Who: Emmeline Vance and Derek Dobbs
What: Dealing with the aftermath
Where: The Longbottoms'
When: Tonight


Alice had finally left her alone. Emmeline knew that she was just trying to help, but with her mind whirling around the events of the past few days, weeks---months, really, the last thing she needed was to be asked 'are you okay?' a million different and unique ways. As much as Emmeline did appreciate the effort, she---Alice couldn't understand. She couldn't, Emmeline knew that Alice had to deal with Marlie, with---Frank, back in school, but---

But she'd never been at fault for those terrible things. Emmeline couldn't think past anything further than the belief that Caradoc was gone because of---her. Her! There was no other reason, if he had just--not accepted this mission, then--

Pushing herself out of the seat she'd stubbornly stayed in after Alice insisted on making her bed, Emmeline tried to figure out what she could possibly do to try and keep her mind off of everything. Everything. She needed to completely wipe her mind of any memories of these events, and short of actually blowing her brains out (something that wasn't too far-fetched of a possibility---though Frank seemed to think the same thing, and was the reason behind his hovering wife, most likely--), Emmeline couldn't find a solution.

There was a---noise in the hallway outside her door, and Emmeline let out a breath, ready to ask Alice as nicely as possible to please give her some time alone. That's all she wanted, that was all she wanted and---"Oh," Emmeline let out, seeing that it wasn't Alice standing in the hallway, but Derek Dobbs, the other person who the Longbottoms had taken in because of---oh.

"What are you doing out here?" Emmeline said softly, leaning on her door frame.

Deaddeadeadeadeadeaddeadeaddead. It was the only word that Derek seemed to be hearing in his head. Dead.

Derek wasn't an idiot--he realized what duties like Dorcas's encompassed. Associating with an affiliation like the Order of the Phoenix only increased those risks, and exponentially so. They were a small operation, one which had to resort to stealth and surprise offense, carrying with it extreme danger. Being a Hit Wizard, he was no stranger to those possibilities. Dorcas was an Auror as well, but he had never thought it would result in this.

Not that he'd even begun to accept it. At the moment, all he could do was seethe in a blind, quiet rage. Being forced to stay under lock-and-key at the Longbottoms' was going to end badly, which he would probably feel poorly about later, but couldn't much bring himself to do anything about now. He should, at this very moment, be out there and doing something to end the despicable people who'd wound up aiding in the death of his fiancée, not trapped here like a guarded prisoner.

Sleep, he had told been told, there's nothing you can do now. What the hell was that supposed accomplish?, he wondered. Derek didn't feel like he'd ever be allowed to fall into slumber again, particularly not peaceful slumber, of all things. Trying to evade the residents of the house to further avoid the possibility of hurting (verbally and by cold demeanor, rather than literally, partly being that his wand was all but confiscated) them, he'd kept to himself for most of the night, until he was sure they'd retired.

Attempting to work through some of the spinning thoughts draining his focus, he'd taken to pacing through the fortress. Derek must have made more noise than he thought he had, because a door to one of the rooms opened, a figure emerging. It was Dearborn's girlfriend, though he hadn't exactly said more than two words to her since he'd woken up here.

"I--sorry," he ran a hand through his hair, looking (or trying to look) somewhat abashed. "Was I making too much noise? I was just-- couldn't sleep, gotta try to do something slightly--productive."

Emmeline had quite the intention to just slip back into her room and be done for the night. That's what her life had seemingly turned into, anyway, and while she sometimes felt that fiery urge to get up and do something, it was usually doused and fallen into a pile of ashes before she stepped out the door. Nothing moved her anymore. She looked down at the ground, along the wall, anywhere that was away from Derek. Maybe she could just slip away, maybe she could just nod and let him prowl around the house for whatever he needed, and maybe---maybe he could understand.

Her eyes shot back up and Emmeline felt a lump build in her throat. Everyone around her was giving their sympathies, sympathies that she couldn't understand, because if it hadn't been for her, Caradoc wouldn't have gotten in the trouble he did, and he wouldn't have---disappeared. Emmeline's mind went back and forth between dead and disappeared, unsure as to which fate was easier to swallow. Dead gave at least gave her closure, but the fact remained that she was never going to see him again. If he'd disappeared---then he'd chosen to leave, and for her to never be near him again. The pain that each thought racked through her couldn't be described and Emmeline looked down again to manage her thoughts.

"There's---" her voice caught in her throat, and Emmeline, even with all the time dealing with Alice and her soft and gentle tones, realized for the first time that she hadn't said more than five words since the news broke. Her throat was hoarse and scratchy, and she coughed to try and regain some sort of voice, "There's a small---greenhouse, thing, in the back----closest to the outside you'll get."

She'd ventured around this house enough in her lifetime to know some of its secrets, and though the greenhouse was quite visible, Emmeline was sure Frank hadn't stepped foot in there in years. Alice, maybe, but now in the cold of winter she doubted that it'd be in the Longbottom's minds. "It's attached to the house---I can show you, if you want."

To say Derek didn't know what the repercussions of death would bring was an understatement. To never come home to her laughing face again, to never hold her in his arms again, to never tease and be teased by her again, to so many "never agains." When would the tears come? Or, more aptly, would they ever? Was there any point to holding him here, if all he had the intention to do was simply go after the killers, or anyone else he could hold responsible, once he was free from the careful eye of the Order of the Phoenix?

There were too many questions. It was something he never cared for, that there were too many questions in the world. He was a man of fact, he was a man of solid beliefs. If ever he were a philosopher, it was simply the innocent curiousity his childlike mentality often employed. Death was not something that a child took into consideration, and the only reactions it had fostered in Derek were numbness and hostility, never forgetting the anger that was causing his hands to curl into the sort of fists that left bloody crescents on the flats of his palm.

Derek appeared to take the opposite temperament of Emmeline, not even noticing that he was staring in her general direction with a stony expression. If he tried to soften, even a little, he felt tremors shake his chest and could only stave them off by tightening his jaw even more. He broke his vacant gaze, just for a moment, and felt the shivers building in him.

"Yeah," Derek said, after a moment's deliberation. "Yeah, that'd be--fine. Good."

She tilted her head to indicate Derek to follow, and Emmeline's feet began to move toward the greenhouse. She herself had no desire to leave her room (no, she did, but it wasn't strong enough to make her), but being some sort of use to someone else seemed to be enough to get her motivated. Motivated. Ha! When she wasn't clinically depressed and feeling numbingly guilt-ridden, motivated was definitely the word to describe her. Maybe her subconscious was just clawing to find something it could deem useful.

Emmeline wasn't sure where the Longbottoms were. Alice was probably asleep, she'd seemed awfully tired when she left her room and that was a bit of time ago. And Frank---well. As bad as it was, Emmeline really didn't think Frank could outwardly get mad at her right now. At least, she wasn't far enough gone to not know how to get him to leave her alone for a bit, and they weren't running away or leaving the house. They were just---

---looking, for something. For something, anything that didn't seem like they were being held captive, and as much as the last remnants of her logical mind told her that she wasn't a prisoner, that this was to help her, Emmeline liked the idea of finding a place of solace, so---so maybe this wasn't just doing something to do something, maybe she wanted to go to the greenhouse herself and maybe find some peace.

"Here," she said, pushing the door open and feeling the heat of the room hit her face. It wouldn't be intolerable, but it was a nice change from what seemed like a constantly frigid atmosphere---but maybe that was mental too. Emmeline padded inside and slid onto a stool, letting it swing back and forth before she pointed her attention to Derek again. She didn't know him, outside of him being Dorcas' boyfriend--fiance, but the other boys in the Order seemed to like him, so that gave her a reason to be wary; none of them had particularly liked Caradoc. She pressed her mouth into a thin line, the thought bothering her greatly, now. It hadn't before, but now---they should have appreciated him, at least.

All of a sudden she wanted to be very much alone. Emmeline's head shot up to look at Derek, "Do you want to be---alone?"

Of all the people in the world, he shouldn't have been talking with Emmeline Vance at this moment in time. And yet, he could think of just as many reasons of why she was the only person who he could even bother attempting to be in the company of, given that she was suffering from the same set of deaths that had effectively ended his own life, or at least, ended the one he'd known for 21 years. He could have taken his anger out on her, snapped at her that it was because of Dearborn that Dorcas was dead, how could she not have realized that he was only capable of self-involved, capricious behavior, but--in this one instance, where Derek wished to be furious at a particular somebody, to throw things, to allow his normally-curbed violent streak to rage destruction, a somber voice of reason and mourning stopped him from alienating the only people who would be there for him.

Did he want to be alone? Her question echoed tinnily in the air, hovering, unanswered. "I think it's a bit hard to verbalize logical wants," Derek replied slowly, distantly, eyes fixed on the high planes of the ceiling. Perhaps she didn't mean her question in a very philosophical way, but when things fell apart to such a spectacular degree as they appeared to be doing now, concrete and abstract failed to impart much of a meaning. "Do you?"

But it wasn't the question he wanted to ask. Do you think if we just close our eyes and stand still for long enough--hold our breaths... would the world just stop spinning beyond their control?

Emmeline felt like rolling her eyes, but couldn't. Felt, as in--felt as she should. It should be her reaction to a somewhat sarcastic response from a Hufflepuff she barely knew outside of obnoxious journal comments. There really wasn't a need for it, and that was how she was functioning, now. What did she need to do? She needed to eat, just what she needed---she needed to...sometimes her mind came up with the crazy idea that she needed to see and talk to people, but those times were often quickly dismissed as fast as they appeared.

Like---now. She didn't need to be here. There was no reason to be sitting here with Derek. She wasn't his friend, she hadn't been Dorcas' friend (she'd actually been the opposite, which hurt, now--), she was the sole reason Derek was even in this situation, so---so she didn't need to be here. All she was creating was an awkward feeling of grief and anger, and--she didn't need that.

But, Emmeline remained seated, unable to get up and move again. She didn't know how long she'd be able to deal with the emotional runaway train her mind was on. One minute she felt like helping someone else, the next she needed to be as far away from people as possible. Derek didn't need her, he didn't need anyone but Dorcas, and she couldn't give him Dorcas because Dorcas was dead just like Caradoc---

The thought slammed her locomotive-like mind into a painful stop, and Emmeline let out a strangled laugh as she shook her head and looked at the ground. Miserably she responded, "Well---I already am."

Was it very cold all of a sudden? The slickness forming on his cheeks, clammy, not the sort of wetness left by tears, but by thick humidity in the air, told him it mustn't be. But there was a shiver that threatened to consume him, his fist shaking as he tried to clutch it close to himself. The greenhouse seemed to be bathed in this montonous green-and-grey hue, the last place Derek ever thought would have been monochromatic. Were the cosmos in mourning with him, now? Was this what he could expect to see when he chose to look at the world? No vibrancy, no passion, no color. A simple deadness. The potential for more, perhaps, but it would go unnoticed, unused. Derek wanted nothing more than to scream and kick, to demand that things realign themselves, for things to make sense once more.

Withdrawing into himself even more so than before, he leaned against the wall of the greenhouse, trying to still the shaking before his knees legitimately gave out. "I am too," he muttered softly, the realization sinking in. It wasn't a question of the number of people you had in the world anymore, it was a question of what you had in common in them, what they could understand.

Derek closed his eyes, his brows knitting together as he felt the clammy moisture like a strangling hand. "It's like the sun's--just gone out, or something."

Emmeline's eyes flitted across the floor until she finally had to look up at Derek, and her throat tightened with grief. For the first time in what felt like a century it wasn't for herself, and that sent a startling shiver of pain through her body. Her eyes were pierced with tears as she began to think about Derek's pain---as she began to imagine, just---they were going to get married! As much as she couldn't stand Dorcas, the two of them were going to start a life together! They were going to start a life, and it had been shot to hell because of a war that all of them had no reason to be fighting---

She pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, grabbing the edge of the stool with the other. It felt like she hadn't cried in years, the way this was beginning to hurt, but Emmeline knew it had probably only been hours. This was---this was not going to stop, was it? This was never going to stop, and it had only been a few days, how in the bloody hell was she supposed to let time heal this? Time made things worse, time pushed her further and further away from the days she did get to have with Caradoc, time reminded her of how few nights she got to spend with him, or wake up with him or just---Time was not her friend, time was the greatest enemy of them all because in the literal blink of an eye you were never going to see that moment again.

How----unfair.

"I'm---sorry," she blurted, unsure why it was the only thing she could manage. She did know, hidden beneath every layer of misery and grief, that she wasn't the true reason behind everything, but taking the blame seemed to help in some backwards, twisted way, "I'm---so sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" he asked, through clenched teeth. "Did you make all of this happen? Do you have the deaths of two people sitting squarely on your shoulders? Are you the reason that my life has ceased to feel as though it means anything? Will the people who mourn their deaths tomorrow have you to hold you accountable for their devastating losses?"

Derek's rage seemed to make him insensitive to the obviously distraught girl in front of him. Had he been even close to his senses, he would never have dreamt of being so callous (that was a loose term for it), but the inexplicable anger her words triggered demanded to be expressed.

He slid his fist upwards against the glass, twitching as though he might simply give in and slam his fist through it. She might have seen time as the enemy, but what were the things in this world that didn't serve to further salt the wounds. He was going in circles, endless rage, cursing the inability to express the devastation this wrought, or incapacitating need to have her back in his arms, to do anything to have her there, and rage all over again at the fact that he'd never hold her again.

"Don't you--accept responsibility for this," Derek hissed, his voice breaking with feeling that something was going to swallow him whole, but it would be a far cry from a release from the pain.

He had her shaking. Shaking with tears and anger, because---how dare he? How dare this Hufflepuff come in here, speak to her as if he knew--as if he knew what had really happened, as if he had dealt with the on goings of the Order of the Phoenix from its very first meeting, as if this---Derek had any idea what had really happened, what had been done to build up to this very moment. He was devastated and heartbroken, but he could go back to his life and fix it, he could enter the real world without the knowledge of secrets that could destroy lives.

"I have to be sorry for---getting involved in this whole---damn thing!" she let out, surprising herself that it was the first thing to come to mind. All the anger, she'd expected it to be aimed at the death eaters who had done this, but all she could focus on was how Dumbledore had allowed this to happen. He had sculptured the Order, he hand-picked every member for their unique skills and he had allowed Caradoc to be a spy for nearly two years, thinking----what was he thinking?

"I---you don't know, do you?" she let out heavily, slipping off the stool. This idiot thought he knew everything, he thought this was just the death eaters being bad and good people getting hurt. He thought it was simple and that she was just throwing around her sympathies because she had to. Emmeline slapped her hand on the table, fingers gripping onto a glove or a towel, whatever was there, "You don't---know that---that the reason they took her was---to get to---him because----because he refused to---to kill me."

Emmeline had no idea why she was shouting this at Derek, why she was even bothering herself with him, but it was a flood of words and emotion that had been unleashed and she couldn't stop it, "So yes, Derek, I did have a part in this, I did----make it, happen," she choked, clamping her hand to her mouth to try and hold back her anguished sobs.

"So what is this, Emmeline? You're apologizing because he loved you?"

Perhaps that wasn't what she meant, or what she was trying to say, but that was all the sense of it Derek could see. Why was she burdening herself with this? Didn't she have enough to cope with, already?

"This isn't just about you, Emmeline! You are not the victim here! What right do you have to make this your responsibility over any of us?" Derek slammed his fist against the pane of glass behind him, cracks spider-webbing their way through the glass before slowly rejoining, the surface smooth once again as if it the breaks had never happened. Derek might have been able to believe it was a simple hallucination, had it not been for the blood running down his fingers, a few shards lingering in the cuts.

He surveyed his shaking fist with an impassive expression, but when he spoke, his voice was ragged and biting back hatred and fury because it wasn't intended for the girl across from him. "I let her go. I never tried to stop her from involving herself in this organization, I never did anything to stop her from her fieldwork—does allowing her to be captured and taken by them make me at fault too? They knew what they were doing, Emmeline. She knew she could have died, she knew it. And he knew it had to have been a possibility, too."

It made him sick to say these words, positively sick to his stomach, because it was like he was saying her death was a necessary sacrifice. And it wasn't, and he certainly didn't mean it in that way, but Derek felt strongly compelled to say these words to her. "So he tried to kill you. And he couldn't. Is that why you're mourning? Because it wound up killing him instead? So it's like you did it, right? So if he had murdered you-- what? It would still be your fault, but you'd be dead, so it wouldn't matter? But because this was his one saving grace, to be able to save you, you not only get to live, but be so guilt-ridden over how you effectively ended his life! So what, Emmeline? How does it make it your fault?"

Things just needed to stop—the world just needed to stop spinning. But what a moment to be frozen in time! Especially here, seemingly ethereal as it was, it was like an escape from the world. Derek couldn't escape now, he needed to go back. That's what he needed, for the world to spin the other way. Send him back to stop all of this from happening. Oh, but would that there were some way to do it. He didn't care about the consequences in that moment, for if there were any chance for Derek to prevent this, he knew he would have taken it in an instant.

She stopped listening after his first question. Emmeline stared across the greenhouse at Derek, shoulders dropped and hands hanging loosely by her side. It should be completely unbelievable, she wouldn't have imagined this to be true with anyone else's story, but this was the first time that Caradoc's actions had been described as an act of---love.

Emmeline's mind whirled at this idea. How was it that this had never occurred to her? Had all the months of repressing the urge to say those three words to Caradoc actually dismissed the idea that the feelings actually existed? When Anneliese teased her, she simply blushed and changed the subject; it had been such a scary thing to think about, why---how could the thought have not passed through her mind? Emmeline could---she could feel Caradoc flinching at the use of the word (even thinking it was hard) and the thought of his face screwing up, completely horrified that this was being discussed----it sent a chill throughout her body.

Blinking slowly, Emmeline shook head head and crossed over to Derek, some of his words sinking in. He could yell at all her all she wanted, the guilt was never going to subside. Caradoc himself had told her that it wasn't her fault, that he had no regrets, and she was still going to take to her grave that she'd been the death of him. Ha--how many times had she told him the same thing?

Derek's knowledge of the Order would never compare to Emmeline's direct involvement, but she would never try to tell him so. As it was becoming apparent, there was nothing the other could say to change any sort of mindset, or at least Derek hadn't intentionally done so. He made her think about the entire situation from another perspective, even if it was still terribly painful. It hurt, but there was now some sort of warmth inside her that made her want to get up and move.

"Let me fix your hand," she muttered, pulling her wand out. Frank had attempted to take it away, but it was one thing she refused to give up.

He stared at his fist with a raised eyebrow, somewhat surprised that he'd cut it up. He didn't often forget when he punched things in a mournful and exasperated rage, but he was having a difficult time retaining things, evidently. Derek considered waving her off, telling her he was fine, but it felt like a lifetime ago since he'd come into direct contact with another human, though it was only hours.

Instead he merely grumbled, "Doesn't hurt," and put his fist out anyway.

Yesterday, he had been so angry. So unbelievably angry, wanting to do something, get revenge, slaughter someone who'd already been killed, but with the passing of the night, he'd greeted the dawn with complete deadness. There'd been no sleep, absolutely no relief for him at all, but trapped him in some sort of state of furious catatonia.

The natural impulse to joke, make some snide comment, engage in witty banter hadn't left him. That was how much he flitted between wanting the world to end and wanting to forget this had never happened. It would, he assumed, be simply a short while before he was driven absolutely mad and forced to take serious measures of some sort or the other.

After a few minutes, most of his hand had been healed and Derek opened and closed his hands a few times. "I—thanks."

He leaned back against the glass and eyed her scrutinizingly, unsure of what was a sensitive or proper thing to say now. "Are you—d'you reckon they'll let us leave soon?"

Emmeline turned Derek's hand over to make sure that all of the cuts had been healed before finally letting him go. She took in a deep breath through her noise, and looked toward the exit of the greenhouse. If her instincts were correct, Frank would've already discovered that the two were out of their rooms and probably starting a search party. So--they should probably be getting back.

"I...do not plan on staying here for long," she admitted out loud for the first time. Emmeline had allowed Frank and Alice to take control of the situation since Caradoc had come to her that early morning, but the idea of hiding out in their house for any longer would honestly drive her insane. Especially now that Derek had given her an alternate view on things, she---well, she wasn't going to be better, but she wasn't going to let herself wallow in the same place and position for the rest of her life. That would be fun, telling Frank.

Emmeline smirked and pushed some loose hair out of her face. Suddenly she was very tired, and Derek could definitely use the rest, too. Maybe she could get Alice to slip him some potion (oh, as if she didn't know the glass of water by her bedside wasn't just water). She looked back over at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"They'll let you leave when you're ready to leave," she said in a somewhat sagely tone, because she did know that she was in a bad place right now, and that she did need Frank to help her. Derek was smart, he would be able to figure out when he was ready to go as well.

Derek gave a dry chuckle, the sound feeling foreign in his throat, perhaps even forced. There were few people, he believed, that were as well-guarded as he believed he was right now. Not that taking stock in a prison system was a terrible thing--it was simply a much different question when you found yourself on the opposite side of the bars. And as hard as he refused to acknowledge it on a conscious level, it was true that Derek would have wound up in a dangerous situation. He might have resented being kept here, but it was for the best. The thought left him with a bitter taste.

"Sleep," he muttered, taking a few steps toward the door. "You--we should get some sleep."

He paused on his way out, feeling himself for the first time close to being on the verge of tears. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or the multiple 180 degrees performed on his life's future, or the fact that his whirlwind of emotions were finally subsiding, allowing him to feel that prickle of reality, that offered him a taste of what pain was going to be in store for him. He turned his head back to look at her, sorrow etched deeply, and perhaps even irreversibly, into his features.

"We'll be okay, the two of us," he offered, but couldn't say for certain whether it was a question, a statement of fact, or a plea. All it really said was that "we will" did not, would not, mean "we are."