if memories could bleed

It has been two weeks.

For the last fortnight Gideon Prewett has been kept in the torturous company of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. He gets no sleep, he sees no light, he is given no reprieve. He dies, and lives, and dies again.

He hasn’t broken, not truly, yet he has shown cracks. He hasn’t revealed the Order’s Headquarters (not that they would be foolish enough to remain there now anyways). He hasn’t given up the location of the homes of members. He hasn’t revealed any potential plans or secrets that the Order has yet to act on.

But he has given them names.

Most were already known - Dorcas Meadows, James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black and Frank and Alice Longbottom being those Alicent is most familiar with.

Mad-eye Moody, Albus Dumbledore (which was a snarky reply she knows Rodolphus did not appreciate), even Minerva McGonagall.

Most of these are the safest to give. Everyone knows Mad-Eye is in the order and the man will be no easier to kill just because Gideon Prewett told them so. The same goes for Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore.

But not all are so lucky. Even Alicent was shocked at the scene that was made of the Bones’.

Children, she recalls. Little children. All paying for the fact that Edgar Bones was a good man.

She didn’t know about that one in advance, she wouldn’t even be sure what she would have done had she known. She is ashamed of the way her selfish thoughts are thankful for not knowing. It is a horrible way of thinking, being grateful to be freed from the burden on knowledge after such a massacre when she may have stopped it. It should not be about her suffering, and it isn’t, but it has helped her position. She likes to think that she could have stopped it, that she would have stopped it, but even then she isn't sure. It has taken every ounce of self restraint she has not to utilise a nasty spell that would turn Mulciber’s skin inside out when she heard him bragging of it. She’s not sure she has much left.

It has changed things too, such a public display of butchery. The Ministry is beginning to crack. Edgar Bones held the position of Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, and whilst she’s sure Barty Crouch Senior is at least going to be just as dedicated to the job, it does not reverse the murder of his predecessor.

He also has a Death eater for a son, a fact she is sure Voldemort relishes in knowing. It is possibly the only thing keeping Crouch alive.

She thinks of telling someone this. Of outing Crouch Junior. She has never been fond of him, for all she did try to pity him for Evan’s sake when he lived. He has been under Bellatrix’s influence too long to ever be redeemed, even if he is only young. Regulus would be heartbroken, just as Evan would have been. She could live with that.

But she couldn’t. The identity of Barty Crouch Junior is a secret, one that she isn’t even sure who else knows. If she was to reveal it, it would be as good as politely telling Voldemort she has been betraying him herself, it would spell her as capital G-Guilty for the world to see. Sadly, Barty Crouch Junior, for all that he is a nasty piece of work, is not worth it.

Yet. She honestly hopes that he will be someday.

Bones isn’t the only casualty from their cause. Benjy Fenwick is hit by such a powerful exploding hex from Alicent’s own brother-in-law that they spend three days clearing him off anything within a 20 foot radius. Caradoc Dearborn, a curse-breaker she remembers from her brief stint at Gringotts, is murdered in his home. There is no fanfare with this one at least, simply a clean Avada Kedavra and the Dark Mark. It is better than most get, better than what he could have got. She know they were planning on bringing him in too, but that with Gideon in their basement it was considered an ‘unnecessary risk’.

The public is afraid. She sees it every time she braves it.

Children are rarely allowed outside their homes, definitely not alone. No wizard or witch walks without their wand in hand. There have been five different arrests regarding civilians turning on each other in their paranoia.

Alicent does what she can.

She passes (anonymous) messages to the Order through an anonymous Regulus. She does her best to follow up any suspicions Regulus has on potential Horcruxes. She fishes for any information she can without looking like she is. She spends time with Marceline and Narcissa and baby Draco and carries on with life as normally as she can.

She ignores the screams coming from the basement at Lestrange Manor.

Keep going, she has to tell herself all times of the day. Keep going, because it is all that she can afford to do.

If I look back I am lost.

But she has not forgotten.

If she’s being honest with herself it is rather impossible to, if not for the agonising knowledge of what Gideon is going through, then it is for the momentous task of placating Fabian Prewett.

She knew when she found out that they only had Gideon it would be a problem. She exploited the love the twins have for their family to get them out of there, and now it is backfiring on her. Fabian spent the first two days unconscious due to the drain her unconsented portkey had on his magic and since then he has been inconsolable.

She cannot blame him, nor can Regulus. If there is one thing that drives the three of them it is the self-damning love they have for their siblings.

So it is only her reminder that for there to be any chance of her getting Gideon out alive, he must stay dead.

He does not like it, he does not like her. She knew he wouldn’t, they do not know each other anymore, little more than strangers now. They can see the face of a friend from long ago in each other, but none of that friendship remains.

It hurts, more than she expected.

She had mistaken him for a wound scarred over. For years he has been regarded by her as one would a scar you get running around as a child. A fond memory, for all that it came with pain once.

She forgets that scars are also ugly, a crude and jagged reminder of pain. A sign what is done can never be undone.

She isn’t even sure that it was ever scarred over. If it ever had, Fabian Prewett has reopened it.

It's ugly, their first meeting again. He blames her, and it's fair. She blames herself too. She accepts this with no more than a wobbly chin.

But then he becomes unfair. He throws old memories in her face as if she needs to be guilted into saving Gideon. He wonders if she wants to punish Gideon for the ways he has chased her down in duels in the past. Everyone one of these accusations feel as though they are gutting her from the inside out. They revive a dead girl like never before and she detests it.

She isn’t kind to him in turn. She doesn’t shout like he does, she doesn’t drag up painfully happy memories to get her way, but she also doesn’t play fair.

Fabian isn’t the only one who can make the other feel guilty.

So she throws everything she has ever done in his face. “Are you so quick to forget the McKinnons? How do you think they would be alive if not for me?”

She speaks softly, makes him discomforted with her composure. “It must be so easy for you, feeling so righteous judging me. But whilst you have been skipping about with you friends, your family, it is me who has given up everything.”

She says the most spiteful, bitter thoughts she can come up with and she hates it. She hates herself, more and more for every little thing she throws in his face, every confession that makes him less and less sure of himself.

And its not that they’re wrong, either of them. They’re not right, but they’re not wrong.

Whilst Alicent could never punish Gideon, never like this, the memories Fabian throws in her face do help her motivation to get him out. She had even forgotten some.

And whilst Fabian has certainly not been ‘skipping about’ as she accused him of doing these last few years, she has given up everything. She faces an excruciatingly lonely experience in the hopes that he never will.

So, with all this in mind, her rescue efforts start anew.

She isn’t sure how to go about it. No matter what Fabian suggests this will not be some daring escape. There will be no elite squad breaking into Lestrange Manor. It would never work, and Gideon would be all the worse for it. They all dedicate as much time as they can spare (which in Alicent’s case admittedly isn’t much) to coming up with something.

In the end its a simple plan that might work. So simple it’s not even a plan at all.

“What if we just ask for ransom?” Regulus just blurts out. Its only the second time they have all being in the house together, and so far remarkably more peaceful than the last time that she chooses not to remember.

Fabian immediately bursts into laughter. “What, just ask for them to give him back? Please Lord Voldemort” - Regulus visibly cringes at the name, a habit even now he can’t break - “I know you have been after my brother for years and all, but have you considered we really want him back? We will even give you money you don’t need.”

Alicent worries Regulus might take offence to this, even the marginally more fun-loving version of Regulus before her now is unlikely to take well to mockery, but he merely rolls his eyes.

“There’s no need to be condescending about it. Besides, not that I’d expect a Gryffindor to understand the benefits of diplomacy, but it could work.” Alicent isn’t sure she’s following at this point but Regulus is up on his feet in his eagerness to explain now, so she diligently hears him out.

“Think about it, there’s nothing else Gideon can give them. Any information he now has will be outdated, even the Order isn’t that stupid. But it would be difficult to kill him too.” Fabian looks about to interrupt, probably to remind them what got them into this mess, but Regulus ploughs on. “He’s Sacred 28, a true pureblood, and the last Prewett left to carry on the line. Whilst all of the younger generations of pureblood’s became indoctrinated by the Dark Lord, his support from the patriarchs, the true power behind the houses, is conditional. By wiping their future out because of one unruly boy he will begin to lose that support. We can use that.”

“But how do you know that?” She asks, because she is honestly not sure. Politics has always been more Marceline's thing and she knows her own father, Lord Serwyn Selwyn, was far too deranged to ever give her an accurate idea of how a normal patriarch behaves.

“Because I do. Whilst Sirius made it clear he wouldn’t bother so much with this ‘stuff’, I did. My own aunt married a Prewett, your uncle, if anything that will assure my grandfather’s support. And with that comes Abraxas’. The more neutral will follow, as will their heirs. Eventually the rest will too.”

“But surely not, no? I understand what you’re getting at Regulus, I do, but this is not Voldemort’s way. He isn’t an heir to some ancient house, he’s a dark lord. Why would he play by anyone’s rules but his own?”

Fabian makes a fair point, it does seem unlikely. “He isn’t even a pureblood” she reasons aloud. Fabian looks absolutely floored by that particular revelation, but at least seems to save his questions for another time. She silently feels like applauding him for how well he has kept his composure. He didn't even kick off when Regulus called his brother an 'unruly boy'. 

“I can’t make promises, but just trust me on this” Regulus asks, so of course she does.

That was four days ago, and she’s not sure how exactly (but she does assume Regulus has used his brother as the messenger), but she knows Regulus got through to Lucretia Prewett. Today Voldemort asked for their opinions.

She knows why, he doesn’t understand this aspect of the magical world. The inner workings of the Sacred 28 is not an easily gained understanding. He wouldn’t have even thought that this could turn on him.

She gives her opinions, as do the others. Rodolphus and Rabastan argue against it as expected, Rodolphus is beholden to no superior as the eldest in his family, and when Rodolphus says 'jump', Rabastan says 'how high?'.  Bellatrix obviously does too, but she seems less manic than usual. She understands, she can see it. She may be mad, but she isn’t stupid.

But the most are cautious. Lucius is probably the most vehement of supporters for the ransom, but everyone knows where that is coming from. For all Abraxas may have been close with Tom Riddle, he is closer with Arcturus Black. They are not foolish enough to praise the power of any opponent of the Dark Lord’s, but even they can see when they are beat.

And they are. It is not just because of what would happen if he were to kill the last Prewett (they were likely to do that anyway), but it is different to do so publicly. In The Prophet two days ago Lucretia and her husband Ignatius made a public plea for ransom, and today Arcturus and Pollux Black have written to Voldemort to consider it. If it is delayed it will be clear they will follow their daughter and niece to The Prophet.

Of course she represses any unsavoury thoughts whilst sat at the table with Voldemort. She only adds her voice to the din of others, adds in anything she thinks is unconsidered. Now, however, she lets her mind roam.

It is unlikely Gideon will be freed unharmed. Voldemort knows that freeing him will be an unexpected move to many who don’t understand, and he will use that to make him seem like he is in control. He may be made an example out of, nothing too debilitating, but it will not be pretty.

He likely isn’t looking too pretty right now, she thinks to herself, yet even then she doubts it. As poor a thought it is to admit, she always knew he was the prettier twin.

Only one way to find out, and she supposes that is true, so she finally makes her way down to his cell. For most of the Death Eaters, this is forbidden, and none of them try their luck with the Lestrange's. But Alicent knows they will be preoccupied now, and even when they find out she has been down here (and she knows they will, she can assert her authority to get herself into his cell, but she will never be able to compete with the level of fear the Lestrange's inspire) no one will think it strange. They know she has spent enough time along with their Lord to be given respect, and she fully plans on utilising this. Besides, she’s sure Lucius has made the journey down here, even if just to get a new interesting piece of gossip to share with Narcissa.

The odd combination of cellars and dungeons down here is about as cheerful a place as she would expect in a place like here. It is damp, miserable and dirty, and she’s sure the liquid running down the walls is not just water. Each of the guards are faces she recognises as being particularly brutal, and not a single friendly face amongst them is to be found (not that she was expecting to). 

It is exactly the kind of hellhole she's sure fits the Lestrange's odd prosperity for pain perfectly. Whilst Alicent is given more intellectual roles, after all the only reason Voldemort took a liking to her is that she is smart enough to be of genuine use to him but never powerful enough to threaten him, the Lestrange's have always preferred a more hands on approach.

She doubts many have made the mistake of accusing them of having class, not like one would Lucius Malfoy anyways. 

So far all of the cells are mercifully empty, and she is grateful for this. Her conscience has been weighing on her far too heavily recently with both the Bones’ and Gideon, she isn't sure she could carry another burden.

She keeps going, checking each cells she passes for a familiar head of ginger. She wants to see him, has wanted to since she first laid eyes on him two weeks ago. Has known it in the excruciating moments where she has had to look at Fabian and shamefully wish it were someone else.

Then she sees him.

He is hunched in the corner of a cell, looking for all the world as if he is trying to disappear. There is none of that ‘familiar head of ginger’ that she was looking for earlier, it appears the Lestrange’s have rid him of that. He is clearly beaten and bruised, and his hands are shaking which she knows is from the cruciatus. His face, which even now is oh so pretty is marred by an ugly wound across his right eye, looking at risk of being infected.

He has been as good as mauled, she thinks when she looks at him. Then she thinks of the monster that is Fenrir Greyback and is thankful he hasn’t actually.

For a moment, and it goes as quick as it came, she wishes she never came. She hates this, and almost doesn’t care why she’s doing this to herself, doesn’t care about anything but protecting her own feelings.

She can’t tell if he sees this thought, can’t tell if she accidentally looks disgusted with him, but the eyes that had been trained on her as she was taking him in immediately turn from an almost hopeful look to the most hateful gaze she could ever possibly imagine.

For all that she still thinks he’s pretty, and he is, even with a sneer on his lips and venom in his eyes, she thinks this is the worst sight she has even seen.

It selfish she knows. He is hardly the first she has seen like this. She is only moved because she knows him, loved him once, perhaps still does.

She doesn’t care about this for now. She can ruminate over how terrible she is as a person later (and she will) but now nothing exists but Gideon and the awkward silence between them.

“Go” she barks at the man guarding the door, because she honestly forgot he was still there and cannot have the capacity to think of anyone else in this moment. The man scatters.

She casts a privacy spell before she goes to speak. “I -“ she chokes out before she stops. What? She isn’t even sure what she could possibly say.

His loud and abrupt laughter makes her jump. (She has jumped more in the last two weeks than she has since she joined the Death Eaters.) It is not an attractive laugh, it holds none of the warmth she associates it with from before. He ends up having to cut it short to let out one of the nastiest coughs Alicent has ever heard.

It's this that springs her into action. “Here” she tries to say as softly as she can and she uses her wand to conjure water for him in her hands. For a second she’s worried he will deny it, will throw it back in her face and that would be okay for her, she can take his scorn, but she doesn’t want to see him suffer. Thankfully, he drinks.

When he’s done (and it takes a while after he struggles to keep even that down when he starts too quickly) he does nothing. He doesn’t settle into his previous position, doesn’t attack her, doesn’t speak. He just stares, and if she wasn’t completely sure in her own occlumency, she’d be worried he was in her mind.

What do you see? She wants to ask, because she hasn’t the slightest idea of what his answer might be.

She doesn’t recognise herself anymore, she has become as much of an insult to the beautiful girl she used to be as this starved man in front of her is to his younger self.

Liar. And she is, she knows she is much worse that he could ever dream of being. 

She used to be afraid she was too soft, to the point of not being real. That she would run like water through any hands that tried to hold her. Now she is more likely to rip apart any hands that try. 

Alicent just stares back, she doesn’t know what else to do. His eyes hold none of the blood she imagined two weeks ago, but none of the spark she hoped for either. There is just nothing.

She isn’t sure how long they stay that way for. She is too close, and yet yearns to get closer. She is too far, and yet yearns to run away.

“What do you want Alicent?” He finally asks. He speaks softly, but she doesn’t know why. She expected him to be harsh with her.

She leans away, even shuffles back a bit, as if she is afraid of him. As if she is prisoner to his will and at risk of being tortured, not him. She isn’t sure that isn’t true. She isn’t sure of anything.

“I just wanted to see you, check on you” she says. Its a poor excuse for all that is it a true one.

It does not please Gideon. “You wanted to check on me?” he mocks as if its preposterous, and that’s fair, she is the reason he’s here.

She stands and backs away. She isn’t sure if its because she feels vulnerable or wants to look more sure in front of him. Maybe she is trying to assert some ridiculous idea of dominance. She isn’t sure of anything.

“I am sorry it took so long.” Another pathetic and useless bit of information to Gideon, yet she still says it. She hopes he knows she means it for all that she shouldn’t. She thinks how soft and shaky her voice is gives it away. She sounds like a child.

“Well don’t trouble yourself about it. You have much worse things to apologise for.” That hurts.

She has to stop herself from biting back. This is his justice, don’t deprive him of that.

“Well I’m still apologising for not seeing you sooner. Despite what you may think I don’t enjoy being a monster. I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt either.”

Gideon doesn’t look like he quite knows how to respond to that. Just as the lull in conversation is on the precipice of another awkward silence he surprises her.

“I loved you.” He says, like its hurts more than anything he has had to endure this past fortnight.

“I know” she whispers back.

“No, youdon’t” he snarls back, and it is such as juxtaposition from how he was speaking before it takes her back. “I loved you. Not because we were happy, or our relationship was going well, or even how promising our future could have been. I liked all of that. But what I loved? That was you. That was because you were smart, because you were kind, because you were the goddamned strongest person I had ever met. You. Were. Incredible.” He says this all forcefully, putting emphasis on every other word like she cannot miss a single one.

The truth is that she is flattered. Truly. For all her internal talk of being great, she has never amounted that to being the same as being loved. They’re not the same thing, and whilst she knows she is loved by her sister, she is no longer loveable. To remember that she was once, that she was great and loveable, well it is a difficult concept to grasp. That all seems impossible to the her that stands here today. Maybe one day, she prays.

It is nice thought, despite how unlikely it is to come to be.

She is so enraptured by this, she nearly misses what he says next.

“You’re not anymore.”

She wishes she missed it.

She feels silly, such a juvenile feeling, one she hasn’t felt in years. She has felt heartbroken, stupid, evil and exhausted, but not silly.

She heard what he said, noticed how he only used past tense (and he was weighing up his words must too carefully for that not to be intended) and yet she was almost taken by surprise.

It should come as no shock to her, she herself was in the midst of acknowledging that she no longer is any of the things he claimed her to have once been. He has stated a fact, a truth of the universe. He isn’t even trying to be cruel, just honest.

“No, I’m not” is all she can think to say to that. Her tone is stern and she unknowingly straightens her posture as she says it. She doesn’t mean to do it, she is just trying not to cry.

“That’s why I hate you now y’know? Because you have ruined that for me, for yourself. Your potential was never in your brains, never in career prospects or exams results or any superficial bullshit. Your potential was that you were good. And you wasted that potential for what? Some misplaced sense of familiar duty? Fear? I honestly don’t know! All I know is that you took the girl I loved - still love! - and have filled her with a monster I don't even recognise. I love her. I hate you.”

I love her too. I hate me too. She wants to tell him this, to explain. She wants to make him love her again, wants to say everything she can so he will.

Instead the words are already out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Oderint Dum Metuant". Let them Hate, So long as they Fear. She grew up on those words, grew up hating them.

She never felt any pride in her family when she was young. Sure, she liked the perks that came with it - a seemingly endless library, money to buy what she wanted, a house big enough to hide in. They were all wonderful. They did not make her proud of her family.

Her father was mad, she does not deny this. He wasn’t always. Serwyn Selwyn was once, by all accounts, okay. Not a good man, never a good man, but at least a sane one. He knew to go to the Wizengamot and do his duty, and he knew not use fiendfyre to destroy the breakfast table his children were sat at. Yet as he got older, as the dark magic he lathered himself in began to drag him down, he became the only version of her father she ever knew. She doesn’t usually like to linger on thought of her father, nothing more than a dismissive joke of He was mad but what can be expected of a man with the name Serwyn Selwyn? It was as if he was cursed and that would be that. Besides she hardly knew the man, as for all he was a horrid father, he at least left her well enough alone.

Her brother never had such courtesy. He wouldn’t seek her out, but he was incapable of finishing a conversation with her until he was satisfied he had sufficiently bullied her. This wasn’t always the case, he used to be near kind to her when she was truly young, but whilst she doesn’t remember her father becoming more mad, she knows this corresponds with her memories of Dorian getting crueler.

They’re both dead now. Her mother is too. Araminta Gamp perhaps hadn’t been alive for a long time before.

But she was good, or at least that’s what Alicent chooses to believe. What she needs to believe to have any hope for herself. It is unbearable, thinking you come from a cursed lineage with no hope of redemption.

There is Marceline, of course. Her half-sister in blood only, her soulmate in all else. Marceline who is sweet and kind and beautiful. Marceline who could charm stone into diamond with nothing but sweet words. Marceline who can never walk through Diagon Alley without trying to make everyone’s day despite it being impossible in this climate. She is not a fighter, but she does all she can with the meagre freedom any woman enjoys in this society and her character. She is good, no one has ever been able to convince her otherwise.

She is more than just her sister. She is her salvation.

Yet she has never counted her as a Selwyn. Yes, she may have carried the name, but she didn’t grow up as one. Marceline spent her pre-Hogwarts years with her mothers family after her father did something that upset her grandfather, Mr Greengrass. She still to this day doesn’t know what, only that Marceline’s mother died in September giving birth to her and Alicent was born the following August. Marceline knew a happy house, and whilst it makes her love her more that she was willing to suffer their father’s house for her, it is not the same.

Let them Hate, So long as they Fear.

Dark words for a dark family.

She sees the power in the phrase. She knows fear too well to mistake the power in it.

Once, she was the afraid. I love her.

Now, she is the feared. I hate you.

Let them Hate.

Gideon doesn’t fear her, she knows that, but others do. She would have been long dead if they didn’t. They hate her too, just like he does, and she needs to accept that. Without that she would not be alive. He would not be alive.

And that’s the truth of it. Yes, she knows people hate her, and whilst it hurts unlike anything ever has before, she needs it. She doesn’t accept it selflessly, Merlin if her last argument with Fabian is any indicator she doesn’t even accept it graciously, but she does accept it to keep those she loves alive. It's selfish, how she prioritises keeping those she loves safe, even if it means another will pay their price. But she knows this, and has accepted it with a little shame as she does anything these days. 

Because she does love them, all of them. It is not just restricted to Gideon, although he may be the one she loves most out of all those she lost, but also Fabian, Dorcas, Pandora, Frank, Alice and salazar she has even come to care for Sirius Black, even if it is more on Regulus' behalf. She loves them, more than they may ever know. She does not do it right, she knows she is making a mess of that love, but it is there. If that has to stay as a secret between the woman and the little girl in the back of her mind, well that is the price she agreed to pay.

So Let them Hate, she tells herself.

Let them Hate, So long as I Love.

When she finally emerges from her mind with her newfound confidence, she finds Gideon just staring at her.

He’s waiting for me to explain where I went, she realises.

“Oderint Dum Metuant” she repeats louder this time, and now there is nothing accidental about the way she adjusts her posture and tone to fit the persona she knows so well. “They’re the words of my family. Let them Hate, So long as they Fear.”

“So you’ve become your family now?” He asks. He seems saddened by the idea and she knows he is.

She just sighs. “I always was my family, for all I never wanted to be. You cannot hide from blood.”

She crouches down again and covers his arm with her hand from the distance. Gideon surprisingly lets her, even if he doesn’t look happy about it.

“You can hate me, Gideon. That okay. I truly am sorry for all I have put you through.”

She hopes he can see how true it is, hopes that he can recognise the gratitude she tries to expresses. She hopes, against logic, that he can hear what she wants to say, what the little girl in the back of her mind is screaming. This is a futile hope, they all are, but she wants him to know I love you too.

Its possible he saw all this, that he knows this for the love confession it is and what she hopes is only a temporary goodbye, as for the first time they’ve been down here together tears start to spill over his cheeks, and she has to ignore the urge to wipe them away. She knows he would not be so tolerant as to let that happen.

She straightens up and magics away any dirty off her robes, adjusting them when she’s at it. She knows it is time to leave now. She has been here too long in the first place.

Just as she is about to cross the threshold out of his cell she remembers one last thing that she shouldn’t tell him, but she knows she needs to.

“There was an article in The Prophet two days ago I think you might be interested in. Your aunt Lucretia has taken to the newspaper to offer a ransom for your release. It was a handsome offer, not one that is being scoffed at.

“Don’t count yourself out yet Prewett, it seems you may still be going home.”