Drop, Drip, Drop, Drip, Drop...boom.

Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip...

Icarus von Pfetten was not an impatient man, far from it in fact, but as he stood within the walls of Azkaban he found himself feeling increasingly agitated though he blamed much of that on the ever looming presence of the Dementors just beyond the wooden door that was little to no protection from their poisonous influence. He was not a short man, in fact the opposite. He was a height greater than most of those he knew, swaying from side to side at a height of six foot six inches. He was lanky, having been so all his youth and wore his hair slicked back away from his face at a length that was just shy of his shoulders. His eyes were large, magnified by the half-moon spectacles he wore on the end of his nose, beneath which was a well-trimmed moustache, the same auburn colour as his hair. A sigh escaped his thin, pink lips and his gaze found the round, mocking face of his watch that once again reminded him that he was obligated to stay within the prison for another hour yet if he wished to receive his pay - a feat for anyone, not just a photographer. He was not new to the job but even after twenty years he could not get used to the screams; though, he wasn’t sure what was worse, the screams or when it all went silent.

The man sat down, finally relenting and dropping his body into one of the cleaner of the chairs sat around a table made of the same dark mahogany. His burgundy suit regrettably began to crease and he threw himself back up onto his feet, reaching around to wipe the back of his trousers just as the door opened, revealing him to the guards and the prisoner in a rather dishevelled fashion. von Pfetten whirled around, clapping his hands together and masking his horror with a smile that looked rather more like a grimace. He cleared his throat and looked at the guard who was giving him a rather queer look, unsure whether the man was sane or had lost his mind at some point between arriving and now. They’d been gone twenty minutes; that was all. It hadn’t been any great length of time. Granted they had been longer than they had first thought but it had not been the newly inducted prisoner that had given them trouble. In fact, it had been those in her neighbouring cells that had given them grief. She’d merely stared at them with her large sunken eyes, her gaze betraying not even a slither of emotion.

“You alright, von Pfetten?” One of the guards, a well-built young man perhaps in his late-twenties, early thirties, asked, his eyebrows having risen to the middle of his forehead. His voice was gruff, von Pfetten noted, like a sore throat only far scratchier, like the result of being in constant cold and then being thrown into stifling warmth. An occupational hazard, von Pfetten supposed. “von Pfetten?”

Icarus blinked, leaving his thoughts, and met the dark, testy eyes of the guard with his own fairer stare. He gave a short nod and stepped forward to the camera he had set up on his tri-pod within the first ten minutes of getting to Azkaban while the Head of Security had briefed him on what had changed and exactly what he should watch out for. Icarus couldn’t claim to have listened much but he knew the gist of it. Azkaban hadn’t changed that much. Security was tightened though, that’s what Icarus had noticed especially. The problems were still the same, though, and the faults that were large enough to begin with only seemed to gain a wider berth. There were many ways to get out of Azkaban - even in the high security cells. It was not quite the impenetrable fortress they all thought it to be.

“Icarus von Pfetten, meet Athena Goyle, our newest resident.”

The other guard’s words made Icarus look for the first time at the entrant in the grey and white prison uniform. She had already lost the glow of life that many retained weeks into their Azkaban sentence. She, he had been told, had only been there a week but rumours went around and it was suggested she didn’t have that lust for life to begin with, that she was already dead inside. Looking at her as he did in that moment, von Pfetten could see why such rumours would be circulated. She was a shadow of a human being; her emaciated frame swallowed whole by the uniform that he was sure was the smallest size they stocked. Her skin was of the palest of whites he’d ever seen and her tiny wrists were shackled with chains that she struggled to drag along behind her but did so with a clenched jaw, finding no other way to struggle through it. Her hair was longer than the initial pictures in the Daily Prophet had shown it to be. The curls were unruly, no longer the neatly pressed ringlets von Pfetten remembered seeing in the newspaper. She was a creature the Ministry never should have condemned to Azkaban but the government had never been known well for its sense of justice - especially under the Lupins, though von Pfetten kept that opinion particularly close to the chest.

“Good Morning.” Icarus’ voice seemed out of place and far too light and airy for the liquid streaked walls, floors and ceilings of the prison, the liquid said to be tears rather than anything less sanitary: the tears of past and present inmates, those that never made it out alive and those that were doomed to the same fate.

The girl didn’t reply. She was merely marched into place in front of the window that had been sealed off a decade or so before. von Pfetten could recall the trial of trying to settle Augustus Rookwood down long enough for the picture to be taken. The sight of the world beyond the sodden stone walls of Azkaban had struck Rookwood in a way that no one cared to speak of again. The guards had been quick to block up the window but the damage had been done and once the picture had been taken no one had been in a particular hurry to tear away the wood they’d used to steal the world from the view of the prisoners. He was used to the screaming of the prisoners as they came in contact with something as close to the outside world as possible: him. He was used to the insanity of it all. What he was not used to was the silence that had engulfed this one. She merely stared at him with wide, knowing eyes. She took her gaze from his and he followed her line of sight to the chains she shook with laboured shakes of her wrists.

“Look this way, Ms. Goyle. Yes, that’s right. Stay there...”

Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip...

“You had your picture taken?”

Athena glanced away momentarily from the water that dripped in intermittent showers from the ceiling. Her eyes found the source of the voice and narrowed when she found that once again, Tiberius Bishop had spoken out of turn. Athena did not dignify his inane question with a response, she merely stared coldly at him before turning her gaze back to the window where, if she arched her neck far enough, she could see the darkening sky. Tiberius Bishop had been resigned to Azkaban for no good reason, or so he claimed. In reality he was a mere petty thief, or so he liked people to think if they were to know any truth at all. In fact, the burly fifty-something year old man had tried to assassinate a past Minister in his youth, though he kept that rather close to the chest. He wore the Dark Mark, though. That was what had initially sparked Athena’s interest but she could no longer bring herself to care. The unkempt, insufferable individual was not a concern of hers. She was a concern of his, it seemed though. Tiberius had taken it upon himself to try and look after the unwilling Goyle girl. She seemingly wanted nothing to do with him though, she preferred just to stare into nothing.

Tiberius reached for the piece of crusty bread he’d been given hours before, the last piece that his stomach had so desperately wished to consume. After the bowl of gruel though, he couldn’t bear to force it down and so he saved it for someone more in need of it - Athena. It was a tiny loaf, one that barely fit in the palm of his hand though he supposed it would dwarf the girl’s tiny feminine ones. Curling his fingers around one of the bars, Tiberius pulled himself across the slick, cobbled floor and reached out towards Athena’s cell. The girl regarded him for a moment and tipped her head to the side minutely. She considered him carefully before lowering herself from where she was standing to her knees, disregarding her earlier desire to keep as dry as possible in the cell.

Her fingers groped for the bread and Tiberius found releasing it much harder than he had first thought it would be. He retracted his hand hesitantly and watched as the girl passed the bread between her hands. He was right; it did dwarf them. Carelessness made the bread slip from Athena’s hand and she stopped, her hands still outstretched in front of her, as the bread rolled away to sit between their cells, out of their reach.

“No thank you.” Athena replied softly, making her action seemingly deliberate. “I’m full.”

Liar, her mind accused.

Had Kendall the ability to afford greater attention, the boy would have noticed the looks he was getting from the prison warden. With every turn of a corner, the troll of a man would steal wary glances at the boy. Kendall, however, was dealing with the strange compulsion that commanded all of his attention. This was Azkaban. He was in Azkaban – the place that, oddly, haunted his nightmares. It was fortunate that he had no clue about the man who led Augustus Rookwood to his desolate cell seventeen years ago. Yet, the man seemed to have a clue who Kendall was. The glances continued, averting each time Kendall could almost take notice of them.

It was very cold, and the rain certainly made matters worse. The robe that kept Kendall warm stayed on. The boy reached a hand up to re-arrange the hair that sat on his head. The rain had soaked through it thoroughly, and he slicked all of it back, away from his face. He shivered – a reflexive response to the blood-curling scream in hearing distance. Kendall gulped, as his steps took on a feigned sort of steadiness, laden with the uncertainty of a person who was coerced to walk the plank towards an open sea of hungry sharks. There was nothing quite like Azkaban. The boy made a conscious effort to keep the trepidation out of his movements.

Everything looked and felt and smelled like his father had said. Uncertain, Kendall wondered about his decision. While the news of Athena’s arrest and sentence still allowed him capacity for amusement, the reality of Azkaban took it away from him. Memories of his father’s stories enhanced his unadmitted fear of the place. It was, however, a personal dare. Kendall trudged on. A drop of water ran down his cheek. He reached and slapped it lightly. The alarm from that slight water droplet movement had dislodged him. For that split second, he had thought it to be the blood of some hideous-looking creature.

The gleam from the water puddles that occasioned his path was reflected in the ominous eyes of deranged prisoners that made up the spectacle of Azkaban for Kendall. He attempted to find the part of him who sought the pleasure of such. Yet, he struggled. The place scared him, and the fact that it did annoy him. It was as if he needed to be reminded about the fact that he was still human, and that his fears were real. He could have gone on pretending, if not for today – pretend that Azkaban was a myth that wouldn’t find him. But he had set his mind to it. He was going to visit, with fear or not.

He was incredibly lost in his thoughts, struggling too with confronting the reality of Azkaban all around him. There was no escape. Well, he could. He could signal for a leave, demand to be led out … but he stood his ground. Kendall was, however, sick to the stomach. The breaths he took became laboured, and he concentrated intently on them. A sharp turn and an offended grunt brought his sense back to … Azkaban. The guard had to suffer a step at his heel as Kendall failed to notice a pause in motion.

Ignoring the displeasure on the other man’s face, Kendall turned to his left, unimpressed at his first glance, and then turned to his right. At the sight of an obese filth of a man in the right cell, the boy sneered and turned away in disgust. Yet, he followed the man’s line of attention, back to the left cell of unremarkable details. And then, suddenly, it hit him. The guard was waiting expectantly for his acknowledgement. Kendall blinked and stared at the shaded figure.

“Athena?”

A grunt of ironic approval sounded from the guard, who seemed amused now, now that he was speculating about the relationship of his prisoner and the visitor. Without a word, he shoved a rather stunned Kendall into the girl’s cell. And then, a summoning of a chair with a flick of the wand … for himself. With another grunt, he settled himself between the cells of Athena Goyle and Tiberius Bishop. Kendall blinked and stared, before swallowing the ball at this throat.

“Please tell me you haven’t had shenanigans with Mr. Troll out there.” He chuckled nervously, immediately doubting that his random selection of a conversation starter was going to amuse the girl even by a tiny bit.

Tiberius Bishop had been a resident in Azkaban prison for near enough ten years after Aurors finally caught up with him and made him punishable for his crimes. Prior to his sentence he had a wife and children; four to be precise, three sons and his daughter. They had all been killed shortly before, during a Ministry raid on Death Eater residences. The subsequent attacks he and other Death Eaters had made on Aurors had cost them their freedom. He and Alistair D’Eath had been particularly blighted though the Ministry struggled to find evidence to truly sentence the latter of the two, resulting in a longer period of time before the man was finally sentenced - six years in fact. Tiberius had spent much of his time alone, his cellmate having died not a month after his arrival. Soon, once those in the neighbouring cells had lost enough brain cells to make relinquishing their souls to Dementors seem like a good idea, he was alone. It hadn’t been until a young girl of perhaps seventeen - nearing eighteen - had been deposited into the cell opposite his own that he had gained anything that could be called company.

Not that she wanted to talk to him much, mind you.

Athena Goyle, Bishop observed, was not a woman that liked to share stories. She remained silent for most of the time, only speaking if necessary and even when she did it was usually only to utter her name to a leery guard whose wife would applaud his charity. She had managed to put more than a few guards in their place and though Bishop remained largely as quiet as she did when they were around, he couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride once the guard in question was outwitted by the girl, his package insulted, and sent on his way. The oncoming footsteps made Bishop wonder if this was another strapping young lad turned guard, fresh from Hogwarts looking for someone to bury himself into in the worst place in the world. In fact, it wasn’t. It was a guard, but one of the older ones, accompanied by a lad that looked to be still in Hogwarts. He walked with purpose, though understandably seemed a little put off by the place.

Bishop looked over at Athena and cleared his throat, gesturing up the corridor before grumbling out, “Looks like you’ve got visitors, poppet.”

His eyes on the bright creature before him, Bishop met the gaze of the boy that looked momentarily in his direction, disdain written across his face. It was then that Bishop placed him. He was Rookwood’s son. How quaint. Bishop’s gaze fell back to Athena, the girl that had been overlooked by the boy at a first glance. Bishop could see why, not that it was anything detrimental to her. She blended well with the black brick of the cell. Her eyes followed he water that flowed from the roof, occasionally scarlet with blood from the inmate above who had a penchant for assaulting the guards. Athena had looked up at the sound of footsteps and the look on her face told Bishop that she was not glad to see Rookwood’s boy at all. Bishop couldn’t blame her. He had nerve, that Bishop gave him credit for, but he was arrogant and moronic for showing up in such bright robes.

The sound of her name seemed to echo multiple times down the corridor and Bishop turned his eyes to the girl again. She rose from where she was perched on her bed and dropped the blanket she’d had around her shoulders. The ball and chain tumbled from the bed, yanking violently on her ankles. She did not cry out, and for that Bishop once again felt a stab of pride. She greeted him like she would have done had she been in the parlour of her home. There was one missing ingredient though - bar the tea - she did not look at home in the place, most certainly not, and she seemed to be desperate to avoid his gaze.

“Rookwood...” Athena’s voice was scratchy, hollow and raw - from what, though, she did not know. “What a nice... wait no, scratch that.” Athena laughed callously. “This is Azkaban, why the need for pleasantries? What in Merlin’s name are you doing here, Kendall?”

The guard coughed, uncomfortable suddenly, and Bishop dragged himself to his feet, suddenly desperate to make himself useful. Somehow, though he did not know how, he managed to convince the guard he had an owl and so his cell door was open, the ball and chain transfigured into cuffs, and the guard locked Athena’s cell, regrettably making his way across the prison with Bishop, giving the couple privacy as a result. Athena watched Bishop go, warming to him all of a sudden. Her eyes fell to the bread in the middle of the corridor and wished she’d taken it. Next time, she promised herself, if he extended such kindness she would not be quick to throw it back at him. She wouldn’t at all, she decided. She’d thank him, toss some back even... in thanks.

Athena looked at Kendall and winced from the brightness of the robes. “Don’t you have something better to be doing with your time?”

As soon as it was established that the disappearing frame belonged to that of Athena Goyle, Kendall could not help with the rather offensive stare he was affecting. He could certainly still spout the same sort of teasing annoyance, but the bewilderment had compelled his words to lose their conviction. What a sight. Once again, Kendall had to wonder about the compulsion that came over him; him making an appearance at Azkaban. Azkaban, the one and possibly only place he feared. Still, he had turned up. He was, at that point, rather proud of himself. Him, at Azkaban. How’s that for overcoming one’s fears? Yet, he couldn’t stop the need to snug his coat tighter around him, embarrassingly needing it to lend him a sort of security against the coldness of the place.

At the girl’s words, a smirk appeared uncertainly, but settled after a moment of hesitation. Bothered by the dislodging of his usual confidence, Kendall scowled before enforcing the strength of the smirk on his face, as if the trivial action itself could exercise some sort of nerve. “This is Azkaban …” The repetition contained an incredulity that was mixed with the fear of the place that Augustus had unknowingly instilled in his son through years of elaboration and exaggeration of the atrocities of the place. With his eyes still intently on the girl, he opened his mouth for another try at that sentence, before the distraction of movement behind him. Turning, he watched solemnly as the other prisoner was led away from the cell.

Without further thought, Kendall turned his attention back to Athena. The stark contrast of his attire and the darkness of the cell (or rather, the place) was not lost on him. While it was initially a deliberate act of irony, he was beginning to have second thoughts about it. Still, he summoned himself to the usual humour table he fed at, attempting to block out the overpowering discomfort to return to it.

“Well, it’s too bad that what’s better to be doing with my time … is you.” Kendall smirked. Hesitantly, he took a step closer to Athena. “Great story, though. Nothing short of the heroics I’d expect of you.” He chuckled. “Great story to tell our children, eh?” The chuckle continued. He had, after all, managed to still be the greatest fan of his humour. "Are you going to fault a man for braving through Azkaban to see his woman?" A grin; an extension of his need to continue pushing the limits with Athena.

The consistent drip, drip, drip was beginning to grate on Athena’s nerves. She winced with every sound of the splash against the stone and her eyes burned with distaste as she turned them on Kendall, wildly daring him to say something to her - anything - that would set her off. He didn’t disappoint, either. Athena’s fists clenched by her sides and she looked at him with obvious disbelief, her mind reminding her, chastising her for her stupidity. Athena recoiled once she realised, reeling as if she had been burnt by his words. She moved slightly, her ankles protesting with every step, and turned her back on him, her arms winding around her body as she reminded herself. This was Kendall Rookwood. What did she honestly expect? Understanding? Sympathy? Some sort of affection? Honestly? Yes. She did. She had to lie though, to convince herself she was not yet broken. She didn’t expect it at all, she tried to tell herself. She knew he’d be this way.

“Heroics,” Athena scoffed, her grip tightening on her upper arms. “Hardly.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d wanted from him now. This was familiar territory, reassuring, but she couldn’t help but remember the night on the Knight Bus, after the party. An entirely different Kendall Rookwood had accompanied her then, soothed her then. That was something completely trivial though. This...this was an issue. It was problematic. Yet he stood there, chuckling at his own pathetic attempts to lighten the situation. Athena felt her heart tumble into her stomach, a heavy dead weight making her feel sick inside out. Her eyes specked a little with moisture but she swallowed them back, desperately trying to tell herself she’d expelled all of her tears. Not yet though, it seemed. There were more to come, threatening to burst forth and rat her out to be as weak as her appearance suggested.

“Brave?” Athena hissed, turning around, her eyes wide and accusing. “Brave? What have you ever done that is brave? Coming to Azkaban? Hardly brave.” Athena laughed humourlessly and shook her head. “Get out, Kendall. You have made a wasted trip.”

A wail sounded from afar. The walls, worn and stained by the ordeals of Azkaban, carried the ebb and flow of the cry. When it first pricked his ears, Kendall pulled his robe even tighter around him. Even in the darkness, there were flashes from his memory – parts that could never be put away. The earliest memory of his father had been a nightmare. Augustus, having had himself convicted the year that Cordelia found herself pregnant with their first baby, returned when the boy was four. While Cordelia had attempted to hide her son from the dreadful sight of her husband’s first return, given the boy’s tender age, Augustus had made a ruckus as he insisted to see his first-born. Kendall closed his eyes. He remembered the fear and confusion that had gripped him at the sight of the monstrosity of a stranger who had a lethal grasp of his shoulders as he was picked up and forced into an embrace that reeked of blood and a foul smell of decay. Even as the current relationship between father and son made their first meeting unrecognisable, Kendall could never forget.

The memory of Augustus Rookwood almost thirteen years ago etched in his mind, and the reality of Azkaban was compelling the swirl of mental images that was hurting Kendall’s mind. The stories of his father that added to the already monstrous sight of his first memory, the looks and the cries of prisoners he had passed, and an imagination that placed his father in all of their places … Kendall finally opened his eyes again, forcing his attention on Athena, then wondering, almost immediately if it was a wise decision to be here at all. Athena was still Athena, but he merely knew that from the response she was returning to him. It wasn’t long, but the girl was already plagued by the character of Azkaban in her appearance. Still, Kendall could recognise her. That wasn’t so bad then, was it?

It was only after the wailing got louder that Kendall realised that it wasn’t a cry at all. No, the wail was hardly a desperate call for rescue or protest against the injustice of the Azkaban ordeal. Nope. Someone was singing what sounded like a medley, ranging from the sweetest of lullabies to the most patriotic of anthems. There was, unfortunately, no way of blocking the sound of it. It didn’t help that the voice was getting louder as the singer became increasingly passionate in his tune. Kendall affected a look of disdain. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Azkaban; he didn’t need reminders of the madness that possessed his father when he was so very young.

When he finally returned his mind to matters at hand, Kendall found, to the least of his amusement, the receiving end of an accusation that he thought hardly deserved to even have been levelled at him. But, of course, no one knew of his fear of Azkaban. Perhaps Augustus did. After all, it was his influence. Kendall took a deep breath as he bore his eyes into the look on the girl’s face. “You like it, don’t you? You love underestimating me, don’t you>” He smirked as he looked at the chains that bound the girl. And then, he took further steps to close the gap between him and Athena. “But, look. I’m here. I’m not the one in chains. I’m staying, and you can’t make me leave.” And in that moment, his temper cooled. Kendall blinked and stared at the girl. “Heroics, yes. Yes, they are. Could have waited until we’re done with Hogwarts, though. The school is dreadful without that lovely face.” As soon as Kendall had gestured slightly to Athena, he turned and chuckled, more for effect than for amusement.

“So, enjoying yourself, Goyle?” He found himself withdrawing again from the small show of whatever affection a Rookwood could muster.

This was not something that Athena could ever forgive Kendall for. She shuddered, the relentless wind that billowed in through the windows clawing at her frame, freezing her blood in her veins. She turned but immediately wished she hadn’t, the brightness of his robes making her eyes sting. She turned away from him again, determined to ignore him. He was right, she realised, she was the one in chains. That didn’t, however, mean that she had to listen to him ramble. So, in an Athena like fashion, she heaved the ball across the floor, making no effort to really lift it from the floor, and threw herself down into the bed, ignoring the way the strings of the mattress protested at the miniscule weight her body added to its surface. It was itchy, the uniform, in ridiculous places. The bed exacerbated the itchiness and made it impossible for her to relax but she dealt with it without so much as moving a muscle in her face, determined not to give him the satisfaction. She was in Azkaban, yes, but the cell was her castle and he was still the pauper.

Underestimating Kendall wasn’t something Athena routinely did as she didn’t expect anything of him so there was really no room to underestimate him. This was not something she’d thought he’d do in a million years. She didn’t think she mattered that much to him. She mentally scolded herself at that thought. He didn’t care. It was errant of her to believe such nonsense. Athena wanted to believe that he cared about her, she so desperately wanted to believe it; but she knew better than to assume. Sighing, Athena brought her hand to her face and closed her eyes, the movement of her arm making the shirt of the prison uniform shift slightly so as to reveal her collar bone and the five-digit serial number that would forever mark her and provide those that cared to look, information she wished to hide from prying eyes. Athena turned onto her side, her eyes finding the familiar black brick of the sodden wall before her bed. She’d pulled the cot away from it after the first night, having woken up soaking wet. She’d since been having drier nights but would often be woken by water dripping onto her face. The blankets helped some.

“Go away, Kendall.” She whispered, closing her eyes and hoping against hope that he’d take a hint. “Go back to school. Get yourself some silly Ravenclaw to shag and get on with your existence. Do me a favour. Just leave.”

It was odd how he found a certain kind of comfort, from the affronts of Azkaban, in the presence of Athena. While she certainly didn't look like she appreciated his visit, he appreciated the very current fact that he was with her. True, she was seemingly powerless without her wand. Yet, whether by a natural aura or his accustomed expectation of her, Kendall couldn't deny the increasing alleviation of his worries as he trained his attention on Athena. He eyed her, curious about the effect she was having on him. Watching her respond to his antagonistic attempts, Kendall smirked as he contemplated joining her. After all, some sitting down should do good to the embarrassing tremour in his knees.

"Azkaban doesn't cooperate with glamour, does it?" Then, boldly, he sat himself down on the bed near Athena, merely glancing up for a second to check for the warden. Kendall lifted a hand as he reached for the girl's cheek, daring himself to trace her jawbone even in the angered state that she was in. 'You don't mean that ..." A grin. "I mean, I made the journey; cared enough ..." But quickly, "well, you know, I'm only on a duty to look after what belongs to me, after all." And a smirk. "No Ravenclaw, silly or wise, will be as satisfying as watching you, Goyle." Kendall licked his lips.and eyed her teasingly before he continued.

"Nothing? No affection for an old friend?" Kendall shook his head in mock disapproval. "Nothing for the man you're going to bear children for then?" And, fearing Athena's reaction, Kendall quickly leaned in to plant an unlikely kiss on the girl's lips. He was pushing his limits, and quite certainly hers. It was, however, precisely the challenge presented that drove him, as usual.

Athena couldn’t help but scoff at Kendall’s words but she was beginning to feel somewhat secure with them. The lines were as poor as usual but with each sentence that was delivered, Athena felt her body relaxing as her sub-conscious realised that it was in fact a friend that was with her in the cell - not an enemy. Once that was established the need to touch him made her fingers tingle. She wanted the heat of his body, she realised. She wanted to feel the burn of her icy fingers against his skin that would feel like fire by comparison. Athena would not allow herself such a luxury, though. She refused to even dignify his words with a response. She merely stared at her hands, willing them to stop tingling, pleading with the chains to break also. Her status as a prisoner unworthy of magic binding left her still hyper-aware of her core but she did not know how to use it. The hours spent with her magic bound left her dizzy and confused, the magic that crackled around her now unsure as to how to conduct itself.

The brunette’s eyes narrowed at his words and she opened her mouth to correct that she was not his and she had no plans what so ever to have his children. But before she had the opportunity to spit back her retort to him, his lips covered hers and the words died in her throat as the heat surged from him into her, making her feel more alive than she had in weeks. Athena’s hand found his cheek and her fingers wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, relishing in the softness of it.

The clink of the chains and the violent tug on her wrists made Athena pull away from him, her left hand coming to grasp the cuff around her right wrist. She pushed at it, getting a glimpse of the skin that was red raw beneath. She gasped and closed her eyes as the metal dug into the trenches it’d made in her skin, her eyes watering slightly with the agony of it. Athena bit her lip and shrunk back from Kendall, bringing her wrist to her chest. The heat, she noticed, had long since left her body.

“Sorry.” She whispered after a moment once she’d gotten her bearings back - but obviously not if she was apologising. How unseemly of her. Athena licked her lips, finding them suddenly dry, and reopened her eyes to peek at Kendall through her eyelashes. She didn’t quite know what she was sorry for. A number of things, she supposed. For not being pleased to see him. For not showing him the affection he deserved. For breaking the kiss. For being silly enough to land herself in Azkaban in the first place. For killing her step-mother. For not pleasing her father. For ruining everything.

Kendall adjusted his robes. The joke of its appearance didn’t humour him so much now. Rather than make a mockery out of the place, it merely stood out sorely, providing no escape from the weight of Azkaban. Annoyed, he removed them, preferring to confront the cold with the immense heat that his body seemed to be giving out. Kendall watched Athena curiously as she studied her wrists, then smirked at the almost immediate memory of what occurred seconds ago. It didn’t, however, take long before the expression on the boy’s face changed to one of sheer disbelief. He opened his mouth slightly, as if he had to speak out the incredulity, but shut it and continued to eye the girl. Kendall frowned as he licked his lips and attempted to reconcile Athena’s apology to whatever reason his head could feed him to explain the unlikely event.

Attempting to put on his usual show of cheekiness again, Kendall grinned and shifted as he edged himself closer and closer towards Athena, so that he found himself seated next to her, so close that she was not given the liberty to move any further towards the end of her bed. He couldn’t believe that she apologised. Perhaps she needed reminding about who she was, and he was ever ready to help push her buttons again. Yet, as soon as he had moved, Kendall caught the look on Athena’s face. Almost sub-consciously, he mirrored the look on her face, as bewilderment consumed the thoughts in his mind.

“Goyle,” he pronounced, as if the simple sound of her father’s name could possibly bring her back to herself. Then he looked away, directing his eyes to the floor in front of him. Running his fingers absent-mindedly through his hair, Kendall propped both of his elbows at the top of his knees, before bringing both hands together. Rubbing them as he thought, the boy turned his head sideways to catch yet another glimpse of the Athena who, for the first time, he wondered if he could recognise. “Athena.” This time, the tone in his voice bore little semblance to the usual one. He watched her, concerned with the change.

“I came to see you.” It was possibly one of the silliest statements he had made. Still, Kendall continued to look at Athena in an odd fashion. He wished for silence. It would have been better than the lack of words in the cell, but the perturbing wailing that was going on in some quarter of Azkaban. Kendall cleared his throat. Then, he lifted his elbows from his knees, and made a quick lean towards Athena. “Well?” He kissed her again.