SILENT [1] || HARRY POTTER ⚡️

thirty-one ; see the good

a/n: this was literally just a filler...trying to get to book five real fast, y'know!

unedited. published 12/28/16

The dementors placed each of the five people in the five chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.

A lady was aloof from the four she stood by, with thin black hair and shining gray eyes similar to his god-father, sat on a chair surrounded by Ministry judges. Her eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks flushed and there was a bandage that was wrapped around her right hand. She looked like she'd just gone through a duel, and had barely come out without her hand.

Harry soon noticed this to be a younger Ophelia Black. Though, unlike the pictures he had in his photo album, Ophelia was young, but torn and retched with grief.

Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

"You four have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous —"

"Father," said the boy with the straw-colored hair. "Father . . . please . . ."

"— that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice.

"We have heard the evidence against you—one by eyewitness Ophelia Black. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror — Frank Longbottom — and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named —"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the dementors —"

"You are further accused," bellowed Mr. Crouch, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. Even further—you have tortured a muggle mother, used the Killing Curse on her, and have experimented on her half-blood witch child with a darkened Muffliato charm to quit her crying when you committed your other crimes just 'for the fun' of it. I now ask the jury —"

"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr. Crouch, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"

The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"