Disclaimer: None of the characters and/or plotlines that are featured in the Harry Potter books belong to the author. But the plotline and character pairing/situations that you, reader, do not recognize from the book series belong to the author.
Author's Notes: No, for once I'm not late with this chapter. This was pretty much an un-planned chapter until I scribbled down something in Science - from then on I was pretty busy elsewhere and completely forgot that I had almost half of this to type up. I like the beginning which did start as about a page of my most messy writing on some scrap. But then once I typed it out, it all came together and mutated into two pages of dialogue. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and now I have more time to write since the summer is rolling by pretty soon. So if I don't update much, shoot me.
Spalmato In Ceneri
Chapter Two
"Did you hear?" A girl whispered to her friend across the table. "Apparently he talks himself to sleep every night."
"Nah, he stays awake all night, cursing the people who put him away." The other replied.
"Yeah," Another girl a few places down cried out. "every time a guard or someone goes near his cell, he peers through the bars and stares at them... like he's going to kill them or something."
"A death glare." The first girl called out, which was followed immediately by a snort from a third year boy.
"I'm not surprised, he's a cold, hard killer." After saying this, he dropped his spoon into his cereal, smoothed the royal blue hems of his robes, and continued to read The Daily Prophet.
"I still can't believe it... how - just simply evil."
"Ah, that's just one of those things. One of those things we'll never truly know."
"Exactly," a strong minded first year cut in, her brown hair was falling loose from a messy bun atop her head, which was held cleverly together by a strong quill. "what's the point of putting a person out of action if we don't know why. It's like, was he provoked to do it?"
"Provoked?"
"You know, pushed too far. Like maybe he was pressured too much with school, with people always looking at him because he was famous and all." She paused to take a quick bite into her toast, at this point near enough the whole of Ravenclaw table was captivated. "Kind of like when somebody is getting on your nerves, you try to ignore them so much, but then it just gets too much and you end up shouting at them."
Several heads nodded in understanding. Robert, one of the most reliable prefects at Hogwarts added. "But, can all that drive someone to killing? They were his friends and everything, would he really kill them like... like that?"
There was one of those odd moments of silence for a minute, where everyone just quietens down and no one knows why. This was followed suddenly by all those caught in with the topic of conversation, shake their heads and sigh. "Nah." And thus, nothing more was discussed on that subject for most of the day, until that is, amidst a Charms lesson; when a very much behind in work Cho Chang1 leaned over to her partner.
"I'm glad that by noon he'll be locked away for good, just like his good for nothing godfather. You never know who could be next."
However, there sitting behind the two now immersed in reviving the talk that littered the breakfast table that morning, was Ron Weasley. Trying not to flinch at the innocent flick of a wand, and the haunting echo of an incantation swirling around his head - he listened in. Bored with their gossip, he took his quill and scratched the age old table, cutting through the protective wax of the surface and scrawling:
Pot-Head must die.2
Jade green eyes glanced over the sight in front of him, but then his gaze shifted down to his cuffed wrists. He'd almost become used to being bound by the magical ties that stopped his hands from moving much, an electric blue bind of stringy yet strong strands that sent out a strong pulse that shocked the wearer, with even so much a thought of escape or harm.
Everyone in the courtroom held their breaths, and the moment before the final verdict was like years. A silence that hung in the air, and seemed stuck there by super glue. Each and everyone's worries, fears and even good or bad intentions were kept suspended in a sort of loop in time. One of those moment in time where a person's future could be twisted and destroyed by the views of randomly chosen few. A place where no higher power had control, something like fate you could say.
"We find the defendant..."
And still the silence rolled on, and on, and on.
"Not guilty."
Shouts of joy erupted from the room in front of him, and Harry could only taste the sourness of his own sentence drawing nearer. Moments later, the freed prisoner burst from the courtroom door, nearly knocking it off its hinges, and strode down the corridor, a wide and sunny grin plastered on his face - currently ignoring the trial of few reporters and relatives behind him. After agonising twenty minutes he was dragged into the courtroom by his own sullen-faced guard, who make sure to poke him in the most painful places.
He was welcomed upon entering by, a huge flash of many cameras snapping pictures at once. The stands were practically bursting with a spiteful audience, all gasping and raising to their feet when he stumbled past them. He could spot Reeta Skeeta near the front, sitting with her long legs carefully crossed, (probably to hide what was under her much, much too short electric yellow skirt - the horror!) and her parchpad balancing on her lap, along with her quill wobbling at a straight point on the parchment. Her green jacket clashed horribly with the rest of her outfit, she could've probably been spotted a mile off, along with her extra glitzy and thickly rimmed glasses.
Along with the prime reporter of the Daily Prophet (why Hermione ever let that damn woman free Harry would never know), a few reporters from popular wireless radio stations sat dotted about the courtroom, which looked as bleak and stuffy as ever. Still, there sitting in the stands were most of the staff at Hogwarts, Professor Snape sitting quietly; his arms folded and a fixed scowl on his face, as he watched Harry move towards the stands. Dumbledore stared at him, an unreadable expression stuck to his features, Harry couldn't quite place a word for how he looked; maybe... maybe he just looked - sad? Yes, sad. His glasses slid down to the tip of his crooked nose, and his eyes held not so much of a sparkle, to which they usually crackled with.
However, Harry couldn't help but lay eyes upon his former friends, as he wished to call them now - never once had they supported him, they wouldn't believe his story. Well, who would, Harry had kept his mouth shut from the day they'd arrested him. Not that anyone had even asked him what had really happened. No, they just kept the truth serum to themselves and decided to get on with finding the evidence against him, which somehow managed to appear from thin air.
His friends looked... well, not like his friends anymore. He'd never seen Hermione look so upset, even though Hermione was a very emotional person, she tried to hide it in books and her cleverness; but she would always be deeply upset by any teasing her way, or death nearby. Now, now she looked like a shadow of herself. Odd it was, to describe her as that, but it was the closet to how her expressions where unreal in a way. Like a smile seemed plastic, and the only emotion she could show at the moment was sadness, to cry, always crying.
But Ron. Harry supposed a sentence could end there, a big full stop to finish it off. Yeah, Ron looked different too, just angry. He had a look in his eyes, like a wounded puppy. Wounded puppies probably look anything but cold and heartless, but sometimes... sometimes descriptions just don't match exactly what you're trying to portray.
" All rise," The old, ageing judge grumbled. "we are gathered here today to reach a conclusion to the trial of a Harold James Potter."
At this point most of the people in the stands looked directly at him, he could feel their glares and it didn't feel too good. He didn't like the sensation of eyes on him, it was like an itch that wouldn't go away no matter how much your scratched it, his skin was crawling.
The trial drew on and on, countless people stepped up into the stands and produced similar evidence to his whereabouts at the time of deaths, his emotional state (not that they knew how he felt anyway), and any motivation. Along with a plethora of possible ways in which he had killed his friends, and a show off of objects taken from the crime scene. Not once had Harry been asked to take to the stands, he just stood, his eyes concentrating on the floor.
If he spoke out it wouldn't make any difference anyway, they all saw him as a killer, how could he change their views? A time ago, the word of an innocent man was taken for granted, but now. Now, propaganda took control.
" Harry Potter," Harry's head shot up and he came face to face with the judge. Judge, yes that was the new system now. Since Fudge had grown a backbone, wizard law had been modernised as Fudge put it, stepping into the future to crack down on crime in our streets, what a brilliant slogan.
Harry realised he'd been yanked to the stands, and now stood in front of everybody, staring eyeball to eyeball with the man who could decide on the rest of his life. All the sound in the room echoed in his head, like he was hearing everything from underwater, he heard his charges, the acts he was accused of. The people looking at him, their faces seemed stretched, disfigured. Long pointy noses and big ears sticking out from their heads, large glowing eyes with wicked grins. But then, they were back to normal in a flicker.
He'd hardly noticed that the jury had piled in and were already muttering before announcing their decision.
Again, he could hear the words as if through water, and they brought a cold, stabbing emotion of something slamming right down onto his heart. Those words, laced with so much pain and sorrow, the courtroom almost burst with the shouts afterward, few of protest, many, oh so many, of rejoice.
For nights afterwards, weeks, months, that one tiny word would haunt him in his sleep, the charges would turn him twisted and un forgiving - they would burn the truth.
"Guilty."
"Frankie, for the last time - get your arse out of bed." Biddy was on the verge of tears, she had tried several times to drag her friend out of bed.
"She won't make it down to breakfast at this rate." Thick black locks hid the face of a girl sat sprawled over her own bed at the other end of the room, Alex was trying extremely hard not to scream with the sudden pressure of a stress headache.
"Get up now, or I'll curse you into next week!" was the last attempt made before Biddy raised her wand high to shoot a small fountain of ice cold water in Frankie's face. That was before Frankie screwed up her face, reached for the pillow underneath her and chucked it at Biddy, with good aim too.
"Oouf."
Alex couldn't help but laugh, the scene of her friend's face turning a bright plum colour was very amusing. Biddy herself didn't find this too funny and stalked over to Alex, red curls bouncing while she steadied herself to her full height. Which, wasn't very threatening as the girl was pretty short for her age. Still, light danced around the room as the sun rose above the peaks of the eastern border of Hogwarts. Alex and Biddy soon got caught up in their own simmering argument about who's turn it was to wake up Frankie, who at present was peacefully snoozing in her own bed.
"Will you guys give it a break," Frankie yawned, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "I'm trying to sleep here."
"Sleep? How can you sleep with all these exams going on?"
"Oh easily," she yawned.
Biddy snorted while pulling her hair into a messy bun. "Well sleeping beauty, you better get yourself washed and changed within about five minutes."
"Oh I haven't missed breakfast again have I?"
"Yes, and the beginning of today's exams in about," Alex glanced at her watch and wrinkled her nose. "4 point 12 seconds."
"Christ!" gasped Frankie, as she hopped across the room expertly; grabbing a towel and her school robes as she went into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Biddy sighed loudly and collected her school books, placing them carefully in her bag she shook her head. "We have got to get that girl checked over - I think her body clock was put in backwards or something."
Sunlight bathed the tops of the houses, all in messy clusters across the city. Soft red and orange hues streamed in through open windows and set the birds to sing, while residents awoke and stared their days. Light seemed to find every nook and cranny that the city usually kept hidden, and would soon disappear in shadow within a few once the streets were alive once again.
Shop keepers set up their stock and advertised their businesses, while young children played in the streets.
But the peace was soon axed and diced dramatically as one half of the wizarding community in Italy was thrown into a blazing furnace of panic. Lord Voldemort, in a bid to battle beyond England set his faithful servants on the quiet people of this busy city, and laughed loudly, standing amidst death and destruction; just how he liked it.
A teenage boy came to a skidding halt, after sprinting down a narrow alley, his school bag tossed carelessly over his shoulder. His dark hair fell over his chocolate coloured eyes, while he saw a family of three beg to be spared, but then viciously be jabbed with the killing curse.
He felt the fire crackle in his eyes.
Notes:
1) Cho Chang was kept back a year due to emotional stress from the death of Cedric Diggery and the further more dragic deaths of both her parents after the second rise of Lord Voldemort. Since Cho found it so hard to concentrate on her studies, Dumbledore found it right to give a second chance.
2) Pot-head must die, Ron's feelings about the trial are kept to himself, he doesn't really want to admit his true desires to many, his thoughts will be revealed later on in the story. Now, I give you permission to laugh at the complete crap that that line is, hey; I was bored.
