InsaneJournal

Prompt: Murder/Rebecca Gilligan & Emmy Wilkes
Requested by: morgielefae

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It was undoubted that the ballroom was lit up beautifully. These events always were, and the twinkling lights that floated throughout the ballroom only made the sparkle and shine of the decor more ethereal. The upper crust of the wizarding world brushed elbows carefully, quietly, small murmurs filling the room with the sound of secrets.

"Rebecca," Emmy said, smile spreading across her face as she approached the other girl and clasped her hand. She leaned in and pressed two light kisses to each of Becca's cheeks. "How are you, darling?" As usual, she was smooth, sweet, charming. But someone who'd known her as long as Rebecca might see the smaller notes of something lying underneath. Blue-black bags under eyes, barely covered by a glamour charm. The way her smile pressed too tightly, wavering on the edge of a grimace. The tightness of her grip on Rebecca's hand. The way she moved her arms like it hurt her shoulders to turn certain ways. Rebecca was one of the very, very, very selective amount of people who actually knew about her history with her father--the only others were Evan and the Carrows.

"Emmy," Rebecca replied, and the sad smile she gave her told Emmy that she saw through it, that no matter how hard Emmy was trying she'd always see through it. The girl's face--beautiful as always, Rebecca had always been gorgeous--was lightly lined with worry, and something else. Emmy couldn't tell. Conviction? Something cold pressed into her hand. "Your gift," Rebecca said softly, and Emmy's fingers uncurled to reveal a small oval bottle just the size of her palm, filled with a clear liquid. Grabbing her elbow, Rebecca brought her close into a hug, and Emmy easily fell into it, wrapping her arms around the girl. "Thank you," she said in reply, confused as to what it was she'd been given. The confusion was quickly dispelled as Rebecca leaned into the hug and whispered into her ear. When they pulled apart, Emmy realized what the look on the other girl's face had been. And now, she wore it too.

-----

Her hands were shaking--they were actually shaking--as she tipped over the small bottle into his glass. She'd offered to fetch another drink for him--like he'd even noticed who she was. His eyes were already glassed over, unseeing and glossy, handsome frame slumped against a wall. She didn't want to use it all, but she sure as fuck didn't want to skimp and botch it. This was too important, too crucial of a moment in her life. She stared at the white liquid at the bottom of the cup for what felt like hours, thinking. Then, with much steadier hands, she poured whiskey over it, swishing the cup around lightly. Turning back from whence she came, she lifted the cup sweetly. "Father," she said. He snatched it from her hand and drank it wordlessly.

Bastard.

An hour later, she was watching from across the room as her father finished his third glass of whiskey. He was starting to get red under the collar, as he always did, broaching the edge of violence. They'd be leaving soon, her mother forcibly making them exit before things got ugly enough to expose the family. Perfect instincts, her mother, bringing them home just in time for him to unleash his beatings. So she was watching. She was watching for that turning point that meant their exit. She was watching for that switch to flick. She was watching as he started coughing, pressed a hand to his chest and gasped. Bent halfway over, gasping for air. And because of that, she heard the urgent whispers and worried cries, spreading through the room like wildfire. Saw the bodies rushing over to help him. Knew someone was floo-ing St. Mungo's.

As the mediwizards rushed into the ballroom, she held herself and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip as her father's body floated into the air, felt her lips wobble uncontrollably. And as they disappeared into the fire, Emmy finally cried. Cried because it was her father. Cried for herself, her mother, for the ache in her shoulders and ribs, the bruised cheek her mother had hidden with a glamour. It took her a few minutes to realize that she was sobbing, face buried in her hands, that someone, maybe Evan, had slid their arms around her shoulders and was holding her to their chest. People were cooing at her, trying to soothe her. What they didn't know was that the tears were tears of relief.

Such sweet, painful, freeing, relief. Salazar. Never again. Relief. She thought the word again, and another cry wrenched from her throat. Never again. The feeling was so sharp it hurt, completely beautiful and dirty and horrifying and utterly joyous.

She met Rebecca's eyes through the haze of tears from a few yards away. Her trembling hands fell from her face, sliding down the wet cheeks, smearing black trails of makeup down in haunting patterns. A small, triumphant smile worked its way onto her face, almost imperceptible. Her lips moved in the ghost of words.

Thank you.

From the other side of the refreshment table, dark eyes met her gaze, and on a face serious and jaw set with determination, came the returning smile. She understood.