blow out all the candles • • g a i u s

DECEMBER

It was cold in Azkaban.

Sybil glanced down at the sign-in sheet, double checking all of the boxes before she made a mark on the paper. She felt a slight tingle of magic as she set the quill to page. It made a lot of sense that signing her name in a place like this would mean more than it seemed. She'd never questioned it out loud, but her Ravenclaw's curiosity was very interested in the magical workings of Azkaban. How did they keep so many powerful people in? How did they keep those that might mean harm to the way the place functioned out? Sybil was silent as she signed her name. Sybil Morgana Sinnoway. Seeing her name in full gave her a strange sense of lightness and she spent an extra moment just looking at it, the inked quill she'd been given hovering a centimetre above the paper. Her gentle, symmetrical, slightly italicised lines made for pleasant cursive shapes. And, to her, the letters spelled out so much more than a name. The blonde blinked, breaking from her reverie as she handed the clipboard back to the person at the desk before straightening her robes around her shoulders.

Azkaban was a prison, and it would never lose the heavy, quiet sense of melancholic despair that pervaded every nook and cranny of this island like clawed, ugly fingers digging into soft fruit. It didn't seem to matter how many times she visited, the place always felt unsettlingly cold. Damp, too. But Sybil had been here when the rows between cells had still been guarded by dementors and every single person inside had that same haunted look in their eyes that made her shiver to remember. Her mother's once beautiful sea-green eyes had started showing signs of that darkness after only a few months and nowadays Sybil struggled to remember what she'd looked like before. One of her uncles had simply stopped eating after a year inside these walls and had starved to death. Her father had had to fill in all kinds of paperwork to have his body sent home rather than buried in this godforsaken place. In some ways, Gaius was lucky, she thought. It both disgusted and terrified her that the ministry had once kept people in here with those foul things. As she was led silently through the halls of the prison, Sybil recalled the way they'd affected her easily; she still sometimes had nightmares about those creatures. As a child, she'd had her father's hand to hold on trips to visit her mother, and it she'd squeezed his fingers tightly and cried at least once every visit. Over the years, she'd watched her mother disintegrate into a shell of the woman she used to be. Sometimes she'd felt that death would have been kinder; both to her mother and all of those who loved her. She tried to put those thoughts from her mind.

The girl's small boots made loud sounds as they echoed down the hall, stepping at twice the pace of the tall man beside her as she hurried to keep up. Despite having been here before, she'd never be able to find her way around by herself. The bleak walls of Azkaban were a maze to her. After a while, they eventually came to the hall that she did remember. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She stood a little straighter before they entered and tried not to fidget with her purposefully styled hair or the midnight-blue robes she'd worn just for the occasion. Sybil was beckoned forward by the guard and as she walked past him the girl tried to take steps with more confidence than she felt.

One of the cells he occupied had a table. It looked much like she remembered. "Uncle Gaius," she said, a hesitant smile appearing on her face as she caught sight of him. Her heart fluttered just a touch. It wasn't that he was scary - not to her. Gaius had always made her feel a little nervous at first; there was something so powerful about his presence and it compelled her to try and prove herself to him. For him. Though her search for approval may have been meek - and she (rather selfishly) guessed that the Gaius she got to see was a rare version of himself saved for very, very few - it was a constant search indeed. The little witch stepped forward into the candlelight, clutching the bag of things she'd brought. Today was uncharacteristically bright and the sky outside was clear; there was a little light streaming in from the window to one side. With this in mind, Sybil guessed that he'd lit the candles for her. She slid the strap from her shoulder and placed the bag gently on the table. "I brought some things for you," she said with that same soft smile and small voice. She'd always brought presents. Sometimes it was cookies or cupcakes. Once she'd tried to make an apple tart for him but it had gotten a bit squashed in transit and then one of the guards had said apple tarts were his favourite and had taken a slice. Sybil didn't like that. She hadn't made apple tarts since.

The blonde distracted herself with the contents of the bag as she drew a few items from its depths. She'd brought him a few things, but they looked pathetic all next to each other like this. Some Christmas presents, she thought, chiding herself silently. Of course, it wasn't as if she had full reign to bring in whatever she liked. "Caramel slice," she said, nudging a small, plastic tupperware container his way. "I couldn't remember if you preferred caramel or chocolate, but I..." she trailed off for a moment, clearly embarrassed. "I thought you might be a caramel person." It had been a long time since she'd visited him. Many months, but not quite a year. Last time she'd come here she'd only visited her mother, not even her uncles or anyone else. Not even Gaius, who wasn't really an uncle but might as well have been. Without even realising it, Sybil had drawn lines around him in her mind. Constellation connect-the-dots, where every star was someone connected to the tattered remains of what had once been a very proud family line. And all of the stars in Sybil's constellation were hers, Gaius included.

The Death Eater was seated by his desk in near darkness, illuminated by pale candlelight, and he slowly leaned back in his chair; his eyes closed tightly. Gaius rarely lounged; it was in general uncouth and, more importantly, at his age, caused the muscles at the base of his spine to ache. And yet, when he played his music in his head, now and again he couldn’t help but fall into old habits.

It had been three years since he had the pleasure of listening to music. Therefore, the only music that the former Death Eater could hear existed only within his memories. All he had were the recollections of the sounds that he had experienced and drank deeply of throughout his life. Now and again, in the privacy of that dank and miserable cell, he scanned through those dark rooms of his subconscious; and note by note followed along a piece he treasured; in this case a Schubert piano sonata; his fingertips gently mimicking the key presses upon his desktop; every now and again halting as he scoured through his mind, looking for the right note or tone. He knew that those chambers of his mind were fragile and feeble things; sometimes drowned in clearest sunlight; other times black as pitch and as time progressed those precious memories, all that he truly had to himself, threatened to fade away into shadowy spectres. And truly that was his greatest fear - the loss of himself. Nothing the Ministry and the Aurors could do to him came even close.

And just as he was suffering over the exact fingering of a arpeggiated chord, the familiar metallic clack of iron key within ancient lock brought him back to his senses. His head turned as the door was gently swung open, and a guard escorted a young blonde girl across the threshold. 

“Well well, if it isn’t young Sybil Sinnoway in the flesh, as I live and breath.” A wide smile broke across his stony visage, illuminated starkly in the candlelight.

“Twenty minutes, Purcell,” came the monotone from the guard, and the door was swiftly closed upon the two of them.

Every time he saw her, she was vastly different; she was a visual measure of the frightening acceleration of time itself. He stood to his feet and gave her a brief but sincere hug, before gesturing the little blonde to his desk. Apart from the candle and several curled-up scrolls of parchment placed to the side, the gnarled surface was empty.

He watched her as she swiftly unpacked her belongings. Sybil Sinnoway. Practically an orphan. The Sinnoways had been involved from the very start; he had met them in London in spring nineteen seventy five. Nellwyn had been a force of nature; sometimes rash, admittedly, but a brave and loyal soldier in the field. During the second war she had been captured; but had gone to her judgement bravely and stoically. There had been no begging for a plea bargain with her. She had stood boldly in the dock as they condemned her; the archetypal Death Eater, and her loyalty to their cause would be remembered.

Gaius had been in their family home on many occasions during the second war, and Sybil had been an almost permanent fixture there, a little reminder of normality during those dark times. They had watched her growing up. Gaius was himself a father to a daughter older than Sybil from whom he had grown distant due to his activities in Britain for the Dark Lord in Britain, and hence he had taken to the young girl; often finding assuagement in the closeness between Cygnus and her. As the years filled with death and disgust, something so normal and so pure was a respite. And then, when it had all came to an end; like so many, Cygnus had been lost during those final dark days, and young Sybil was alone.

Her life had changed. From what he could make out via snippets of information from outside the stony walls of Azkaban, Sybil was being taken care of by some distant relative or another, and was attending Hogwarts. For all intents and purposes, her life was continuing as well as could be expected. However, the girl, despite the shifts in her world, had not forgotten where she had come from; not those figures that had been part of those antecedent years. For young Sybil Sinnoway was as near a frequent visitor to Gaius Purcell as one could be. And for this, he was immensely grateful.

A little tupperware container was placed before him, whilst she had carefully described its contents to him. “Well, Sybil,” he began, snapping the plastic tabs away from the lid before carefully separating the gooey caramel slice for the couple to share between them, “between you and me, yes I most certainly am a caramel person. But don’t tell anyone.” And he gave her an exaggerated wink, whilst placing a piece of caramel slice upon some paper before her.

Sybil, despite her young years, had displayed for some time quite the flair for baking. “Did you make this yourself? It’s quite astonishing,” he announced, after taking a ridiculously large bite; the contrast between Sybil’s gift and the gruel frequently served up by the caterers in Azkaban could not have been more extreme.

His eyes scanned over Sybil’s cherubic face; she was looking more like her father every time he saw her. He made the usual paternal observations; was she underweight; did she have sadness hidden behind those hunter green orbs; was there a weight heavy upon those young shoulders. Fatherhood had come suddenly to the younger Gaius, but he had embraced it wholeheartedly; the responsibility having moulded him more so than any other event in his life; and this default paternalism was something he could not resist. For as long as Sybil was under the roof of his cell, he would be Cygnus’ willing replacement.

“Tell me, Sybil, how are things? It’s been quite a while. Is Hogwarts still okay? I do hope you’re paying attention to your lessons . . .” and with narrowed eyes, he sipped some water from an old battered copper mug.

Best not to ask about Nellwyn just yet, he thought to himself, whilst awaiting her response.

"Yes, I did," Sybil said with a smile, unable to hide her pleased expression as he complimented her work. Perhaps there was something strange about feeling so blessed by his approval, she thought. Perhaps she shouldn't feel so relieved whenever he smiled in her direction. She couldn't help it though. There weren't a lot of important adult or parental figures in young Sybil's life and it felt so important to keep the ones she did have. Important to be liked by them, and cared for. His next question pleased her too; she knew what the right answers should be, and to be able to answer them honestly felt good.

"Of course, Uncle Gaius," Sybil replied lightly, with a smile. "This year we were allowed to choose classes, so I took arithmancy and I've been enjoying it so far." It was one of her favourite classes currently. "And Aunt Ethel organised a German tutor for me during the break, so I've been able to keep up with my language studies outside of school." As Gaius knew, Sybil was born in Germany and had learned some basic language as a child when her parents had considered Durmstang as a school option for her. Once she and her father had returned to the United Kingdom, however, she hadn't continued her study with much vigour. Sometimes when she visited him, Sybil and Gaius spoke in French. Maybe someday they'd speak in German.

Sybil sat up a little straighter suddenly, remembering the other things she'd brought. "I brought this too," she told him, retrieving a small rectangular prism wrapped in thin hessian from her bag. It had been opened when she'd checked in, but she'd had a chance to tie the string back together before entering. Sybil loved handmade soaps. She vaguely remembered bringing him one made with elderflower and olibanum oil. One time she'd tried to bring in one made from shrivelfig and sea lavender, but it had been confiscated. Sybil assumed it was because of the potential uses for the ingredients. From then on she'd only brought soaps made from non-magical plants.

Glancing back down, she placed a hand on the book she'd brought in. This one felt a little more weighty so she'd saved it for last. "And that book you mentioned," she said, sliding the book across the wooden table with the palm of one small hand before finally leaning back in her seat and retracting herself into a refined position, shoulders straight and ankles crossed demurely to one side. Sybil adjusted her robes before folding her hands neatly in her lap. Over the past year or so, at the encouragement - and with the aid - of some of her school friends, Sybil had started trying muggle attire. Wearing it here, however, would feel akin to blasphemy. She still felt most comfortable in robes, and she had a feeling that neither Gaius nor her mother or other family would approve of t-shirts and shorts.

Gaius should notice immediately that the cover of the book she'd given him did not, in fact, share a title with the book he'd mentioned. Sybil had bought his book from a second hand store and read through it as best she could. Most of the language used had been far outside her realm of knowledge. Sybil thought she had quite an impressive vocabulary for someone of her age, but the specialised language within this particular book's pages had her reaching for a dictionary every sentence and sometimes she hadn't even been able to find these words in there. There was a lot of political jargon spanning various modern languages and old, outdated wizarding-english too. From what she'd gathered it was a historical text. Non fiction. Not something she had the focus to decipher on her own.

Sybil didn't know why he'd wanted it; perhaps he was using it as a reference for the book she knew he was working on in here. She hadn't asked, and wouldn't ask now either. Unsure of whether or not the contents of such a thing were allowed to enter a place like this, Sybil had manually switched covers with another similar-sized novel. Personal experience with this place had taught her that there was an extensive list of things not allowed within the walls of Azkaban. If the book was indeed banned from being here, then it had slipped through the rigorous enchantments and examinations both she and the items she'd brought with her because the deception was an extremely simple one. There were no hidden compartments. No hexes, curses or charms. The book itself was not magical and she'd glued the new cover on herself. The blonde gave him a hopeful smile.

“A german tutor?” he exclaimed? “Well well. Ausgezeichnet, das freut mich ungemein.” and he smiled at her warmly. “Languages are very important; you see the world differently through the lens of another tongue, you must concentrate hard on those,” and he took a hearty bite of his caramel slice.

He took the little package of soap from her, and carefully unwrapped it from the little fabric covering. Sybil, always the thoughtful creature, often brought the former Death Eater soap and other castiles, sometimes of a quite exuberant nature. Despite her youthfulness, she was well aware that Azkaban was not a place of many home comforts, and it perpetually had the dull, mineral scent of decay and the sea. The smallest hint of fragrance of near anything else; bergamot; mint; cardamon and sandalwood, for example; was like an olfactory lifeboat. Gaius treasured these little cosmetic gifts, and used them sparingly throughout the long dark months in the prison to transport him somewhere away from his confinement; little windows to a freedom beyond that he could never return to.

Sybil extracted the large tome from her bag and laid it upon the table top. For a moment Gaius was somewhat confused; he was quite sure that he had not requested "When Death (eventually) Comes - How to handle the mourning House Elf in your Household", but upon opening the cover he saw that in fact the first page was emblazoned “A History of the Romanian Wizarding Peoples Volume IV: AD 900 to AD 1500”, by none other than the great Chroniculus Punnet. He couldn’t help but give a hearty laugh at the lengths Sybil had gone to disguise the book. He had requested the text as part of his ongoing historical research - he needed a reference for some of the ancient wizarding families of Eastern Europe, some of whom had wandered to the British Isles in the Middle Ages, and from the work he had done so far, this volume by Punnet was apparently the required Urtext. As the book was a work of historical reference, it was not banned from Azkaban, and thus the disguise was not necessary, however Gaius was extremely heartened by Sybil’s actions. He picked the text up off the desk, and turned it over in his hands, examining the join between the cover and the interior end paper, running his fingertips along the headband. “Practically flawless,” he exclaimed, holding the book up to the light for a better examination. “You did this all by yourself?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, giving Sybil a curious look. He thought for a moment, before replacing the book carefully upon the table top.

“Thank you for the book, it is extremely useful for my own work. I’m writing a little wizarding history book myself, as you know.” and he gave her a quick wink. He didn’t have to underline that his history was of Lord Voldemort and his followers. “But this -,” and he rapped his knuckles lightly upon the hardback cover, “ - this is excellent. It’s very important that you take precautions when you come here, Sybil. You know this already, of course. But you’re aware that the guards are not always my friends. They can be quite suspicious. Therefore, it is good practice to disguise things. Even when we have nothing to hide; it’s always best to use a little bit of concealment. If only for ourselves.” He smiled at Sybil, putting her at ease. But the lesson was an important one, and he wanted it to resonate deeply with her. Sybil was, perhaps without even knowing, an extremely important resource to the Death Eater. She naturally put people at ease, all five feet and fourteen years of her. Guards would be less on edge around her; her gifts were non-threatening. And as protective as Gaius was of the young girl, he could see a very definite use for her in the future. It was heartening to see that she was being careful already in her behaviour.

He pretended to tidy around her gifts somewhat; putting her at ease before the most difficult question.

“And, tell me Sybil, how is your mother doing? I’m afraid they don’t let me see very much of her at all.”

She smiled, feeling herself beaming in response to the warm expression he was giving her. She simply couldn't suppress it. When the blonde had first started to really understand that her father was gone, had really felt out the depths of his absence, Sybil had imagined that it would be Gaius who would look after her. She'd clung to this feeling even as she'd been shipped off to live with the aunt she didn't know very well, picturing Gaius filling in in place of her father, teaching her different languages and outlining important historical events. Rather than Cygnus, it was Gaius who would be present at her graduation, or who would give her advice if she lost her heart to a boy, or who would walk her down the aisle of her wedding. She knew now - had known then, even - that she was holding tightly onto an idea that didn't even make much sense in the real world, but in those days she'd had such little to cling to. Her little fingers had dug deeply then.

"Ich auch," she said quietly, her mind fluttering off into nominative and accusative cases, second guessing the two words she'd just said but feeling like she knew she was correct. Sybil had never been in a position where she'd gotten to pick and choose who she spent her time with; that was just a part of being a child, she thought. Adults decided these things for you. It had been one of the many 'freedoms' she'd had to adjust to when she started her very first year at Hogwarts. But if she could, she knew she'd see him more than the once or twice a year that she got to see him these days. Of course, she'd spend time with her mother and her actual uncles too, but Gaius was present. One of the sanest people in Azkaban. Her heart hurt a little as she thought about this, a physical manifestation of her sorrow about keeping them all here. The fact that he wasn't just a letter away from being physically present in her life made his company all the more important and valuable.

Sybil watched the man before her with patient sea-green eyes. She watched his interest turn to confusion, then turn to laughter. She waited for him to speak before she reacted, unsure of what reaction would be appropriate. When he spoke again, a slight smile tugged at her lips. She felt a heaviness disappear from her shoulders, though a single stray thought did shoot off, wondering what flaw he'd seen that had caused him to qualify his compliment. Practically flawless, he'd said. "Yes," she answered, a little breathlessness in her voice as she met his eyes. Sybil felt a weight to his gaze, as if he was asking more than his words suggested, so she made sure to meet the curiosity in his gaze with openness. Yes, anything, she thought quietly, feeling a strong urge to prove herself.

Despite the fact that she only saw this man a couple of times per year, he was one of the only pure, breathing links to her past. She knew that he cared about her; that he'd have been present in her life if he hadn't been locked away in here; that whatever he'd done, some of him at least was good. She really believed that. Sybil Sinnoway did not do love in parts; she did not tie those sorts of feelings to context; her devotion was entirely unconditional. She nodded seriously at his words. "Though some are, aren't they?" she said quietly, voicing an observation she'd made a long time ago. She resisted the urge to cast an unsure glance over her shoulder, back at the man who'd brought her here.

Even when we have nothing to hide; it’s always best to use a little bit of concealment.. Sybil filed those words away quietly for later dissection.

"Ah," she said, receding just a little into herself, though there was barely a perceptible change in her behaviour. "Not so well, I'm afraid," she admitted softly. The girl tried not to let her feelings seep too deeply into her words. "It's been a long time," she added. Too many years in this godforsaken place. Sybil felt an uncharacteristic swell of anger at the ministry and the people who'd turned her mother into not-her-mother, followed by a far more characteristic sense of sadness, tinged with hopelessness. She'd been so powerless - still was, really - to do anything for any of the people she cared for. Used to hiding the things she felt, there was something freeing about being able to display these emotions in her eyes freely. "She isn't eating much these days," she said.

Sybil remembered her uncle - an actual uncle that was - who'd died less than a year after being imprisoned. He'd simply stopped eating and had starved. She still felt horrified at the wizarding world for letting these things happen, but more than that, it just made her sad. This whole place made her feel sad, but she'd keep coming back here and be thankful for it anyway. For her mother. For Gaius. Sybil moved her hands from her lap to rest them on the edge of the table, her small fingers bent over the edge, fingertips on tabletop.

"Aunt Ethelinda isn't well either," she added, though he had not asked. Perhaps naively, the girl assumed that he wanted to know about these aspects of her life. Her gaze dropped to her fingernails, neat and unpainted, before she followed the invisible lines her fingers were pointing in his direction. She met his eyes. "If she remains this ill, I'm told I'll be staying with Kendrick Silverman and his wife for the summer." Surely he remembered her mentioning Ken; she hadn't said his name in this place for a long time, but the first few times she'd visited Gaius in this ugly place she'd simply gushed about him. How could she not? The blonde witch had lost a great deal in those months; she clung to the things she had.

Sybil leaned in just a little, matching the seriousness of his last question as she posed her own."And how are they treating you, Uncle Gaius?" she asked, serious concern written into her young face.

Gaius listened to her speak with a paternal concern. Of course, he knew the answer already. Sybil’s mother was not built for Azkaban; few were; and it was of no surprise that the atmosphere of unending dread would be seeping inside of her and, to the best his knowledge (and constructed from whatever fragments of information he could gather second-and-third hand), Nellwyn Sinnoway was fading. Of course, he was not able to have any contact with his former comrade; and even if he could, there was very little a man with such finite resources could do for the woman under the weight of this foreboding place; a place designed to do no more than slowly grind a mind blunt and inert; to allow one to drown in the vast ocean of their own isolation.

The Death Eater nodded slowly as her voice weakened a little, and he placed his hand upon the delicate ridge of her young shoulder. “We will see what can be done, Sybil. Times have changed, and the people in charge of this place are no longer monsters. They are witches and wizards too, just like your mother, just like us. They will look after her, trust me.” It was something of an optimistic outlook, yes, but Sybil needed nothing less than complete optimism from him. Should anything happen to Nellwyn, the effect upon the young witch was surely to be incalculable.

However, the blonde witch continued onto a topic that suddenly aroused Gaius’ attention. The girl’s aunt, Ethelinda, was one of those permanent invalids, and as time passed, her condition worsened. This was not surprising, and there surely would come a day when Ethelinda would no longer be with Sybil. But that was not the interesting part of Sybil’s comment. Rather, it seemed that Sybil would possibly be resuming her residence with the Silvermans. The same Silvermans who both worked at the Ministry; in fact the wife, Jocasta, was an Auror. He had, naturally, crossed swords with her in the past, and a rather impressive young woman she had been. The Death Eater’s face remained impassive and contained nothing but his intense concentration upon his young guest. He nodded, and she asked him about his treatment. He smiled, and yet the differentials and wheels of his mind were turning rapidly.

The Silvermans had taken care of the girl before. However, she had been younger then, a mere child. But this girl that sat before him now was different; on the cusp of womanhood; scarred by her past and filled with an innocent, amaurotic allegiance to those that she loved, whether or not that love could ever be returned to her. This made her, in Gaius’ opinion, a most unusual specimen. He wondered what she would become; would this duty and adoration of hers end up wrecking her upon those ragged promontories of humanity; so harsh and immobile they often could be. Or rather, would her purity and uniqueness, her wellspring of a near-pure love stand her in good stead and carve a place for her in the world; protecting her from harm? It was impossible to predict, but as her protector, he certainly hoped for the latter.

And now, she would at least be protected, within the caring embrace of the Silvermans. No one could hope for more. And as Gaius gazed back into her large green eyes, he felt instinctively that this could be the very point where, despite the handicap of his current predicament, he could channel the girl down a siding of his choosing; he could plan a path for her that she would never have imagined. Gaius was now considering the very steps that would be required to, once and for all, orphan Sybil Sinnoway.

“I am doing very well, Sybil, thank you for asking,” he replied calmly to her question. “I am usually a little bored, but I do try to keep myself occupied with my work here, and thanks to your most useful gift -” and he placed his hand upon the think book laid on the tabletop “- I will be able to overcome some of the obstacles that have been in my way. In fact, perhaps next time -“

The lock snapped and echoed through the little cell, and with an energy slightly too intense for the calmness of their small gathering, Sybil’s guard friend stepped into the room. “Visiting time’s over,” he stated gruffly, and the displeasure was all too clear upon his face, presumably irritated that Gaius was, against regulations, receiving guests within this personal cell. Such deviations from procedure, whilst surprisingly common, were never allowed to exist for too long, before being righted by the guards.

Gaius did not protest, and instead stood to give the blonde girl a tight embrace and a kiss on the forehead before she was escorted away. “You run along now, Sybil. Be sure to write to me in the coming weeks, I really must know how Aunt Ethelinda is doing. Thank you for the most generous gifts. And tell the Silvermans that I said hello, won’t you?”


END

The cell was not very bright. The windows were small and candles only cast so much light, their flickering flames carving shapes out of the shadows rather than occupying all spaces in the room. Sybil thought it was strange to come in here in the middle of the day and feel an oppressive, night-like ambience weighing on her shoulders. Strange but familiar; there might have been no other place like it, but this wasn't her first visit to Azkaban, after all. She was acquainted with the darkness in these halls. She'd been here when it was darker still.

Whenever she visited this place, and him, Sybil always tried to be bright; if the sun did not touch his cell, then at least the brightness of her smile might soften the slickness of days merging together. Might punctuate the passing of time, perhaps in a way that helped delay the particular sort of despair that nipped at the heels of monotony. All she had to give anyone was herself. Who better to offer these parts of her, the best, prettiest parts, than one of the sole living - sane - people who'd known her as a child? A friend of her father's? She'd made him laugh today, if unintentionally, and from what she knew of Azkaban, that was already an achievement.

Sybil couldn't quite muster a bright smile as he touched her shoulder, though. She did not pause to interrogate the undeniable conflict in her feelings; the irrevocable trust in Gaius' juxtaposed against the less naive understanding she held about the workings of Azkaban. With his hand on her shoulder, she unquestioningly allowed the former fill her to the brim. It was powerful, this sort of trust. Such a pure feeling. She nodded silently, accepting faith him despite herself. But she couldn't quite bring herself to smile.

He was doing very well? Not simply well, but very well? She wanted badly to believe him. "That is good to hear, Uncle Gaius," she said quietly, genuinely. Once more, the blonde was thankful that he was in here now, and not a few years ago. Grateful that there were people that guarded this cell, rather than those creatures that - still - haunted her nightmares. Just thinking about the dementors that had once roamed these very halls sent an eerie chill over her arms; she adjusted her sleeves self-consciously.

The young witch winced slightly as the door to the cell was flung open somewhere behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard approaching through the darker, unlit hallway outside the cell. It was almost always like this. Too aggressive, too fast. Next time, what? Sybil looked back to Gaius to finish his sentence, but he did not. She deferred silently to the men in the room, getting to her feet quickly to match Gaius and rushing through a goodbye as was appropriate. Sybil held onto him a moment longer than decorum demanded; she didn't know when she'd see him again. He kissed her on the forehead and her heart gave a little squeeze.

Sybil made quick mental notes of the things he'd asked so that she could follow his instructions well. "I will," she promised sincerely, infusing those two words with all of the brightness she could manage. It was written on her face, deliberately unhidden; how safe he made her feel, how much she cared for his wellbeing. "I'll see you soon," she added, even though soon took on a more relative than literal meaning in between these walls. Even though she couldn't guarantee that she would see him soon, even relatively. Sybil let the guard lead her away from her paternalistic family friend, her smile fading once her back was turned to him, and the dark crept in once more.