Vamptwilightharrypotterfanfo rever, Hogwartshotness, anonymousreader123 are all worthy of my thanks! As are the rest of you! Sorry for not replying to reviews this time. Just so backed up. It's a short chap I've been needing to lengthen. But I figured I should quit the wait. I have a bunch of exams..So I won't be on for a while. But hols are in 2 weeks or so! :D
The steady stream of mediwitches flitted in and out of the corridor. Susanna Whitefield was the head mediwitch on duty; her list of references were long - and the comments received were profound. Though she was good at her job, it was a note of interest that Susanna was quite 'clutter-brained'.
Susanna was called at exactly 16 minutes past 5 pm to Room 73 - a room at the far end of the corridor. She rushed to see the old man who occupied the room, upon hearing that she was required in the room, fearing the worst.
He was an old Warlock, who complained almost constantly - and Susanna had learnt not to pay much attention to the man. As it was, she put on her best smile, ready to be the calm and composed presence he required.
"The chanting and the like going on next door is increasingly disturbing. I am trying to read the Prophet - there's some juicy news about that Hermione woman."
The man spoke in a crackling voice, and lots of grunts. Susanna was glad that she had grown accustomed to how he talked, because if she hadn't, she would have found it increasingly difficult to understand him.
She walked closer, ready to give him a reassuring pat. Her ears subconsciously strained to listen to what the man insisted he heard. It was with surprise she realised that there was indeed chanting coming from the room next door.
A low voice was murmuring some sort of Latin phrases again and again.
Constringo vos ad me.
Susanna thanked her lucky stars that she knew Latin. It meant 'I bind you to me' - and this was enough to pique her already highly-honed curiosity. With a gentle smile to the old Warlock, and a flimsy promise to return, she left the room, in a rush.
The door of room 74 was closed - which was a rare occurrence, in an otherwise generally public ward. Susanna paused, wondering what to do. Light emitted from the small peeping gap in the bottom of the door.
Her first natural instinct was to Alohamora the door. But she paused, for some reason unknown even to her.
Her mind flashed to the list that she had been going over in the morning, being grateful that she had a photographic memory.
Room 74 - Mr. Draco Malfoy - being treated for an unidentified curse.
She moved away from the door, casting a spell to keep the noise in. Walking down the corridor, she did not turn to look back.
If she had, she would have seen that the light from the door was flaring. If she had not cast the silencing spell, she would have heard the noises getting louder still. And if she had opened the door and looked inside, she would have seen two young people, clutching each other with a desperation.
Susanna Whitfield had unwillingly, accidentally become guardian of a secret - a secret that determined the future of both of the people in the room.
They were bound.
"We call the accused to the stand." The voice of the Chief Warlock was clear, with a crackling of interference - correlated with the Sonorus charm. The Wizengamot was in session, and each of the plum-clad members watched as a woman shifted slightly in her seat, but made no attempt to move otherwise, her head raised high in defiance.
If anyone had seen the woman a day prior, they would have been surprised at how her condition had improved. She had been a medically-induced coma mere hours ago.
The Chief Warlock once again spoke, as the woman still refused to move.
"We call the accused, Miss Hermione Jean Granger to the stand." At the usage of her full name, Hermione started, and slowly walked up to the stand, her mind burning with a childish reluctance to do so.
Whispers immediately filled the Wizengamot, as anticipated by the more experienced wizards and witches amongst them. The full assembly of the Wizengamot was rare. In the past two decades alone, it had only happened once - when Harry Potter had stood accused against a charge of underage magic - in front of a muggle at that.
It was unnecessary for the Chief Warlock to mention why she had been brought to stand;the Prophet had already covered it, in great detail. Still, the Chief Warlock went on to mention it, in his sombre, low voice - For vicious minded spell casting of the unforgivable curses, Avada Kedavra - and still Hermione remained emotionless in the face of these accusations.
The hostility with which the Chief Warlock spoke was familiar to Hermione; she was, after all, a war hero who had suffered through out her high school years. And furthermore, she was an adult who no longer had the childish fancies correlated with being a child.
A child - 'innocent as a rose', is forgiven and may be forgiven for all short comings as it is understood that it comes with age to mature satisfactorily. But, overnight they grow to become adults - and these children, who have not been altered through out life for the simple fact of their age, are forced into conforming into a wizarding society that punishes even the innocent.
Hermione had read wizarding history. The Wizengamot was not as old as they seemed to imply. They were a fairly new edition to the wizarding world. Their laws still had to be edited - she understood this. Had she ventured into a field in the Ministry of Magic, she would have been quick to resolve this.
As it was, they were right to bring her forth, and this stung. They had to punish the owner of the wand, and the caster of the spell. She was both, and knowing the laws, she should have twice the punishment. Even if it was to rescue Rita from herself.
Her mind hurt. She revelled in the joy that Draco was awake. He was on her side. She revelled in knowing that he was as much hers as she was his.
She turned to the visitor stands, half expecting him to be sitting there. for her 'moral support'. But he was not there, and deep down she knew he wouldn't be. He was ill, she reminded herself.
Her tired eyes closed for a second. It was over in some way. They were together. He was hers. And she his. But that didn't mean their trials and tribulations were over.
It was over.
It did not seem like it was however, and it hit her as a niggling feeling in the back of her mind.
She would take it as it came, she decided - breaking off her thoughts. She turned back to the attendants that had been rushed onto the stage when she had been otherwise occupied; she allowed them to measure her wand - and tap at it with numerous instruments.
A particularly squeaky and short wizard finally raised his hand and the others stopped fiddling with her wand; he reminded her of Flitwick. An hush fell on the room, as the man spoke.
"10¾ inch, vine wood, with a dragon heartstring." Then all the attendants were hustled off into the back room, to wait till they were needed again. So, it was indeed Hermione - and her wand that had cast the spell.
Kingsley stood towering over the top of the balcony stand, where he was sitting. His voice was calm - and his eyes indicated no regret to what he was about to do to Hermione. Hermione stared up at him, not caring about propriety.
"I did not do it."
It took all of Kingsley's willpower not to agree.
