imagine having time

“Your-” she stopped herself, choosing her next words carefully, “That thug Crabbe did not give me much of a choice,” she said shortly, her voice modulated against the accusation she, no doubt, yearned to hurl at him.

“Walk with me.” It was a flippant demand framed as a request. She studied him closely for a moment, but nodded jerkily in the end. For the briefest instance, their eyes made contact and, though her Occlumency shields were commendable, he picked up on the traces of dread that stained her mind.

She was silent as they circled the newly constructed gardens of the Palace, not that he expected her to speak, caught somewhere between defiant and afraid as it were.

At last, he broke their silence, “Thorfinn Rowle has been detained under charges of seditious conspiracy.” She froze when she heard that, but recovered almost instantly. The continuous sound of breathing-- slightly sharper than usual -- was her only response. She straightened.

“That was not done for me,” she said in a measured tone, “That was done in spite of me. In spite of what he has done to my family.”

He smiled blandly for he could not begin to fathom her attachment to family. “I never claimed otherwise,” he said nonetheless, “But I thought you might have liked to know before the news broke.”

“You’re not doing me any favours.”

“No,” he agreed easily, “But I am for your brother.” She closed her eyes, her hands curled into pulsating fists and he watched her curiously -- would she dare draw her wand on him? Or perhaps assault him physically?

He waited; patience was a virtue. Or so he heard.

She did neither in the end, but when her eyes fluttered open again, there was a new loathing in them. “He championed rather staunchly for sentient-being rights, did he not?” The Dark Lord pressed on, undeterred by the depth of her grief. She was silent for a few beats too long.

“He did,” her tone was still impressively neutral, though the slightest sliver of fondness slipped in.

“A Bill will be proposed to the Wizengamot after the November elections. It will push for the criminalisation of discrimination against sentient-being. The Minister for Magic will have considerable sway in its successful passing.” What was left unsaid was that he alone controlled so much of the Wizengamot that only with his approval would the Bill be passed, Minister of Magic be damned. And he would not hesitate to use it to punish her. To torment her. She took a deep breath, her hands dusting over the neatly-trimmed hedges of his grounds as she followed a few steps behind the Dark Lord.

“What are you proposing?” She asked, fearing she already knew exactly what he wanted.

“Be my Minister for Magic.”

A beat.

His Minister for Magic.

“That… that is for the people to decide,” she deflected, her voice soft and conflicted.

“Indeed,” he agreed wryly. They stopped next to a bed of white roses and she couldn’t help but feel that some greater being was mocking her.

Staring into the swirls of the pure petals, she asked slowly, “And... should I refuse…?”

His smile harboured the promise of seeing to the destruction of her life in every aspect that mattered-- a hint to the cruel Dark Lord nestled in the depth of this charming, alluring man. They both knew what would happen. “My dear, have I not already been infinitely patient with you?”

And the awful thing was, he had been extremely patient. That was the thing about the Dark Lord, he somehow managed to meet all her expectations of who he was while blowing every assumption she had of him out of the water.

Where was the monster her brother had so valiantly opposed in spite of the warnings of the rest of their family? Where were his death threats and terrible anger? Where was the nightmare of a man that justified his death?

She closed her eyes again. How could her dear brother’s death be in vain?

It doesn’t have to be, her mind supplied traitorously, You can fulfill his final wish, do for him what he couldn’t finish in life—

Succumbing to the Dark Lord he fought is an insult to his memory!

As if sensing her conflict, she noticed that he had moved away. How considerate, she thought bitterly.

Why me?

Better me than someone else.

She found him again a few days later and prayed for her family’s forgiveness even as she accepted his offer. “One term,” she laid out half-heartedly.