The Greywitch Trials | Harry Potter AU

Trial

Eloise was revived in a room much like her cell aside from the dark slab of stone she was laid out on; her arms and legs froze against the bitingly cold rock. Beside the slab stood a wizard in dark grey robes, his hands clasped together with a parchment floating in the air by his head, a quill poised against the scroll. 

The wizard had greying hair, which had portions that spoke of a light brown colour it had been in his youth. His face was wrinkled with deep frown lines, and his grey eyes were dull with disinterest. 

After a long moment of nothing happening, the grey-robed wizard turned to the side and motioned with his hand, "You may begin, Rookwood."

The wizard from before melted from the shadows, holding a twisted dark blade in one hand and his wand in the other. 

Eloise felt her heartbeat increase to a thundering beat. However, like a rabbit under the watchful gaze of a fox, she stayed entirely still. 

"Name?"

She jerked a bit and swivelled her head back to Grey Robes. Her mouth stayed in a firm line. It wasn't that she was particularly worried about Voldemort having her name specifically. However, she worried for her mother if Helen was still alive. 

Grey Robes snorted, and motioned again to Rookwood, "She'll have a looser tongue after she's been properly prepared for trial."

Rookwood stepped forward and flicked his wand. Her left arm shot up, stiff and unmoving. He slid his wand into a pocket within his robes and took ahold of her arm, poising the dagger against her flesh.

"I - " Eloise gasped, cold terror turning her veins to icy rivers, "I'll tell you - Don't - "

Rookwood ignored her words and dug the blade into her skin. At first, it only burned with the familiar pain caused by a blade or a rock or a number of things children tended to have various incidents with. But it changed the longer the blade slashed against her skin. There was a sensation that started as a prickling throb, but turned into a searing ache that weighed her stiff arm down like hot lead leaking in through the strokes of the dagger. 

At some point during Rookwood's methodical death by a thousand cuts, she began whimpering and crying. She could hear the sounds and feel the wetness, but she felt a terrible otherness from her own body. It was as if she'd become a ghost and removed herself from her body which was only a vessel for that strange pain, and had become an outsider looking in on the scene. 

There was a thin stream of red that ran down her outstretched arm, a slow trickle from the aching wounds that must have been small for so little blood. As she watched, one stream became two, then three. Drip, drip, drip.

At one time in her life, red had been her favourite colour. The deep red of a rose or a shocking lipstick had sent a small thrill through her body. She didn't fancy red anymore. 

Rookwood pulled away, but her eyes were unseeing. He removed his wand and silently cast a slew of spells. The speed at his casting spoke of his experience. It was chilling.

Her arm shot to her side, her jumper that had once been pink but had turned to a brownish-grey slipped down to cover her arm once more, her clothing stretched and changed. His ministrations took away her sense of self. She felt entirely controlled in a way she hadn't before. Her denims had been transformed into uniform grey trousers that fit too tight around the waist and too loose everywhere else, and her jumper had turned into a loose-fitting grey shirt of the same shade. 

That was when Eloise realized that she was going to be made into a statement. Not only was she going to be murdered, but her death would be another blow to the spirits of everyone who still had a shred of decency and hope within them.