Stay With Me || Garreth Weasley

A Fiery Truth

A/N: It's extremely satisfying to finally post a chapter I wrote this time last year, lol. I should warn you that there are no scene breaks here, it's one big long ride. There is also my trademark singular F-bomb, so please read with caution. Spoilers for the Tangled Web quest!

Including this one, we're three chapters from the end! It's been a treat reading your theories and guesses, so I hope this lives up to expectations. Enjoy... ;)

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Wow! he thinks when he's vaguely conscious. I feel like shit!

After a few moments trying to stop the dizziness, Garreth manages to pry his eyes open. The ceiling is blurry, and he has to blink a few times to get it to focus; toothed with golden stalactites, its sharp points glint like needles.

A cavern, he dimly registers. A musty smell permeates unpleasantly around him, and he can taste dried blood too. He grits his teeth and tries to concentrate beyond the pounding of his skull. What the hell happened? There was the Valentine's Dance, you were waltzing together... and then—

He inhales a long breath. The poachers. Cadger. Feng. He makes out the wooden slats in front of him, perfectly spaced in even increments that overlook the cavern far below.

No. Not just wooden slats. Bars. It's a cage for a beast.

He tries to sit up, but his back protests.

"Garreth!"

White hot fear bolts through him, and he spins around, ignoring the pain. You're at the opposite side, flame dress torn and caked with dirt, hair limp and matted, and there's a lattice of cuts on your arms and cheeks. But you're crying happy tears as you shuffle closer, smoothing the hair from his face.

"You're okay. You're awake. Thank god, thank god..."

"What the hell...?" His voice is rusty. "Prim, what the hell—"

"Keep your voice down! Or they'll hear."

At first he thinks you mean the poachers. Who else would it be? But then he notices the huge drop between the floor and the ground, the cage suspended by chains, and the hundreds of spider crates stacked around them. Thornbacks skitter and chitter, shooters dribble their venom and scurriours screech and scrape the wood. Dust-laden cobwebs cover every surface.

Fear pierces through him so sharply he almost vomits. Merlin's waggling arse cheeks, why did it have to be spiders?

"I came as soon as I got your lock of hair. They told me they would let you go if I did. They told me—" Your breath tremors. "God, I'm wasting time. Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of here. They took our wands, but I'll use wandless magic on your shackles."

He finally acknowledges the two cold rings of steel attached to his forearms, chained to a hook on the floor. He gives it an experimental tug, but he might as well be trying to push a troll with a blade of grass.

"Wandless? Prim—"

"It's the only thing I can think of. Don't move. Alohomora."

Nothing happens.

Your fingers roll. "Alohomora Perplexitas."

Nothing. You try again, and again. Sweat gathers on your forehead.

"It's all right," he says.

"No, it's not. I can get us out of here. I can. I just need to concentrate."