Categories > Books > Harry Potter > On the Wrong Side of Sanity
On the Wrong Side of Sanity
Chapter 4: Carry Me Away
Government is not reason; it is not eloquent;
it is force.
Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master.
-George Washington
Dumbledore was absolutely correct when he visited me. The trial was held only two days after I was taken to the holding cells. Two days that seemed to pass so slowly, and yet all too fast. It seemed impossible that the ministry could have gotten everything ready for the trial in that amount of time. It almost seemed rushed, although I was both looking forward to getting out of the little white cell, but terrified to face a trial yet again. Dumbledore had not been able to visit me again after the first time, and that had done nothing for calming my frazzled nerves.
When I was escorted to the courtroom, I blanched. It was courtroom 10; the one with the shackles. The one I had been in before.
The noise from the room could be heard from the hallway outside, but that quickly changed when news spread that I was entering the room. The noise level dropped nearly instantly, an effect that made it seem as if I had been plunged into water, where the only thing I could hear was my own fluttering heartbeat. The silence didn’t last long, though.
“Mr. Potter! What do you have to say about your treatment at the hands of the ministry?”
“Do you have anything to say about the incident near Ottery St. Catchpole?”
“What are your feelings at being tried in front of nearly the entire Wizengamot?”
Question after question was shot my way, until it felt as if my head was spinning and I was surrounded by the calls of people I had never met before. Every now and then I could hear the Auror guards yell at some reporters who were trying to get too close in order to get photos with me and demand answers to their questions. At least twice, I thought I heard a friendly voice calling my name. I desperately looked around, but couldn’t find them through the throng of people writhing and twisting around me. A loud, shocking noise came from the head of the room where the minister sat, which effectively dispersed the onslaught of questions.
“Everyone, please take your seats. Questions will be allowed after the trial. Please hold all your questions until then,” Minister Scrimgeour spoke above the continued mumblings from the reporters.
I was seated in the one chair in the middle of the room. I nearly jumped when the shackles moved in order to fasten around my wrists and ankles.
“Minister, is that truly necessary?” A familiar voice called from the observers’ section. All the mumbling from the reporters quickly subsided as everyone turned to watch the two powerful men speak. I turned my head in that direction, and felt my face turn white yet again.
Why was the headmaster not sitting with the rest of the Wizengamot?
My heart sped up in fear. The one I was counting on, the one that I had always counted on could not help me here. He wouldn’t be able to vote, only watch. The silent wish to start crying assaulted me again, the third time in as many days.
“This is a murder trial, Headmaster Dumbledore. A murder trial in which we have evidence of the use of an unforgivable. It is the law that any potentially dangerous criminal in this building be restrained,” the minister replied.
“Be that as it may, you are well aware that we have no such dangerous criminal here,” Dumbledore tried again. “This is a schoolboy, not a Death Eater. You should be well aware of that, minister.” However, Dumbledore’s effort was in vain.
“This is a murder trial, as I have said. Any murder trial involves a potential dangerous criminal. That is all I have to say on the matter. Now let us continue, or I shall need to have you escorted out,” Scrimgeour replied firmly. It was sad that, not too long ago, the minister had been trying to gain my favor in order to get more support from the magical community. I couldn’t imagine what had made him switch tactics so suddenly. Behind the minister, I could just see the rather smug face of his advisor, Cornelius Fudge.
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot sat down stoically without providing any more protest.
With the small clash between the two most politically powerful wizards apparently finished, the attention of the entire room once more turned to me. A deep breath did nothing to calm me. I watched as Minister Scrimgeour once more turned to address the entire room.
“Let us begin. This is the trial against Mr. Harry Potter for the murder of Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange and the use of an Unforgivable Curse on the 27th of December,” began Scrimgeour. “As minister, I will be presiding over the trial. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore will be unable to join the Wizengamot for the duration of this trial due to a widespread concern over his close personal relationship to the accused. Please be seated.” The noise from the quill of the court scribe seemed deafening in the silence that followed.
As the trial finally began in earnest, I couldn’t help but tune out the official-sounding jargon and instead let my eyes wander over the observers’ section. None of this felt real to me. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both sitting next to the Headmaster. I could also see Remus, whose sharp, amber eyes were staring intently at the speakers. Every now and then his eyes would narrow dangerously. Tonks was also sitting with the observers, apparently not on duty today. She was the only one who tried to smile at me encouragingly. I found Ron and Hermione, who were most likely going to be used as witnesses to the events before Bellatrix found me. They both looked extremely tired. Their faces seemed nearly white, and they kept switching their attention between me and whoever was talking. I was finally brought back to the proceedings when I heard my name mentioned.
“-tter’s two close friends; Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Please approach the front, Mr. Weasley.”
Ron got up and almost unsteadily made his way toward the front of the room, and stood behind the witness box, fidgeting.
“Mr. Weasley, please explain what happened on the 27th of December,” encouraged a wizard in a navy blue, professional-looking robe.
“Well… uh… me, Hermione, and Harry were going to the muggle village near the Burrow… my house, that is. We were gonna just look around, maybe buy some stuff, ya’ know? And, um…well, after a while, Harry started looking upset or something. I dunno why. But he asked to go to some other store without us. We didn’t want to split up or anything, but he said he’d be right quick about it. So me and Hermione went to a café to wait.” Ron looked like he had no idea what else to say. I could see him wiping his hands on his robe a few times and glancing my way in worry.
“Okay, Mr. Weasley. Now, did you look for him later on, when he didn’t return?” the wizard asked, encouraging Ron to continue.
“Well, yeah. I mean yes, we did. Hermione got impatient and wanted to check the shops for him. I figured he’d be fine, but went along anyway. I…well, we noticed a lot of people gathering in the woods, or something. Didn’t know why, so we followed them. We saw Harry in the middle of it all, just sitting there. Kinda shocked, I think,” finished Ron. He seemed sure that there was nothing else he could possibly add.
“Did Mr. Potter seem distracted before you left to go to the muggle village?”
“Not really, no. I know he wanted to get out of the Burrow. He’d been stuck inside for safety reasons, you know. This was the first time he’d been able to leave the Burrow to have fun. It was the first time in a long time for all of us,” Ron responded, looking a little confused. I couldn’t blame him though, I was as well. What were they waiting to hear?
The next question cleared things up for me quickly.
“Did you ever hear Mr. Potter speak ill of Mrs. Lestrange or wish ill of her?” Ron’s eyes went wide at the question. All he did was stutter for a second. Someone else spoke up before he could recover.
“Now that is unfair! We all know that woman was a Death Eater!” Mrs. Weasley burst out. Others among the observers began mumbling amongst themselves.
“Quiet! This is an admissible question. Do not make me throw anyone out of the courtroom!” yelled the minister. Things quieted down quickly after the outburst, however the Order members that I could see, as well as my friends, were looking rather upset. “Now, Mr. Weasley, please answer the question.” Ron’s eyes went comically wide.
“Well…erm. He never said he wanted to hurt her, no,” he replied, obviously caught off guard.
“Did he ever speak ill of her, Mr. Weasley?”
“Erm, we all did. Sir. I…we didn’t exactly get along, y’know.” Ron stumbled over his answer.
“That is all. You may take your seat,” the wizard finally relented. I noticed once again the scribbling coming from the court scribe, who was recording every word as Ron, my best friend, accidentally gave people a reason to think, or maybe just imagine that I had planned a murder. My imagined public self was apparently a diabolical fiend.
It hit me then, as Ron quickly made his way back to his seat, obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. This wasn’t a fair trial to see if I had killed Bellatrix or not. It wasn’t even to see if it had been on purpose or not. No, what they wanted was quite different. They wanted to find me guilty. I wanted to scream at them; to rage and cry and yell about the unfairness of it all. Why? Why did they do this to me?
“Miss Hermione Granger, please step forward.” Hermione’s eyes were narrowed at the wizard in navy blue robes. It looked like she also understood what was happening. She understood, and was not happy about it. But what could she do? What could any of us do? Not even Dumbledore could help me this time. He had sat down without further protest against Scrimgeour.
“Miss Granger,” began the wizard, “please explain what happened on the 27th after leaving the Weasleys’ home.”
As Hermione went on to explain that day, just like Ron had, I simply sat back and stared through everyone. Why did the Wizengamot, or the Minister, or whoever it was want me to be in Azkaban? I had no illusions that it wasn’t where they would try to send me. Especially with the way that the questions were being asked, and how no one was able to talk to me after the Headmaster left my little white cell. Did they even find someone to defend me? Shouldn’t someone be telling them that this is ridiculous?
“-said that he wanted to go pick up a few things from some other shops. I said we would go with him, but he didn’t want us to. It was obvious that he wanted to buy something for us, even though Christmas was over. Maybe something for New Years. I wasn’t going to let him go alone, but I felt bad. He hadn’t had any time to himself at all over Christmas break, especially not with everyone home for the holiday. I figured he would be fine for an hour or so,” finished Hermione, her eyes still narrowed at the wizard in front of her.
“No further questions. You may sit back down.”
I was surprised that they didn’t ask her the same questions that they had asked Ron. I had been counting on her to be able to spin the story so it didn’t look like I had been planning to kill Lestrange the entire time. Was that why they didn’t question her further?
Hermione sat back down hesitantly, most likely having had the same thoughts I had. Ron looked at her in confusion when she sat down, but then she leaned over to whisper in his ear. His responding whisper was almost too loud, but he quickly shut up when some people around his glanced over at the noise. I watched the both of them with sadness welling up inside. What if I couldn’t get out of this? What if I was locked away, never to see my best friends again?
It was an awful thought.
“Mr. Tilswith Quillswin is the responding Auror who was first on the scene. Please come forward,” said the minister, ignoring the whispering of Hermione and Ron.
The man that I could hardly remember talking to on that horrible day walked up to the front of the room. He had short, brown hair and a noticeable scar near his left eye. He looked like a kind man, one who always had a nice smile ready for a friend. The man stood at the witness box stiffly. I had to wonder if he knew what was going on here and whether he cared or not.
“Mr. Quillswin, what brought you to the clearing not too far from the muggle village near Ottery St. Catchpole?” the man in navy blue asked.
“We received a floo-call saying that there was something going on in the muggle village nearby. The caller was sure that it was some big fight which was taking place and demanded that a group of Aurors be sent. I was the first one sent out to investigate the problem, although the rest of the responding Aurors were right behind me,” the Auror responded. The next question quickly followed.
“What was the scene when you arrived?”
Mr. Quillswin took a second before answering, either trying to remember the details or calm his nerves, I couldn’t tell. “There were no loud noises or lights indicating a fight, as we had been expecting. The boy; Mr. Potter, that is, he was sitting in the middle of the woods. Just sitting there and staring. He seemed to be in shock since he didn’t immediately respond to my presence or my words. His face looked a bloody mess, but Mr. Potter took no notice of it. It took me a second to notice the body of Mrs. Lestrange across from him, only a few meters away. It was immediately obvious that she was dead.”
“What was determined to be the cause of death?” prodded the wizard directing the questions.
“While there was some blood around her from a wound on her neck, it was not large enough to have caused her death. It was decided that she had died from the Killing Curse.”
The wizard nodded and then asked one more question. One last, devastating question.
“What was the evidence gathered from Mr. Potter’s wand?”
The Auror, kind-looking Mr. Quillswin, looked down before answering. “It showed the use of the Killing Curse, sir.”
.
.
.
The noise in the courtroom flowed over me as I sat there, chained to that hated chair in the middle of that hated room. I was lost in the noise. I looked for Dumbledore, and found him looking back at me sadly, looking older than he ever had before. The noise around me became unimportant, the movement of the people sitting around him equally so. His sad eyes pierced me.
Was he disappointed in me?
..........................................................................
Please, it’s not my fault! I didn’t mean this! This isn’t what I wanted!
Please don’t look at me with those sad, miserable eyes! PLEASE!
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“Silence!”
The yell shocked everyone, including me, into paying attention to the minister. Even the scribbling that had almost become a part of the sounds of the courtroom had stopped, causing me to glance towards the appalled face of the scribe.
“That is enough! You may resume your conversations when this trial is over. Until that time, I ask you to contain yourselves. Now we will call Mr. Potter to the stand.” The minister then finally turned to address me. “Mr. Potter, if you please?”
The shackles around me finally released their grip, and for a moment, I felt free. I could run. I could escape. I could get away from all this and never come back. Reality didn’t take long to force its way back into my head. There was no getting away from this. As if to emphasize this, a new set of shackles was forced on me to allow me to approach the stand. I walked slowly, feeling once more as if this should all be a dream. Wands from several different guards followed my progress. As I stood up there in front of everyone, defenseless and unsure of what I could possibly say to make this all go away, the questions started.
“Mr. Potter. Why were you in the woods near Ottery St. Catchpole?” the wizard in the blue robes asked.
“It was just to have some time to myself. I had planned to go to a shop or two to pick some things up for New Years, but I wanted to get away from people for a bit, first. I love the Weasley home, but there are always so many people around all the time. The woods were calm. I just needed a minute to myself.” It was the best response that I could come up with, even having first recited it in my head while trying to imagine what I would be asked.
“What did you do when you saw Mrs. Lestrange?”
“Well, sh-she came up with her wand pointed at me. She started yelling things. I knew she was dangerous, so I fought back.”
“You fought back? You are saying that she was the first one to cast?” The professional-looking wizard raised an eyebrow at me.
I froze. “Well, no. I started; it was a…a body-bind, I think. I knew she was dangerous. She wanted to kill me.”
“And you didn’t think to run, Mr. Potter?” the man pointed out.
“I…well, I thought…” my weak defense was just getting weaker. How could I respond? The man moved on to the next question, not even giving me the time to gather my thoughts.
“Why the Killing Curse, Mr. Potter?” This question devastated me. I froze. I couldn’t even think. How could I answer? Whispering in the observers’ section rose once again, but the Minister had all of his attention focused on me, seemingly to the exclusion of all else.
“I-I…” I looked out to the rest of the courtroom. Mrs. Weasley seemed like she was going to break into sobs at any moment. Dumbledore was tensely staring, sometimes at me, sometimes at Scrimgeour. Ron and Hermione’s eyes were wide in fear. How could I answer?
“I…I thought I was g-going to die.” My voice was small when I finally answered, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“You thought you were going to die, and you did not run, but killed. I think I’m finished with the questions, Minister,” said the man who I was now sure I hated. Hated, and feared. His parting words struck me like a blow.
“Mr. Potter, you may be seated. Now, the Wizengamot will break in order to come to a verdict,” stated Scrimgeour. With that, the Wizengamot members stood and filed out through a small, unadorned door in the corner of the room in front of me. They left silently, but whispers broke out among the observers as soon as the large group of regal-looking witches and wizards left the courtroom.
They were going to decide my fate now. They were going to decide my fate, and I couldn’t do anything.
Fifteen minutes turned into thirty, and then forty-five before the door opened once more to allow the Wizengamot members back into the courtroom. My heart felt like it stopped when the door opened. I couldn’t even concentrate enough to wonder if it was a good or bad thing that it took less than an hour. All I could do was wait. Wait for a sentence that may or may not ruin me.
As the wizengamot seated themselves, silence swept over the room again as people waited for the conclusion of the trial. When everyone was seated, the minister turned to address one member that seemed to be taking the place of Dumbledore as the Chief Warlock for this trial.
“Has a decision been made?”
“It has,” responded the Wizengamot member. He then turned to the rest of the room and declared the verdict. “Harry Potter has been found guilty of murder and the use of an unforgivable curse!”
All around me, people were talking quickly, some even yelling. I could hear Mrs. Weasley sobbing as well as Ron yelling about the unfairness of the trial. The Wizengamot looked on stoically, although a few seemed less than satisfied with the verdict. Soon, guards were coming over to unclasp the shackles of the chair, only to place a smaller set around my wrists once again. My gaze remained on the podium as I was led from the courtroom amid flashes of cameras and shouted questions. Most of it was incomprehensible to me. I realized as I walked that I had never even learned the name of the man that had questioned me and everyone else, that had led Ron to stumble so badly on his responses. That had led me to nearly crack while trying to answer the man’s harsh questions. But a second later, it didn’t matter. It was only my mind trying to escape the realization that I was going somewhere I would never survive.
I couldn’t possibly survive.
Chapter 4: Carry Me Away
Government is not reason; it is not eloquent;
it is force.
Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master.
-George Washington
Dumbledore was absolutely correct when he visited me. The trial was held only two days after I was taken to the holding cells. Two days that seemed to pass so slowly, and yet all too fast. It seemed impossible that the ministry could have gotten everything ready for the trial in that amount of time. It almost seemed rushed, although I was both looking forward to getting out of the little white cell, but terrified to face a trial yet again. Dumbledore had not been able to visit me again after the first time, and that had done nothing for calming my frazzled nerves.
When I was escorted to the courtroom, I blanched. It was courtroom 10; the one with the shackles. The one I had been in before.
The noise from the room could be heard from the hallway outside, but that quickly changed when news spread that I was entering the room. The noise level dropped nearly instantly, an effect that made it seem as if I had been plunged into water, where the only thing I could hear was my own fluttering heartbeat. The silence didn’t last long, though.
“Mr. Potter! What do you have to say about your treatment at the hands of the ministry?”
“Do you have anything to say about the incident near Ottery St. Catchpole?”
“What are your feelings at being tried in front of nearly the entire Wizengamot?”
Question after question was shot my way, until it felt as if my head was spinning and I was surrounded by the calls of people I had never met before. Every now and then I could hear the Auror guards yell at some reporters who were trying to get too close in order to get photos with me and demand answers to their questions. At least twice, I thought I heard a friendly voice calling my name. I desperately looked around, but couldn’t find them through the throng of people writhing and twisting around me. A loud, shocking noise came from the head of the room where the minister sat, which effectively dispersed the onslaught of questions.
“Everyone, please take your seats. Questions will be allowed after the trial. Please hold all your questions until then,” Minister Scrimgeour spoke above the continued mumblings from the reporters.
I was seated in the one chair in the middle of the room. I nearly jumped when the shackles moved in order to fasten around my wrists and ankles.
“Minister, is that truly necessary?” A familiar voice called from the observers’ section. All the mumbling from the reporters quickly subsided as everyone turned to watch the two powerful men speak. I turned my head in that direction, and felt my face turn white yet again.
Why was the headmaster not sitting with the rest of the Wizengamot?
My heart sped up in fear. The one I was counting on, the one that I had always counted on could not help me here. He wouldn’t be able to vote, only watch. The silent wish to start crying assaulted me again, the third time in as many days.
“This is a murder trial, Headmaster Dumbledore. A murder trial in which we have evidence of the use of an unforgivable. It is the law that any potentially dangerous criminal in this building be restrained,” the minister replied.
“Be that as it may, you are well aware that we have no such dangerous criminal here,” Dumbledore tried again. “This is a schoolboy, not a Death Eater. You should be well aware of that, minister.” However, Dumbledore’s effort was in vain.
“This is a murder trial, as I have said. Any murder trial involves a potential dangerous criminal. That is all I have to say on the matter. Now let us continue, or I shall need to have you escorted out,” Scrimgeour replied firmly. It was sad that, not too long ago, the minister had been trying to gain my favor in order to get more support from the magical community. I couldn’t imagine what had made him switch tactics so suddenly. Behind the minister, I could just see the rather smug face of his advisor, Cornelius Fudge.
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot sat down stoically without providing any more protest.
With the small clash between the two most politically powerful wizards apparently finished, the attention of the entire room once more turned to me. A deep breath did nothing to calm me. I watched as Minister Scrimgeour once more turned to address the entire room.
“Let us begin. This is the trial against Mr. Harry Potter for the murder of Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange and the use of an Unforgivable Curse on the 27th of December,” began Scrimgeour. “As minister, I will be presiding over the trial. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore will be unable to join the Wizengamot for the duration of this trial due to a widespread concern over his close personal relationship to the accused. Please be seated.” The noise from the quill of the court scribe seemed deafening in the silence that followed.
As the trial finally began in earnest, I couldn’t help but tune out the official-sounding jargon and instead let my eyes wander over the observers’ section. None of this felt real to me. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both sitting next to the Headmaster. I could also see Remus, whose sharp, amber eyes were staring intently at the speakers. Every now and then his eyes would narrow dangerously. Tonks was also sitting with the observers, apparently not on duty today. She was the only one who tried to smile at me encouragingly. I found Ron and Hermione, who were most likely going to be used as witnesses to the events before Bellatrix found me. They both looked extremely tired. Their faces seemed nearly white, and they kept switching their attention between me and whoever was talking. I was finally brought back to the proceedings when I heard my name mentioned.
“-tter’s two close friends; Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Please approach the front, Mr. Weasley.”
Ron got up and almost unsteadily made his way toward the front of the room, and stood behind the witness box, fidgeting.
“Mr. Weasley, please explain what happened on the 27th of December,” encouraged a wizard in a navy blue, professional-looking robe.
“Well… uh… me, Hermione, and Harry were going to the muggle village near the Burrow… my house, that is. We were gonna just look around, maybe buy some stuff, ya’ know? And, um…well, after a while, Harry started looking upset or something. I dunno why. But he asked to go to some other store without us. We didn’t want to split up or anything, but he said he’d be right quick about it. So me and Hermione went to a café to wait.” Ron looked like he had no idea what else to say. I could see him wiping his hands on his robe a few times and glancing my way in worry.
“Okay, Mr. Weasley. Now, did you look for him later on, when he didn’t return?” the wizard asked, encouraging Ron to continue.
“Well, yeah. I mean yes, we did. Hermione got impatient and wanted to check the shops for him. I figured he’d be fine, but went along anyway. I…well, we noticed a lot of people gathering in the woods, or something. Didn’t know why, so we followed them. We saw Harry in the middle of it all, just sitting there. Kinda shocked, I think,” finished Ron. He seemed sure that there was nothing else he could possibly add.
“Did Mr. Potter seem distracted before you left to go to the muggle village?”
“Not really, no. I know he wanted to get out of the Burrow. He’d been stuck inside for safety reasons, you know. This was the first time he’d been able to leave the Burrow to have fun. It was the first time in a long time for all of us,” Ron responded, looking a little confused. I couldn’t blame him though, I was as well. What were they waiting to hear?
The next question cleared things up for me quickly.
“Did you ever hear Mr. Potter speak ill of Mrs. Lestrange or wish ill of her?” Ron’s eyes went wide at the question. All he did was stutter for a second. Someone else spoke up before he could recover.
“Now that is unfair! We all know that woman was a Death Eater!” Mrs. Weasley burst out. Others among the observers began mumbling amongst themselves.
“Quiet! This is an admissible question. Do not make me throw anyone out of the courtroom!” yelled the minister. Things quieted down quickly after the outburst, however the Order members that I could see, as well as my friends, were looking rather upset. “Now, Mr. Weasley, please answer the question.” Ron’s eyes went comically wide.
“Well…erm. He never said he wanted to hurt her, no,” he replied, obviously caught off guard.
“Did he ever speak ill of her, Mr. Weasley?”
“Erm, we all did. Sir. I…we didn’t exactly get along, y’know.” Ron stumbled over his answer.
“That is all. You may take your seat,” the wizard finally relented. I noticed once again the scribbling coming from the court scribe, who was recording every word as Ron, my best friend, accidentally gave people a reason to think, or maybe just imagine that I had planned a murder. My imagined public self was apparently a diabolical fiend.
It hit me then, as Ron quickly made his way back to his seat, obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. This wasn’t a fair trial to see if I had killed Bellatrix or not. It wasn’t even to see if it had been on purpose or not. No, what they wanted was quite different. They wanted to find me guilty. I wanted to scream at them; to rage and cry and yell about the unfairness of it all. Why? Why did they do this to me?
“Miss Hermione Granger, please step forward.” Hermione’s eyes were narrowed at the wizard in navy blue robes. It looked like she also understood what was happening. She understood, and was not happy about it. But what could she do? What could any of us do? Not even Dumbledore could help me this time. He had sat down without further protest against Scrimgeour.
“Miss Granger,” began the wizard, “please explain what happened on the 27th after leaving the Weasleys’ home.”
As Hermione went on to explain that day, just like Ron had, I simply sat back and stared through everyone. Why did the Wizengamot, or the Minister, or whoever it was want me to be in Azkaban? I had no illusions that it wasn’t where they would try to send me. Especially with the way that the questions were being asked, and how no one was able to talk to me after the Headmaster left my little white cell. Did they even find someone to defend me? Shouldn’t someone be telling them that this is ridiculous?
“-said that he wanted to go pick up a few things from some other shops. I said we would go with him, but he didn’t want us to. It was obvious that he wanted to buy something for us, even though Christmas was over. Maybe something for New Years. I wasn’t going to let him go alone, but I felt bad. He hadn’t had any time to himself at all over Christmas break, especially not with everyone home for the holiday. I figured he would be fine for an hour or so,” finished Hermione, her eyes still narrowed at the wizard in front of her.
“No further questions. You may sit back down.”
I was surprised that they didn’t ask her the same questions that they had asked Ron. I had been counting on her to be able to spin the story so it didn’t look like I had been planning to kill Lestrange the entire time. Was that why they didn’t question her further?
Hermione sat back down hesitantly, most likely having had the same thoughts I had. Ron looked at her in confusion when she sat down, but then she leaned over to whisper in his ear. His responding whisper was almost too loud, but he quickly shut up when some people around his glanced over at the noise. I watched the both of them with sadness welling up inside. What if I couldn’t get out of this? What if I was locked away, never to see my best friends again?
It was an awful thought.
“Mr. Tilswith Quillswin is the responding Auror who was first on the scene. Please come forward,” said the minister, ignoring the whispering of Hermione and Ron.
The man that I could hardly remember talking to on that horrible day walked up to the front of the room. He had short, brown hair and a noticeable scar near his left eye. He looked like a kind man, one who always had a nice smile ready for a friend. The man stood at the witness box stiffly. I had to wonder if he knew what was going on here and whether he cared or not.
“Mr. Quillswin, what brought you to the clearing not too far from the muggle village near Ottery St. Catchpole?” the man in navy blue asked.
“We received a floo-call saying that there was something going on in the muggle village nearby. The caller was sure that it was some big fight which was taking place and demanded that a group of Aurors be sent. I was the first one sent out to investigate the problem, although the rest of the responding Aurors were right behind me,” the Auror responded. The next question quickly followed.
“What was the scene when you arrived?”
Mr. Quillswin took a second before answering, either trying to remember the details or calm his nerves, I couldn’t tell. “There were no loud noises or lights indicating a fight, as we had been expecting. The boy; Mr. Potter, that is, he was sitting in the middle of the woods. Just sitting there and staring. He seemed to be in shock since he didn’t immediately respond to my presence or my words. His face looked a bloody mess, but Mr. Potter took no notice of it. It took me a second to notice the body of Mrs. Lestrange across from him, only a few meters away. It was immediately obvious that she was dead.”
“What was determined to be the cause of death?” prodded the wizard directing the questions.
“While there was some blood around her from a wound on her neck, it was not large enough to have caused her death. It was decided that she had died from the Killing Curse.”
The wizard nodded and then asked one more question. One last, devastating question.
“What was the evidence gathered from Mr. Potter’s wand?”
The Auror, kind-looking Mr. Quillswin, looked down before answering. “It showed the use of the Killing Curse, sir.”
.
.
.
The noise in the courtroom flowed over me as I sat there, chained to that hated chair in the middle of that hated room. I was lost in the noise. I looked for Dumbledore, and found him looking back at me sadly, looking older than he ever had before. The noise around me became unimportant, the movement of the people sitting around him equally so. His sad eyes pierced me.
Was he disappointed in me?
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Please, it’s not my fault! I didn’t mean this! This isn’t what I wanted!
Please don’t look at me with those sad, miserable eyes! PLEASE!
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“Silence!”
The yell shocked everyone, including me, into paying attention to the minister. Even the scribbling that had almost become a part of the sounds of the courtroom had stopped, causing me to glance towards the appalled face of the scribe.
“That is enough! You may resume your conversations when this trial is over. Until that time, I ask you to contain yourselves. Now we will call Mr. Potter to the stand.” The minister then finally turned to address me. “Mr. Potter, if you please?”
The shackles around me finally released their grip, and for a moment, I felt free. I could run. I could escape. I could get away from all this and never come back. Reality didn’t take long to force its way back into my head. There was no getting away from this. As if to emphasize this, a new set of shackles was forced on me to allow me to approach the stand. I walked slowly, feeling once more as if this should all be a dream. Wands from several different guards followed my progress. As I stood up there in front of everyone, defenseless and unsure of what I could possibly say to make this all go away, the questions started.
“Mr. Potter. Why were you in the woods near Ottery St. Catchpole?” the wizard in the blue robes asked.
“It was just to have some time to myself. I had planned to go to a shop or two to pick some things up for New Years, but I wanted to get away from people for a bit, first. I love the Weasley home, but there are always so many people around all the time. The woods were calm. I just needed a minute to myself.” It was the best response that I could come up with, even having first recited it in my head while trying to imagine what I would be asked.
“What did you do when you saw Mrs. Lestrange?”
“Well, sh-she came up with her wand pointed at me. She started yelling things. I knew she was dangerous, so I fought back.”
“You fought back? You are saying that she was the first one to cast?” The professional-looking wizard raised an eyebrow at me.
I froze. “Well, no. I started; it was a…a body-bind, I think. I knew she was dangerous. She wanted to kill me.”
“And you didn’t think to run, Mr. Potter?” the man pointed out.
“I…well, I thought…” my weak defense was just getting weaker. How could I respond? The man moved on to the next question, not even giving me the time to gather my thoughts.
“Why the Killing Curse, Mr. Potter?” This question devastated me. I froze. I couldn’t even think. How could I answer? Whispering in the observers’ section rose once again, but the Minister had all of his attention focused on me, seemingly to the exclusion of all else.
“I-I…” I looked out to the rest of the courtroom. Mrs. Weasley seemed like she was going to break into sobs at any moment. Dumbledore was tensely staring, sometimes at me, sometimes at Scrimgeour. Ron and Hermione’s eyes were wide in fear. How could I answer?
“I…I thought I was g-going to die.” My voice was small when I finally answered, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“You thought you were going to die, and you did not run, but killed. I think I’m finished with the questions, Minister,” said the man who I was now sure I hated. Hated, and feared. His parting words struck me like a blow.
“Mr. Potter, you may be seated. Now, the Wizengamot will break in order to come to a verdict,” stated Scrimgeour. With that, the Wizengamot members stood and filed out through a small, unadorned door in the corner of the room in front of me. They left silently, but whispers broke out among the observers as soon as the large group of regal-looking witches and wizards left the courtroom.
They were going to decide my fate now. They were going to decide my fate, and I couldn’t do anything.
Fifteen minutes turned into thirty, and then forty-five before the door opened once more to allow the Wizengamot members back into the courtroom. My heart felt like it stopped when the door opened. I couldn’t even concentrate enough to wonder if it was a good or bad thing that it took less than an hour. All I could do was wait. Wait for a sentence that may or may not ruin me.
As the wizengamot seated themselves, silence swept over the room again as people waited for the conclusion of the trial. When everyone was seated, the minister turned to address one member that seemed to be taking the place of Dumbledore as the Chief Warlock for this trial.
“Has a decision been made?”
“It has,” responded the Wizengamot member. He then turned to the rest of the room and declared the verdict. “Harry Potter has been found guilty of murder and the use of an unforgivable curse!”
All around me, people were talking quickly, some even yelling. I could hear Mrs. Weasley sobbing as well as Ron yelling about the unfairness of the trial. The Wizengamot looked on stoically, although a few seemed less than satisfied with the verdict. Soon, guards were coming over to unclasp the shackles of the chair, only to place a smaller set around my wrists once again. My gaze remained on the podium as I was led from the courtroom amid flashes of cameras and shouted questions. Most of it was incomprehensible to me. I realized as I walked that I had never even learned the name of the man that had questioned me and everyone else, that had led Ron to stumble so badly on his responses. That had led me to nearly crack while trying to answer the man’s harsh questions. But a second later, it didn’t matter. It was only my mind trying to escape the realization that I was going somewhere I would never survive.
I couldn’t possibly survive.
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