Jennifer Oswald. It had to be Jennifer Oswald.
Of all the people in the world to be found dead on the beach with the weapon responsible for assassinating the British Minister, Jenny Oswald was perhaps the least expected, and the most devastating.
Lucien couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
“It wasn’t her,” Rebecca fumed, all but slamming the door of their suite behind them. “She was imperiused, she had to be.”
They’d been taken in for questioning shortly after the authorities identified the body. By now, it was nearly two in the morning, the shock of the night’s events finally giving way to more intense emotions. The attack on the Minister alone would have been enough to shake them thoroughly. Jenny’s body on the beach...it was unthinkable. Not to mention there was something so...off about it. There was something larger afoot, some looming threat, and they had no idea what--or who--it was.
“She wouldn't do it,” Lucien agreed, kicking off his shoes as he followed his fiance into the main bedroom. His head was starting to hurt. It was all too much.
“Of course she wouldn't! Ozzie wouldn't hurt a fly unless it threatened her family. Even on the job she was always reluctant to hurt people, she almost failed her training because of it.” Rebecca angrily tore off her short heels, tossing them to the side before taking the pins out of her hair and letting it fall down over her shoulders.
“But I just don't understand. Whoever is behind this, why would they...I mean, why Jenny?” Lucien sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
Rebecca stayed silent for a moment, leaning her hands against the counter of the vanity beside the bed. She closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face, before she finally shook her head.
“It's obvious, isn't it?” she said softly. “They're trying to frame us. Jenny meant nothing, she was just a pawn this son of a bitch’s twisted little game.”
Lucien’s eyes widened. The plot was even bigger than he'd realized, and somehow, inexplicably, they were far more involved than he had initially thought--or would have ever wanted.
“Who do you think it is?”
“Could be anyone,” she shrugged helplessly. “It's not even limited to the delegates, although they're the most likely suspects. This conference is extremely controversial, there's plenty of motive for all sorts of people.”
Lucien went silent for a little while as they both thought it through. He didn't want to point fingers at anyone, but someone had to be responsible, and he couldn't rule out anyone until he knew for certain they were innocent. They couldn't really afford to give the benefit of the doubt. Lives were at stake.
Rebecca turned around and rubbed her palms into her eyes with an exhausted sigh. “God, why Jenny though...of all the people in the world, they had to pick the fucking sweetest kid.”
Jennifer Oswald was eight years younger than Rebecca. The older witch had guided her through her training as a junior auror, back when she'd joined the force at the age of 19. Over the past seven years, their relationship had evolved from mentor and mentee, to partners, to close friends and confidants.
Lucien rose from his position on the edge of the bed, and came to stand beside his fiance. Rebecca had never been good with grief. She turned it into anger, into energy, and then went and used it to her advantage. But here, she had no idea where to direct it, and so the rage simmered down and gave way to something worse. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut as an uncomfortable lump seemed to block her throat, and her eyes stung behind her eyelids.
Lucien pulled her into his chest. He'd known Jenny, though not nearly as well as Rebecca had. The younger witch had visited their home on more than one occasion. He understood, wordlessly, what Rebecca was going through, even if she wasn't sure herself. She buried her face into his shirt, arms limp at her sides as she leaned into his embrace.
They said nothing. What was there to be said? What words could do justice to the terrible events of the night, and the terrible uncertainty of the future? Lucien simply held his fiance close, grateful that she, at least, was safe, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
In the morning, having had very little sleep, he would return to the conference room with his features grim and haggard, his mind elsewhere. The vote suddenly seemed trivial compared to the tragedies of the previous night. And now, amongst the many thoughts that plagued him, an overbearing anxiety pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. Was anyone really safe? Was he? Was Rebecca?
by 
