A/N: Okay, okay, I know it's taken simply ages for me to put this up, but bear with me. This is more of the serious chapter.
Jordan woke up and tried to move around. Her head was throbbing from pain. She looked around. This room reminded her strangely of the hospital wing. The clean white sheets twisted under her mass. Jordan's legs protested as she feebly tried to get up. She shook her head, only to be reminded more painfully than ever that it was not to be shaken that way.
The purple curtain that separated Jordan from the bed next to hers moved apart as a plump woman barged her way through. Madame Pomfrey silently pulled out a deep green bottle and poured its contents into a beaker. Handing it to Jordan, she also grabbed her patient's wrist and checked her pulse. Normal, Madame thought. This one will live. Pity, that Ministry of Magic will be much less forgiving than the stone floor she fell on.
Almost exactly when she was thinking those very thoughts, a very pompous man walked through the same purple curtains, followed by Professor Snape.
"There she is!" Snape sneered. "Albus Dumbledore's murderer!" He spat at Jordan, as though the very thought of her disgusted him. Jordan hoped it did. At the moment, she was feeling fairly lousy about what she had done herself.
"You don't, don't understand!" Jordan said, her very breath quavering. "I-I didn't want to!" She sobbed. "It wasn't my idea! He," She pointed at Snape. "He doesn't know, know the whole story!"
"Then why don't you enlighten us, dear girl. We would all like to hear your engorged version of the truth before the Dementers suck your soul from your body," Snape's hooked nose leered in front of Jordan's face, his menacing voice pulled at her anger.
Fudge, who had been seated, replied to this. "Jordan Marvolo, none of us even knew of your existence. We know nothing of where you are from, who you were raised by, nothing. Allowing you to attend Hogwarts for your seventh year, although you have demonstrated a level of potion-brewing ability far below her level-" Snape glared at her. "You have been considered an exceptional student. Though you have pushed the corners of some envelopes, as many other students have done in previous years, nothing, I repeat, NOTHING has ever come up that ever endangered the Headmaster. Dumbledore was a notorious wizard. And he was rumored to be the only person feared by You-Know-Who. The good Lord rest his soul." Fudge bowed his head, as if in prayer. "The person who killed him must be prosecuted." His stern eyes rested on Jordan. "Poppy, Severus, if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you left the, um, room. Miss Marvolo and I need to talk." Snape's protests were stillborn by Fudge's upraised hand.
Once they left, Cornelius' Fudge's eyes came to rest on Jordan once more. "Miss Marvolo, are you aware of the consequences that are given to a person acquitted of murder? If you aren't, I will gladly tell you. Three years in Azkaban, and then a Dementor's Kiss. It hardly seems worth the risk, doesn't it? Now, tell me your side."
A wind brushed against Jordan's hair, a whispered threat in her ear. The voice in her throat stuck. Jordan, the voice said. Must I remind you of the problems you face if you tell? They will prove to be far worse than the idle threats that idiot Fudge is proposing. As much as I am pleased of you that Albus Dumbledore is finally dead, it does not pardon you from anything in the future. Get it? ANYTHING you say, I will turn against you. Watch your back closely, Miss Prewett. I am watching you. Keep that overly large mouth of yours shut tight.
Jordan swallowed. Ominously, the sound of her gulping echoed against the walls. The wind in her hair was no longer there, yet Jordan still felt as though she was being watched. Miss Prewett? What did he mean by that? She was-and always had been Jordan Annalise Marvolo. It was probably just some mistake Uncle Tom had made while he was infuriated with her.
Jordan looked into the hard eyes of the Minister. Even if she told him the truth, she knew he would not believe it.
And so she said nothing.
The Dementors came to carry her off to a land of insaneness and horrors, but strangely, Jordan felt calm. It was unnerving. She wanted to think so horribly of her master, to watch him suffer in pain, as she knew that she soon would be. But, Jordan also knew that Uncle Tom heard her thoughts, and he had no reason to reward a mutinous servant.
And so she thought nothing.
There was so much nothingness around you could almost feel it in the air. Jordan's cell wall was blemished by the scratchiness and retching that had occurred before her. The air was accented with the screams of other prisoners, the howling of those who had finally reached their breaking point.
Jordan, however, was determined to remain sane. She thought over and over to herself: I'm innocent. I didn't kill Dumbledore. Someone is going to come to get me, to rescue me like a damsel in distress (certainly not her favorite one, but if the shoe fits...)
Though it was only a few days before New Years', just days after the "killing," nearly everyone knew about it. What could she expect? They weren't that stupid. Oh sure, some of them could have used a few more brains, but gossip was their prime interest. Knowing the students at Hogwarts, the truth was so far out of proportion by now, that no one would ever have a second doubt that she was innocent. That's just the way they were...
"Miss Marvolo," an impatient voice sounded next to her cell. "You have a visitor, amazingly enough. Though I cannot find reason why anyone, especially this young man, would wish to see you." To Jordan's visitor, he said, "You have two hours. During that time, Miss Marvolo will be chained to her bed as an added precaution to you. Understood?"
Minister Fudge entered first, flanked by MacNair. MacNair roughly shoved Jordan against her bed, and before she could speak in her own defense, she was buckled tightly to the plank the Minister had the nerve to call a bed.
"Mr. Potter, you may now enter. You have exactly," Fudge glanced at his pocket watch, "One hundred nineteen minutes and three seconds. You may commence your interrogation." With that, the stuffy Minister finally left.
"Well," Harry said. He looked straight into her eyes.
"Well," Jordan replied. She couldn't break his gaze, or hers, for that matter.
Harry moved over and sat down next to Jordan. "Would you like to tell me the whole story? I'd like to hear what happened after you ditched me at the Yule Ball." A hint of a smile played upon his lips.
Jordan quickly sprang into defense mode. "Hey, that's not the whole story!" But when she realized that Harry was mildly joking, she just laughed.
"Okay, here's the story you want to hear: I needed to talk to Dumbledore about something. It was superly important, and definitely couldn't wait until Boxing Day." Jordan looked away from Harry, so that he would not inquire what the matter was. "So I went up to his office, which I had been in before, when I first came here. I knew the password, so I went down. When I reached his desk, he was sprawled out on it. Professor Dumbledore had already died, Harry, believe me, I didn't do it!" Jordan's face glistened with tears. These tears were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of pain.
Jordan suddenly began to slam her head violently against her cell wall. It reminded Harry greatly of Dobby, when he was imprisoned by the Malfoys'.
"Jordan! Jordan! Stop, it's all right!" Harry pulled Jordan away from the wall. He heard her murmuring "Leave me alone! I did right!" before she was fell unconscious.
Disclaimer: the regular junk.
A/N II: I'm superly sorry! Can you find it in your hearts to forgive the amount of time it took me to put this up?