Phoenix

Not as Planned

"Ah, Mafalda said Umbridge, looking at me. "Travers sent you, did he?"

"He did," I said, because there was nothing else I could say.

"Good, you'll do perfectly well." Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. "That's that problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straight away." She consulted her clipboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut ... even here, in the heart of the Ministry!" She stepped into the lift beside me as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge's conversation with the Minister. "We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"

"Yes, of course," said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice.
Harry stepped out of the lift. The golden grilles clanged shut behind him.

During the time it took to get to the court room where I was apparently going to keep record, I barely talked. It seemed that whoever I was, had a much lower rank than Umbridge. She barely addressed me, and when she did I gave a vague polite answer. I tried to avoid looking at her anyways, because every time I did, a little spike of anger rose up in my chest.

As we reached the court room, my stomach dropped and my chest started to tighten. What was happening? Upon entering the court room, the fear was almost crippling. I looked around and saw three dementors in the corner of the court room. I forced myself not to look at them and thought about as many good memories as I could.

I set my jaw and walked up to the court desk, and took my place. It took everything in my to fight the dementors and appear normal. I didn't hear a word of the hearings, much less write anything  down. I just played my happiest memory over and over again in my mind.

A began vaguely aware of a women with smooth black hair crying in a chair in front of us. Sympathy sharpened my senses just in time to feel the air move behind me.

When Harry whispered, "I'm behind you," in my ear, I simply tapped his hand in response.

"Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?" sneered Umbridge.

"T – took?" sobbed Mrs Cattermole. "I didn't t – take it from anybody. I b – bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – chose me."

She cried harder than ever.

My mind was buzzing now, senses sharp. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, leaving no room for fear. If we wanted any chance of ending this brutality, I needed to gather my wits and keep the dementors at the back of my mind.

Umbridge laughed a soft, girlish laugh that made me want to attack her. She leaned forwards over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forwards too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

"No,"said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here – Mafalda, pass them to me."

I took a deep breath and withdrew a wad of parchment with Mrs Cattermole's name on it.

"What a pretty locket," I said with a girlish smile.

Umbridge glanced down. "Oh yes – an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The "S" stands for Selwyn ... I am related to the Selwyns ... indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related ... a pity," she continued, in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same cannot be said for you. Parents' professions: greengrocers."