stepped away to grab a bite to eat, but would return to find a present of paperwork and a new addition to the temporary holding cells.

She rubbed at the back of her aching neck, and sneaked a glance at Fig fidgeting in the chair next to the desk. He didn't look so good. A glimpse of his red-rimmed eyes sent pangs of guilt to her stomach, though as the hours wore on each pang had to break through a layer of her own exhaustion. Normally she could pull a 12-hour shift like a champ, given her youth and her caffeine addiction, but today she felt like she'd been running on empty for miles.

Fauna flexed her fingers, easing the cramp from the quill, and blinked at the words before her. Did that say wand core or unicorn?

The words blurred before her tired eyes, echoing the tumult and tumble of her thoughts. Though she doubted Fig was in any place to understand, there were questions she hadn't asked him, questions she'd circled around, questions she expected one of the Aurors to call her on sooner or later.

Fauna hadn't yet asked Fig about the destruction and temporary closing of the Sellaphix shop back in August[1]. Fig had told her over drinks that his mum had smashed up the shop while possessed by a pentral. She knew Zelda Sellaphix had been admitted to St. Mungo's for pentral possession. She didn't want to use that against him. In her own way, she was trying to keep her promise that she wouldn't tell anyone the hell his mum had been through so recently.

And yet, he kept mentioning his mum without any encouragement from her. Ignoring the very slight shakes of her head. Ignoring her attempts to placate and steer him back to why he was actually here.

She understood, sort of, that he must resent Level Two procedure because of his father's imprisonment in Azkaban. That still didn't explain his extreme defensiveness over his mother. Why was he reacting so very badly to this, if he had nothing to hide?

He didn't have it in him, she told herself. Yet the question persisted.

Fauna rubbed at her forehead, and glanced into her coffee cup. Empty.

The door of the office opened. Abby Reid popped her head in. She glanced from Fauna to Fig, smiled sympathetically, and waved Fauna over.

"I'm heading home. You don't look so good. When do you get go?" Abby tilted her head in Fig's direction. "When does he get to go?"

"Ugh, who knows," Fauna shook her head. "What time is it? What day is it?"

"Time to go, before Carstairs sends another round of memos!"

Fauna smiled ruefully, then winced.

"You ok?"

"Massive headache," she shrugged, loosely crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame. "It's just that kind of day, you know?"

"Oh. Ohhh, I have something for that. Hold on!" Abby opened up her huge purse and rummaged around. Fauna glimpsed her keys, a bottle of water, her bobble-head pens, and other oddities, until she pulled out a tiny little vial, no more than an inch in height.

"Aspirin?" Fauna joked.

"I call it free-me-from-possession potion," Abby whispered.

Fauna glanced worriedly behind them at Fig by the desk, then frowned and tried to peer into Abby's purse to see how many were in there, but Abby closed it up and pushed the bottle into her hand.

"Take it. Don't look at me with that face. Who knows how long you'll be here. I'd give one to Fig, too, but that's not allowed. Fig!" Abby called, waving from the door. "Hang in there! Chin up and other platitudes! Dream about mischievous foxes in spooky forests. See you tomorrow."

Fauna drank the tiny little headache reliever tonic right there by the door and pocketed the little vial, returning to the desk as Abby left the room. She glanced, a tad guiltily, at Fig, then back at the forms. Had she filled everything out? She thumbed through them, brow furrowed, then set them on the middle of the desk.

"Um, ok. This way, Fig," she gestured down the hallway of holding cells.

Ready?

No.

1.	Sellaphix Apothecary Shuts Doors

Any food allergies? No.

Spell or potion allergies? No.

In the past five to seven weeks have you felt an alien presence inhabiting your body? No.

Fauna ticked boxes while Figaro responded flatly without looking up. It was taking forever. Maybe he could just stay in this chair forever instead? It wasn’t a bad chair. It had armrests.

A chipper voice roused his attention and watched as Abby Reid and Fauna had a quiet conversation. Abby had her purse and coat; looked like she was on the way out. He rolled his eyes and looked back at his nails.

”Fig!”

She wished him well like ... he was going on a job interview or something. He looked at her a bit wide-eyed, offered her a sardonic smile and twiddled his fingers in return. Fig couldn’t decide if he was comforted or creeped out - it was just way too weird seeing his friends in this context.

A few minutes later, he was following Fauna down a long hall of heavy closed doors, each with a little window. Some lights were on, others off. In one window he passed was the face of a wizard with tired eyes, grim expression, and mussed blonde hair. He looked familiar.[1]

Fauna opened number four. He was greeted with a small windowless room in flat grey brick with high ceilings. There was a narrow bed with a blanket and pillow folded on the mattress. Figaro took a step back without thinking and looked back down the hall. He covered his eyes with his hand and rubbed his temples as he exhaled a long, steadying breath.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said. “Can’t I just …” He didn’t finish.

He’d already asked like four times since the interview ended and each time he was answered with variations on ‘no’ and a last chance before morning to owl someone. The answer didn’t change even when he promised to come right back in the morning, of course.

1.	Draco Malfoy!

Fauna avoided looking inside the cells as she and Fig passed the other occupants. Most of the unfortunates staying overnight were huddled on the thin beds or turned away from the cell door, but a few always seemed to hear her footsteps and would gesture rudely in the small windows, as if that would inspire her to help them.

She opened the door to cell number four, glancing inside to make sure he had everything. Blanket. Was that blanket clean? The walls were gray and dismal and sad. For the first time in several years, she thought the cell looked really small.

Fauna looked expectantly at Fig. She shut her eyes briefly as he stepped backwards into the hall. Merlin, nothing was simple today.

"Yeah, no one wants to," she muttered. "But we don't have a choice here. So," she gestured inside.

Oh the royal we.

A sour pain flooded Figaro's stomach, the same empty pang of anxiety. The time for do-overs was hours ago, Fauna was done with his shit. Honestly, he was done with his own shit. He just had to do it. Figaro walked passed Fauna into the cell and turned around with his arms crossed. His head buzzed in his ears and he felt like passing out.

He looked Fauna in the eye, not sure what to say, and so shrugged. 'And here we are,' he seemed to say.

"Hey, will you be here tomorrow," he asked after a minute.

"Yeah," Fauna said after a brief pause, not bothering to mask her relief that he'd walked inside the cell. What day was it? "It's Wednesday tomorrow."

She loosely crossed one arm over her stomach, mirroring his posture. Except he was in there and she was at the door. How had this happened?

She looked around the cell a little blearily for answers. "You have everything?" Fauna followed it up a few seconds later with, "You sure you don't want to owl someone? I mean, I don't get why you haven't," she gestured, frustration seeping through.

As he'd said, this wasn't a tea party.

The way she was standing now, she looked more like Fauna than she had in hours.

Did he have everything? He had breathe out a forlorn laugh. What was to have. All he had was his clothes.  He opened his arms in a shrug. "I'm good..."

Why didn't he owl someone? A sadder shrug. She didn't know. He didn't know.

"I dunno. Don't want to get in more trouble, I guess."

Figaro knew it sounded absurd. It felt absurd. It felt stubborn. Maybe it was still a part of the denial that had hit him right away outside the bookshop. He'd held onto the belief too long that he could handle this on his own, without freaking out his mom or work finding out, or his friends finding out. He'd get it coming and going if he owled someone.

He looked around the room again, then back to Fauna. "You can go, if you want. I'll be fine."

Fig faked a smile.

Fauna frowned, twisting his words as her headache started to ease. He didn't want to get into more trouble. What did that mean? He was already on Level Two, already in trouble, and they weren't going to hold it against him if he sent an owl.

Did he not want to get into trouble with someone on the outside?

Fauna nodded, his forced smile sending another pang of guilt to her stomach. Now that he was in here, actually listening to her, she hesitated to go. Fauna glanced down the quiet hallway. The officer hadn't come back yet, so they were relatively alone for the first time since his nice little nap in the conference room.

Her heart raced, her gut clenched at the very thought that Fig might be covering for or scared of someone. She opened her mouth, took a slight step forward, then ran a hand through her hair and glanced away, quickly. Maybe she hadn't gotten any braver or stronger since Hogwarts. Maybe she was lying to herself. She stared at the wall for a moment, then shook her head.

Ask?

No.

"I'll, er, be on Level Two for another few hours if you need anything," she stepped out of the cell, one hand holding the door open as she ducked her head. "I'll let the officer on duty here know."

He watched her closely, a little eased that she hadn't left him yet. Again, his answers seemed to wrench something and she looked away.

'If he needed anything'... He kind of wanted a sandwich or something. Or a book. Something to take his mind off, but he'd feel like a git for asking her. Some kid asking for a bloody bedtime story.

So instead he just said, "Cheers. Hey, uh, I'm sorry, you know? But really, you can go. I'm good. Just gonna try to sleep."

He nodded toward the bed. It looked good enough.

"Okay," Fauna said after another pause. He was acting mature and nice and normal, now. It felt odd.

Slowly, she let the door close. As if closing the door gently meant something. Gone went the gray walls, the bed, and Figaro from her view, until only a sliver of the cell's interior remained. Her hand hesitated on the door. One inch of freedom for Fig.

"Good night," she said softly.

Good night! Who was going to have a good night? Not her. Not him. Click! She finally closed the door.

Fauna waved her wand so it locked, and walked back down the hallway, avoiding looking in the windows once again.

The door closed and Figaro shut his eyes, held in a big breath, and released it long and slow while running his hands all the way through his hair and down his neck. The anxiety was building up again and he was doing what he could to calm it down.

Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out. He sank down onto the bed and held his head in his hands, continuing deep breaths that were probably too deep. Figaro bounced his leg. He shifted positions again, sitting up on the bed to lean against the wall knees to his chest.

When the door locked, the lights had dimmed to what was probably meant to be a calming level, appropriate for the late evening. The urge to feel self-pity was strong here, which inspired an additional layer of self-pity for feeling that self-pity. He didn't know how long he sat there because it was yet another room with no sodding clock, but after a bit he stood up and checked out the window in the door. It was too small to see more than a few degrees off square on either side. As expected the hall was empty and quiet.

Figaro tried the pillow and blanket,  and honestly laying down was the best feeling ever. He closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

Sometime later, he kicked himself awake and saw where he was. Shit shit shit. He didn't know what had woken him. Sound of a door closing down the hall, maybe.

He rolled over and covered his head in the blanket to try and sleep more. When he did wake up again, the light was fully off, so it must have been someone's idea of a reasonable bed time. The only illumination came from the little window. He got up and had another look. Still nobody. Obviously.

Figaro settled back in and wished for a dreamless sleep, but it was mostly filled with bizarre back-to-school vignettes, or trying to defend his house (but it wasn't his actual house?) from an attack, and and another with his teeth falling out --

BAM!

Figaro was awoken from a deep sleep and he shot up, just in time to see a face looking through the window and walk away. Guard checking to make sure he wasn't dead? But he needed a piss. He stumbled up (checking his mouth for teeth) and rapped on the window.

The face appeared again shortly. "What!" he barked through the window.

"Gotta piss!" he said loudly.

"What!"

"Bathroom!" Fig said loudly.

This was apparently allowed and shortly Figaro was being escorted back to the bathroom, blinking in the brightness of a the fully lit main area office. Almost everyone was gone, and offices were dark. He saw a clock. Midnight. The guard gave him five minutes alone in the bathroom, which was mercifully empty of any other soul.  The five minutes went by too quickly and the guard stuck his nose in while Fig had his head under the faucet to grab a quick drink. "That's it, let's go."

Few minutes later he was back in the cell, flicking his shoes off.  His fitful sleep continued with two other startling wellness checks. Otherwise he slept straight through until the door opened again.

"Rise and shine, sweet pea!"  Morning officer was apparently a lot more chipper than the night shift. Fig again jumped to seated and tried to process the moment. An older witch in a blue uniform was handin g him a paper-wrapped bundle of what turned out to be toast.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"I tell you like I tell everyone, today's a great day to sort your shit out, mister," she said cheerily and began to go.

"Wait, please. Um, they said I can owl someone?"

"You haven't done that yet! Heaven's sake, sweet pea, I can't believe that. Very dim of you. Well, no time like the present. I'll take care of it. Who you need?"

Fin