The male prisoner that had had such a strong reaction to the realization that her own father had indeed drugged her convinced her that it had to be Rob. It did sound like his voice pattern, even if the face seemed strange. She looked at Brian's face for confirmation, and he nodded, handing her her bag which she automatically slung up on her right shoulder with the one hand that didn't react now with sharp pain.
She summoned up her authority and demanded of the buffoons who had dragged her husband down the hallways to open the cell and announced with enough fierceness in her voice who she was and her right to go into any freaking cell she chose, seemed to actually scare the crap out of the normally unscarable prison guards. They did not know she couldn't cast the first spell, but she wasn't telling them. They ran to unlock Rob's cell door, more than sufficiently intimidated. She hissed into Brian's face, rage filled, "You get him down the hall and give me at least five stinking minutes alone. If he truly is Rob, I deserve that much whether I actually recognize his face or not."
She turned on her father. "YOU! Get your blooming arse down the hallway out of earshot of my conversation with my husband or I swear, you will wake up one morning in one of your own bloody bug jars in your potions lab. Mark my words. "
"I am not giving you the antidote," he said calmly.
"I don't care!" she shouted. "Get out! I will deal with you later! Get out!" Robert looked at the hooded man. "She does not leave your sight." He turned and walked down the hallway out of earshot. She went into the cell, taking her bag, listening to the door clang shut behind her.
"I brought you a couple things," she said softly to the man on the bunk, the one Brian had confirmed was indeed Rob. "Thought you might want them. If you don't, throw them out. It's pretty simple." She drew out two wizard photos of Abbey--the picture the hospital took at her birth, and a more recent one, a couple days old now. She handed them to him. Then she handed him the takeout box and plastic silverware and bottle of soft drink she'd brought for him.
As she handed him the box with her right hand, she caught a glimpse of her left--the one her father had simply crushed in one of his. She had simply stood and watched as he crumpled it like paper. The hand that still was causing her pain. She paused for a second, frowning slightly. She didn't remember her hand having that shape before. Not the bones in her hand, and her fingers didn't seem to go that direction before either. She redirected her attention to handing Rob the silverware and the soft drink. It was beginning to add up to her that perhaps the potion was interfering with a true perception of the damage there in her hand. She was sure if it really was that misshapen that it should surely hurt more than what it did. Well, even if she had, she couldnt do one little thing about it, now could she? So being a bit numb to it wasn't all bad perhaps.
She made up her mind. Her father could not stay awake forever. And when her magic returned, he would wake up in one of his own bug jars. That was just a given now. Once she decided what sort of bug to transfigure him into. If she was lucky, her mother would even think he was working at St. Mungos overnight and wouldn't demand to have him back for a day or two. She caught herself cracking a sadistic smile at the thought of seeing him in one of his own jars, and quickly made herself take the mischievious smirk off her face.
"Sorry it isn't at least a beer, but even I can't get away with that," she apologized, redirecting herself back to Rob--well, Rob, as best she could tell. "I will try to get you at least one good meal a day, if I can twist the warden's arm. I will do my best." She was deliberately not bringing up the least little bit of emotion to him. But his voice was sounding somewhat familiar, even if his face wasn't. "It at least is vegetarian, and I know you won't get much of that in here. You should enjoy it while you can," she said, handing him the box. "If you get hungry for something in particular, let me know. I'll get it to you."
"I apologize for my father. I have no idea what he gave me, but this is not how this was supposed to be. He will regret it someday, though. That much I do promise him. He knew why I wanted to come, and he's not hurt anyone but me. And, yes, I can still very much think for myself, contrary to what he thinks. He'll find that out for himself soon enough. But, much as I would return your money to you, I don't have access to it--not on my own anyway. He's the only one who has any sole access, I'm sorry to say. I haven't spent a cent of it. If I had my way, I'd give it back. If you don't love us enough to want to do the right thing, then I don't want it.
"I am sorry about all of this, but I had no idea...who...you really were. I thought you did honestly care at some point--about both Abbey and me. I don't know what I did wrong to turn it all on its ass, but I am sorry for that, for whatever I did. I probably would have handled the truth if you'd have just felt you could trust me with it. But somehow, I wasn't who you needed, or you might have trusted me. I am sorry. And you should know--Abbey is definately yours. There never was anybody else. Not ever. I don't know if that even makes any sort of difference to you, but she is absolutely your little girl. Whether you like me or not, that does bond us together in some sort of way for the rest of our lives. I can't change that. We do need to figure out a way to get along, I suppose, at some point."
by 
