Fury

Fury

Chapter Eleven

Caged

She sat against the wall of her tiny cell, feeling the cool stone against her back through the thin fabric of the jail robes. They were unflattering, to say the least, and her sister Isabelle would have had a fit. She didn't know how long she had been in the cell, since there was no clock. It had been four meals, at least, and that had to mean something.

~*~

She had talked to Harry, with the occasional question from Ron, for almost three hours, with none of them getting anywhere. Harry had sighed, finally stopping the quill, and motioned Ron forward.

"I'm sorry, Cate, but you'll have to stay here at least tonight. Ron, bring her down to the cells?"

Ron had been taking her, rather gently, to the cells below the Auror Department, where those waiting for trial or transport were held, when he was stopped by two burly men- both at least as tall as he was but twice as wide- and two women. One was Demetria Brooke; the other, plumper, older, and with a slightly sweeter face under a cap of snowy white hair, Cate recognized from the newspaper. She had a column every month, listing werewolf safety tips, right before the full moon. Her name, according to the Daily Prophet, was Vivienne Winslow, head of the Werewolf Services Office. From the satisfaction on Demetria's face, this wouldn't be good for Cate.

The woman had a low, pleasant voice that hid an edge of pure steel. "Auror Weasley, please hand over the prisoner to my men. You have no jurisdiction in this matter."

Ron looked surprised, but was polite, something he had struggled to be with Demetria. "Madame Winslow, I'm afraid that you're mistaken. She is a suspect in a murder case; clearly, this is for Aurors, not your office."

Vivienne Winslow crossed thin arms over an ample chest and raised her eyebrows. "Shall I talk with your superior officer about your rudeness, Mr. Weasley? This girl is an unregistered werewolf, and should be held by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures until it is decided what should be done with her."

Ron shrugged. "I wasn't told to hand her over to you; on the contrary, I was told to place her in our cells."

Cate was beginning to feel like a toy held between two very large dogs.

"Is there a problem here?" asked a rough, gravelly voice from behind.

Cate tried to turn to look, but Ron held her tightly. His jaw was tense, but he didn't look scared, or angry; just determined. "No, sir. No problem."

A squat man with thin lips and arms like a gorilla stomped up the corridor. Cate felt her eyes widen as she recognized him- Gawain Robards, the head of the Aurors. He had held the position for the last seven years, something that had surprised a lot of people. He wasn't known for his tact, after all, but was said to be the best dueler the department had seen since Mad-Eye Moody.

Robards was followed by Harry, who looked grim. He stared down at Vivienne Winslow, who gave him a small smile. "What do you want, Vivienne?"

She stared up at him, not at all intimidated. "I would like to take this unregistered werewolf to the cells in my Department, Gawain. I am unsure as to the problem. Mr. Weasley seems to think that you have jurisdiction in this matter."

Robards looked at Ron with a glare and said, "Weasley?"

Before Ron could say a word, Demetria Brooke thrust herself forward with a grim look. "Mr. Robards, I believe I know what the conflict is."

Her superior's expression tightened slightly, but Cate thought Robards didn't notice. "Yes, Miss..."

"Demetria Brooke, sir," she said is a crisp tone. "Miss Moon has been living with Mr. Weasley's brother for the past several weeks. I believe he and Mr. Potter, as the husband of another Weasley, have a conflict of interest."

There were two gasps, followed by garbled and overriding explanations from both Harry and Ron; Ron, in particular, looking like he wanted nothing more than to knock the smirk off of Demetria's face.

Robards held up a meaty hand, silencing them. "Miss Brooke," he began, and she straightened herself, looking like a cat with its fur being stroked. "There is a time and a place for accusations of that magnitude. If you knew this before the interview, you should have informed your superiors and followed the proper channels. Miss Moon is wanted for questioning by the Aurors, and so she will stay in our cells. If you have a problem," he said, this time looking directly at Vivienne Winslow, "Take it up with my Department Head. Until then, you and your escorts may leave my division."

Vivienne gave him a look that spoke volumes, but apparently only to Robards, who shrugged dismissively, spun on his heels and stalked back into his office. Ron, backed by Harry, watched as Vivienne gathered her entourage, including a seething Demetria, and left the Auror division. It wasn't until a minute after they were gone that Ron grabbed her arm again and began to march her downstairs. This time, Harry followed.

Cate waited until they were in an empty elevator- apparently, one that was only authorized for use by Aurors and detainees- before she spoke up. "Thank you for not letting them take me. I'm sorry that you got in trouble."

Ron barked a laugh. "We're not in trouble."

Cate glanced up at both of them, confused. "But, I thought..."

Harry shook his head. "We told Robards of our association with you when he sent us to collect you."

Ron grinned. "We're also the ones that reported the problem..."

"But that's neither here nor there," Harry interrupted firmly. "He knew and put it in his initial report, so it doesn't look like favoritism."

Ron grunted. "He also really doesn't like Vivienne Winslow."

Harry nodded, reluctantly it seemed. "No, and I can see why, but that doesn't excuse her behavior. She knew we had jurisdiction. I wouldn't be surprised if that Brooke woman got a reprimand, though. It looked like she hadn't told Vivienne about our relationship with you, Cate."

Cate was surprised to learn that she even had a relationship with them, and said so. "I'm not even really dating George," she added. "I'm just..."

Ron smirked. "Living with my brother until your apartment has been de-cursed. Not like you don't have anywhere else to go."

Cate frowned. "What do you know about it?"

Harry stopped them before it could go any further, and said, "I'm sure we have no opinion as Aurors, Cate, which is the only opinion we should have right now, Ron."

Ron nodded, and they all jumped as the elevator lurched to a halt. Ron pushed Cate ahead of him, down a long gray corridor with doors on either side, each numbered. They stopped in front of door twenty-four, and Harry tapped it with his wand. The door creaked open, revealing a tiny stone room with a cot in one corner and a toilet and sink in the other. A set of robes were folded on the cot, the number six-oh-one in neat numbers on the shoulder. Harry and Ron both blushed, but it was Ron who spoke first.

"Could you, uh...could you disrobe, please, and get into those?" He pointed at the gray jail robes, ears bright crimson.

Cate found herself blushing as well, which was ridiculous, because they were Aurors, and she was going to be in jail. "Could you, um, turn around, at least?"

Harry and Ron both looked at each other before spinning on their heels and facing the blank gray wall. Cate disrobed quickly and slipped the jail robes over her head, folding George's clothing into a neat pile. "Here," she said, handing it to a still blushing Ron.

Harry seemed to recover quickly. "You'll be down here for a couple of days, I think, while everything is being settled. You can have visitors, but they'll be closely monitored. Is there anyone you want me to tell of your whereabouts?"

Cate thought for a moment. "George, for one. I don't want him to do anything stupid. My grandmother, Elspeth; she can tell my family for me. My boss, Madame Pine. Oh, and my brother, Nathan. He's out of the country on business, and he doesn't ever listen when my grandmother firecalls; she wouldn't write this in a letter." She turned away, before muttering, "Thanks," under her breath.

The door closed behind her.

~*~

There was a knock at the door. Cate sat bolt upright from a deep sleep, one where she was chased endlessly around a cave by an unknown assailant. She stood quickly, straightening her hair as best she could.

The door opened, and she backed against the wall, watching as an Auror, one she thought she recognized, walked in. "You have a visitor," he said, motioning her forward, wand held casually in one hand.

Cate felt her heart pick up, and moved quickly until the Auror called for her to slow down. He led her into a long room filled with shower stalls, and pointed at one. A stream of hot water shot out of the showerhead, and he motioned her forward, turning so that she was in his peripheral vision.

She blushed hotly, but didn't say anything as she stripped quickly and flung herself behind the shower curtain. It had been days since she had had a hot shower. At least, she thought it had been. Since her cell had neither clock nor window, she had a difficult time keeping track. It felt like it had been four or five days; she thought that it was probably half that.

When she was finished, the Auror, without turning, handed her a towel. She quickly dried, and handed it back; he replaced it with a fresh set of jail robes and a tie for her hair. She was barefoot; apparently, shoes were dangerous when you were trapped in a tiny room.

The Auror, who hadn't spoken since he had opened her cell, led her to a door. He tapped it, and it opened into another long gray corridor. Every door had to be tapped with a wand, it appeared, and she had the feeling that if it weren't the correct wand, or the correct number of taps, something very bad would happen to the person doing the tapping.

They walked down several more corridors before coming to a door with a window in it and no number. He tapped it again, and this time motioned for her to go first. She did, a little hesitantly, seeing a metal table and a few chairs in the room. He pulled out one of the chairs, motioned for her to sit, and tapped it with his wand. Then he waited behind her chair, arms crossed, wand in one hand.

The was a knock at the other door, and her Auror called out, "Ready."

The door opened, and she sat straighter, expecting her grandmother, perhaps with her father in tow, or maybe her brother. There was a chance, very slight, that it was her sister with her fiancé, but she doubted that Isabelle would subject herself to the humiliation. Her Auror put a hand on her shoulder; she hadn't even realized that she was rising.

And then George walked in, alone.

She felt a surge of disappointment, and then anger at being disappointed. They weren't dating; he had let her live with him for a few weeks during a tough time; that was all. But he had been good to her, and he couldn't help that he wasn't family.

She noticed that he had a glare on his face that he cleared away as soon as he saw her. Then he saw the Auror standing behind her. She thought he might get angry again, as he had the last time Aurors had been near her, but his face lit up.

"Neville?"

Her Auror grinned back. "Hey, George. Long time, no see."

George held out a hand, and Neville shook it with the one not holding a wand. He never really took his eyes off of her. She stared at the two of them as they chatted about inconsequential things.

Neville. That must be Neville Longbottom. She had heard, in the gossip pages, that he had joined the Aurors, who had been impressed by his antics during that year You-Know-Who had controlled Hogwarts. She herself had never been brave enough, but Leo...

The boys patted each other on the back and George sat down, waiting until Neville had left the room.

She sat there, staring at him for what felt like forever, before he finally broke the silence. "How are you?"

She glanced down at her hands. "Could be better, I suppose."

There was another awkward silence before George stood up, made his way around the table, and flung his arms around her. She stiffened for a second before melting in his arms and sobbing. He held her as she cried, and when she was done, pulled the chair around the table and sat next to her, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"Better?" he asked, his fingers tracing circles on her shoulder.

She took a deep breath. "Actually, yes. Thank you." She leaned closer. "I don't want you to think that I'm not grateful that you're here, because I really, really am, but I thought you might be my parents, or at least my brother."

George straightened, and she could feel the tension in his body. Looking up at his face, she frowned. "What?"

He sighed. "I talked to your family, as soon as I knew what was going on. Hell, even Harry and Ron talked to them." He took a deep, shaky breath. "They're not coming. They won't visit you in jail, and I think your grandmother even forbade them from coming to the trial. Something about family honor."

Cate sat up straight, eyes wide. "What?"

George looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together, before meeting her eyes. "I tried, Cate, I really did. I think your brother would have broken the rules for you if he had been there, but your father sent him on another business meeting, to Australia, I think, before it hit the news. Your dad wanted to visit, see how you were, but your mother and grandmother stood firm. I don't even think your cousins were told. I begged them to come and see you. That's why I haven't come sooner; I thought it would be rude to see you before them."

Cate turned away. "She actually forbade them to come?" she asked in a whisper.

George nodded. "I'm sorry, Cate. I wish I had better news."

She shrugged, standing and facing the wall. "That's fine. I was hoping... no, that's alright."

George stood up and walked over to her, putting his arms around her waist. "I haven't known you very long, Cate, but I can tell when you're upset. If you need anything..."

She shook her head, refusing to be drawn in to his warmth. "No. I'm fine."

He opened his mouth, and closed it again. "I am sorry."

She felt her body respond, and forced the warmth and happiness away. "I know. It's not your fault."

~*~

The rest of the visit was awkward, with sentences short and jerky, and neither really saying anything else. She found out that she had been in jail for three days, and that each day the Daily Prophet released some part of her story.

It was all over the news, now, her being a werewolf. Her family was shamed, her friends, the very few who had stuck by her, would surely desert her, and George...when his family knew what she was, they would demand that he leave her, and find a nice girl who didn't have so much baggage. It wouldn't be hard for him; they hadn't actually been properly dating, after all, so his image would be untarnished. He might even come out ahead, since the Daily Prophet was painting him as a victim of her wiles. It would have been easier to deal with, if her family had come.

If it hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed.