She wanted to run to him the instant she saw him, but she couldnât. Overcome with emotion it took every ounce of willpower she had left just to stand. Time seemed to still as tears blurred her vision before spilling silently down her cheeks. It hurt to cry after the torturously long days sheâd spent clearing her own name to escape trial herself, and begging to be reunited with her son. Althea had lost track of the number of times she had broken down in tears as the days unfolded into nightmares, the names of friends and family appearing one after the other in the headlines of The Daily Prophet as the Aurorsâ raids rounded them up for questioning.
She worried for a moment she might frighten him, standing there in tears, shivering, with dark half-circles stamped under her eyes from the sleepless nights. No doubt her hair was a mess from the number of times sheâd run her hands through it in distress. He might not even notice Vincent in her arms, obscured as he was bundled in her cloak. Their son had hardly left her arms since sheâd been released from custody and had been informed that Liz had taken him as Althea requested, having no one else left to turn to.Â
She should have assured Quentin that they were safe, told him that sheâd been cleared, and so many other things she couldnât put into words in the moment. Perhaps it was the Dementors that had pushed her to this level of despair, or perhaps it was being faced with the reality that even in victory, she was on the brink of losing everything in this war. The soft way he spoke the nickname only he had ever given her broke something inside of her, and Althea wondered if it was her heart. As his arms circled around her, she released a shuddering sob, her free arm reaching around his shoulders to clutch him as tightly as she could without crushing Vincent between them. âI love you, too.â She managed.
Althea allowed herself a moment to commit him to memory, the feel of his arms, the sound of his voice, his warmth, and the beat of his heart in case this happened to be the last embrace they ever shared. She wanted to push those terrible thoughts away, promise him that everything would be alright, but they both knew that it likely wouldnât be alright. When all was said and done, Quentin Crabbe had found himself standing on the wrong side of the war, and there was no use pretending that he might not be condemned for it.
With no words of comfort she could think to offer him, Althea pulled away just enough that their noses brushed and she reached to wipe his tears. âDonât let them see you cry.â She whispered urgently, though her voice shook hypocritically. âGuilty men cry and youâ Althea paused her breath hitching âyou are innocent.â A lie. Quentin was guilty of the accused crimes, but he would have to deny. âThey have to believe you are innocent.â Indignation, shock, bewilderment, all would be more fitting of the wrongly accused, but tears?
He had never been much of a liar. Perhaps that was what had drawn her affection first, his honesty. And now it would be his undoing. âPlease-â she said, her head bowing to hide her tears. Please let them find you innocent. The unspoken plea hung in the air between them as Altheaâs tears stained the cloak in her arms, though they missed Vincent, who reached to tug at her hair.
Quentin knew that he did not look any better, if not worse, than how Althea did. His hair might not have been long, but it was still messy and sticking up. Dark bags had formed under his eyes, showing his lack of sleep. None of that mattered though, at least not in that moment. Hearing her say that she loved him only reminded him how lucky he truly had been up until now. Most arranged marriages did not go nearly as well as his had, something he was truly grateful for. He wondered if this was all karma. That since he had found someone so undeniably perfect for him, that that was the reason why he was now having to suffer.Â
But they were alright. They had been his biggest concern during his time in holding. It made everything he was about to face so much easier. And while he loved and cared for Althea so much, an even bigger worry for him had been Vincent. The entire time heâd spent worried about who was taking care of his son, if they were doing it properly. While Quentin was fairly certain it had been Liz, who he trusted, he still worried. If he had gotten the chance to chose where his son could have gone, it would have been been with Gwen or Lucius. But neither of them had been options, and so it had been left up to Althea to chose as she knew more people who werenât death eaters.Â
That was where his anxiety stemmed from, the thought of someone theyâd trusted to look after Vincent to somehow take it out on him that his parents had been death eaters. Or rather, that his father was very much a death eater. Liz was a good person, but he had always worried that if she ever found out the truth, the fact that she was a muggleborn would mean she might not believe them. Might not believe that they truly werenât prejudiced people, only people who had poor luck in life. As he glanced down at his son, he knew that hadnât been the case. The boy looked just as perfect as he did when they had been taken away. Quickly he moved one of his arms so that his hand could be touching his head, desperate to show his son affection for what may be the last time.Â
He nodded along to what Althea told him, steadying his breathing so that he could stop his tears. Quentin wanted nothing more than to stop hers, though he knew that she would surely have more once the trial began. Her lie did little to quell the anxiety that had settled over him. But knowing she would be there, although not quite with him, did ease some of it. Having her by his side, even metaphorically was the most important thing he would need when presenting his case. For it she believed in him then he knew that he could make it. Or at least knew that he would be able to give it his all. That was all he could do anymore, and hope for the best. Â
âYou always have been so much smarter than me.â He tried to smile, a poor attempt to show her that everything would be fine. Quentinâs entire being felt heavy, much to heavy to be able to lift up his cheeks and form a proper smile. It wasnât as if it would reach his eyes anyway. The sadness he felt showing through. He couldnât stop looking at her though, or rather wouldnât stop. Only taking short breaks to look at their son. Both so beautiful that it hurt him, imagining what it would be like if he got locked up and forced to leave them. Something that he never wanted to do, but might not have any choice.Â
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead while he blinked the last of his tears away. Making the moment shorter than he wanted so that he could give Vincent a kiss as well. âAl, I know you donât want to hear this right but but-â He stopped for a moment, a lump in his throat. His eyes couldnât bare to tear apart from his son. âBut in case it doesnât go well, make sure he knows how much I loved him. And you.â Looking up at her, a determination in his eyes. A look that held so much meaning behind it, but mostly just âI love youâ. The only reason why he hadnât said it was because he knew that it was something she already knew. Or at least he hoped that she did.Â
There was much more that he wanted to say to her, but they didnât have the time. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him. How every once in a while he would still look back at the letters they had once sent to each other and laugh, laugh because of how silly the two of them had been to ever be nervous of each other. It hadnât taken him very long to realize that she was a good person, and not much longer after that had he realized that she was the person for him. That somehow, through a terrible series of events, heâd ended up with the person he would easily chose to marry time and time again without even trying.Â