𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (OC x OC)

[005] Chapter 3 - exhale

"can i breathe?"
|| sabrina carpenter

Makayla

Last night, I couldn't sleep. All that played in my mind was Voldemort whispering my name, the letter telling me I'm expelled, and the sobs I let out the day I got the Dark Mark.

Today, though, is Harry and I's hearing. Harry, Mr. Weasley, and I are standing on an escalator, going down to the subway. Mr. Weasley is surprisingly confused by how a lot of things in the muggle world work. When I go out in the muggle world, though, I only go out with Fred and George. Typically, witches and wizards who are pure bloods don't know anything about the muggle world, so I don't exactly hold it against Mr. Weasley, even though he's so fascinated by muggles.

When we step off the escalator, we walk toward the gates. I shuffle through my pockets, looking for my subway card. When I pull it out, I see Harry helping Mr. Weasley through the gate. I use my card to get myself through, then enter the subway with the two of them.

When we leave the subway, we go straight to the streets, Harry and I following Mr. Weasley around like lost puppies as he approaches a telephone booth. At first, Harry and I exchange confused glances, obviously not knowing what a phone call would do to help us get to our hearing until Mr. Weasley speaks up.

"Oh, wow," he says, his voice laced with a peculiar tone of admiration and marveling. "I've never took the visitor's entrance before."

As he says that, he opens the door and lets Harry and I go in first before joining us. It's quite tight in here, if you ask me. Harry and I are so close to each other that our shoulders might as well be combined. To help me get through it, I just shut my lungs down for a few minutes.

The phone booth starts going down as if it's an elevator. Soon enough, we;re underground and walking into the Ministry of Magic's 'home base'—or whatever you call it. Headquarters? No, that's just copying the Order. Nevermind, that doesn't matter.

We walk to the eleverator-looking things, trying to make our way through the crowded hall. I take a small, unnoticeable gasp of air beforehand, then return to not breathing for a long period of time.

I'm unsure why I'm like this, but ever since the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, tight spaces have given me the heebie-jeebies.

We get into the elevator, tons of witches and wizards piled on top of each other. I nearly hyperventilate.

Kingsley enters the elevator, standing behind Mr. Weasley, who is behind Harry and I, and whispers something barely coherent.

Mr. Weasley clears his throat, his voice laced with an awkward nervousness as he say, "They've changed the time of your hearing..."

"To when?" Harry and I ask, nearly in unison.

"In five minutes."

Just as he says that, the elevator starts making its way around the building until finally reaching the floor that Harry and I's hearing is on. The walls, floors, and ceiling are all the same: black tile with white borders—absolutely nothing else.

We walk through the halls, the only sound being my heels clacking on the floors. Thankfully, I feel as though I can breathe. That is until we pass a hallway, my father and Cornelius Fudge being at the end of it. They were having a totally discrete conversation before my totally lovely shoes interrupted them. I meet the eyes of my father before Mr. Weasley quickly ushers Harry and I on.

My mind and heart are racing as e reach the entrance to the court room. What on God's given earth could my father be talking to Cornelius Fudge about that is not a bribe to say I'm guilty? I've gone through every other scenario, but I'm not creative enough to come up with more than zero.

Just before we walk into the courtroom, Mr. Weasley stops us, saying, "I can't go in with you, so I need you two to listen carefully... Only speak when you're spoken to." Just as I'm about to argue, Mr. Weasley speaks again. "I understand that you find yourself incapable of doing that," he says, causing me to roll my eyes in response. "Not doing so will lower your chances of getting your charges dropped, though, so I'm going to need you to try."

Harry and I sigh in defeat as we walk into the courtroom, Mr. Weasley leaving the area, probably to go to work. In the seats are the jury and the judge, Cornelius Fudge. The room is kind of designed like a Quidditch arena—except smaller—which makes me feel as though I am completely surrounded.

As Harry and I sit down, I practice a breathing exercise that Grayson taught me after I woke up from a nightmare about the Death Mark and Cedric dying. Grayson said I talked in my sleep, which woke him up. I don't know wha I said, though. He and I didn't get that far in the conversation before we woke Hermione up on accident.

I go through this process as Fudge starts talking. Honestly, I kind of tune him out, stupidly, as I put all my focus on my breathing. I consistently repeat, Breathe, as loud as I can in my head, as if I'm screaming at myself.

I only hear things being said when Dumbledore walks in, shouting, "Witness for the Defense: Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore."

I feel a smile grow on my face as I watch him walk further into the room. Thank Merlin for Dumbledore, I suppose.

During the entire hearing, this one pink-obsessed lady kept blaming Harry and I for the Dementors going away from Azkeban and attacking us. She's dressed in pink from head to tone, as if a unicorn had thrown up on her. Unfortunately, I'm not as violently happy and quiet as this woman is, though I love the color pink. It wasn't a unicorn that threw up on me, it was a monster. Still unsure which one, but it isn't one that exactly hides the fact that it's a monster. It isn't like whatever fairy lives inside this lady.

In the end of it, Harry and I are pleaded unguilty, thankfully. Just as he and I are about to say something to Dumbledore, he walks out.

Harry and I exchange confused yet disappointed glances. We both are thinking the exact same thing.

What the hell was that?