Heulwen steps out of the store into the darkened, damp, cobblestoned street of Knockturn Alley. Today, she didn't feel like exiting through the bright, upbeat Diagon exit of the store. In fact, the door that led to the more popular street was locked. Customers would have to find the fix for their problems elsewhere. The anger had subsided, but the betrayal lingered. The feeling wasn't new, but it stung. That much couldn't be helped. There was a dull sadness that settled in the pit of her stomach. Never would she have expected the divorce papers from him. Still, they had arrived, and she had signed without any argument. Who was she to cling to someone who didn't want her? Over and over, the witch had tried to remain useful to the people around her. Even joining the dark wizards had been for a good cause: to keep her son alive. But even that had not gone according to plan. He had died in front of her, and she had tortured every last Auror that had been there that night. The grief had been like a poison, and she let it take her, pulling her under and drowning her red anger. Then, she was caught, sent to Azkaban, and escaped. But since then, she had tried. Truly.
Heulwen looks up at the sign hanging above her head. Memento Mori was written in silver paint. She had poured everything into this store. It was proof that the witch could live without violence. Though the option had enticed her more than once. Torturing, killing, and maiming for the Death Eaters when she was at her lowest, when the anger bubbled to the surface. Some part of her wanted to go back, to feel something warm. She had been cold for so long, even dirtying her hands with blood would be welcomed in an hour of weakness.
Closing her eyes, Heulwen leans back against the dirty brick that made up the building. She thought of them all. All the men she had welcomed into her bed. The promises they made, those short forevers that lulled her into feeling secure. But it was all lies. She would have given them forever if only they had stayed with her. Her arms curl around her chest, a hand resting over her ribs. There, her first husband had carved his initials. Marking her as his, but she had only been one out of who knew how many. It had taken years, but the scar had faded. Only the memory remained. Then there was...her brows furrowed. Behind her eyelids, she could make out his figure, the tall, handsome man she had been deeply infatuated with. His name escaped her, but not his final words. 'I have to move on; it's what is best for you...' Then, he had left her. He had been an Auror; she remembered that.
Shaking her head, she clears the melancholy reverie and goes about cleaning the area of the store. This was good. Now, she could focus on herself. Get her life back on track to redemption. But the mistakes of her past haunted her, keeping her chained to an undeniable truth: she was a criminal. One that had escaped and was still wanted for her crimes. With a sigh, she went back inside and pondered her next move. Perhaps, her last.
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The cell was as small and damp as the witch remembered. From somewhere, there was a leak. The dripping of the water kept time with the groaning from prisoners around her. From the small window too high to reach, the crashing waves added to the music of the prison. Lifting her arms, the chains from her shackles sang. An orchestra of dread. Azkaban had not changed since the last time Heulwen had occupied a cell within the fortress. But she had. Instead of screaming, like the others, she sat back against the moist brick and closed her eyes. The spells and tinctures that had kept her looking youthful and pretty were wearing off, one by one, leaving her looking her age. The witch was nearing sixty but had kept the appearance of a woman in her early thirties. Now, there was no denying how much time had worn her out; her eyes were sunken, cheekbones were jutting out, but no wrinkles. Not so much as a crease. It was, sadly, proof that happiness had not touched her, no matter how pretty she made herself.
The sound of the cell door opening makes Heulwen look up. Just a guard.
'Up,' he instructed, and she did her best to rise to her feet.
It was difficult, with the shackles, but she managed.
'Just a few more questions, then you're free to rot.'
He led her to a room not better decorated than her cell, and there she sat and waited. They made her wait without even water for almost an hour. When the Auror came, supplied with a thick leather folder, he didn't even try to hide his disgust. Had there been an inkling of bravado left in her, Heulwen would have said something. Anything. But the witch just sat against the wall on a rickety bench, head lolling to the side with exhaustion. The gruel they fed her wasn't enough, and sleep was all she wanted to do. Even that was difficult with all the wailing and screaming in the surrounding cells.
'Heulwen Black,' the man started, flipping through the papers. 'Or is it Sunniva?'
"Black-Roku," she corrected hoarsely, "Roku is my family name, Black is..." She paused and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Heulwen Roku will do, if you must."
He gave a nod and crossed several things off the file, scribbling something on the page before locking his gaze on her. 'We almost had you some years ago, but your trail disappeared. Where did you go?'
"Nowhere. I...instructed one of your kind to remove the hints of my whereabouts."
"How?"
"The mind is strong, but the flesh is weak. Seduction, to put it mildly."
"Who?"
"I... I can't remember his name anymore. I can't remember his face..." she trails off, a note of sadness in her voice.
The nib of the quill scratches the parchment as something else is jotted down.
"You were a Death Eater for years, yet you evaded capture so meticulously."
"I was hiding in plain sight. I thought someday you Aurors would catch on. But you didn't, so I stopped looking over my shoulder."
A grunt and more writing.
"My manor, Chester Place, you will find evidence there of all my crimes. The butler is under the Imperius curse...he's just a muggle," she says, knowing nothing will change the life-long sentence ahead of her. "I don't mind what you do with the place. I have no family, no heirs to take over. It is just me and me alone." A lie, but her children, biological or not, would not go down with her. Not again. Never again.
"It's the Dementor's kiss for you, Roku; I'm sure you know that. Nothing you confess to will lessen the punishment." He paused. "It'll buy you a couple of days, but that's it. So, it's up to you how long you want to be spared."
"I'm not going to talk."
"You sure?"
There came a knock at the door, and a man stepped in, leaning in to whisper in the Auror's ear. A look of concern crosses his features, but it's gone before Heulwen thinks anything of it.
"Wait here."
Another hour passed until someone entered the room. That someone was not the Auror. Heulwen stared at the face, and took in the way he stood in front of the door. Oh. The man's hand twitches around the wand. She wasn't even going to beg or deny whatever wrong she had done.
'Don't think 'cause yer just sittin' there lookin' like a frail woman that I don't know what and who you are. Demon bitch,' he spat.
His wand hand rises. Heulwen meets his gaze. Defeat is written all over her face, and this man sees it. He sees she's not going to fight back, not going to try to run. The look on his face says it all; there's anger and satisfaction, justice burning to be inflicted. He couldn't have been older than twenty. So young, so furious. Who had she taken from him? Did it even matter? An apology wouldn't mean anything; in the moment, whatever she had done, there had been no remorse, and she wasn't going to feign it now.
"Steady your wand," the witch says, swallowing down the rising fear. She was scared, the survival instinct flaring like a wild animal; however, she gripped the edge of the bench to ground herself. To keep herself from running. "You have to mean it," Heulwen nods shakily, "Otherwise there's no point to whatever you did to get here. You stunned them, didn't you? The guards? They'll put you away for that. So mean it."
It happened quickly: the bright emerald green burst, the door flying open, the Aurors rushing in to tackle the intruder. It was the last thing she saw before it all went cold and dark. There was no montage of her life, no glimpses of happier times, only the edges of her consciousness going black. Heulwen had hoped, after receiving the Dementor's kiss, that someone would visit the empty shell that had once been a witch. But this? Death? It was a mercy she did not deserve.
