Dear Gwenlynn, in fact, it wasn't a castle were the vision took place, but a house. Tom Riddle Senior's house, I presume.
Once again, I apologize for the delay. School has attached a lasso around my neck, and my chemistry teacher is acting like Snape. In fact, I almost blew the experiment work we had on the week - like Neville does. I swear, he has greasy hair too!
Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.
Pushing everyone who crossed my path, I made my way towards Ron and Harry's table. Harry was crashing around on the floor, panting, the scream from before fading soundless on his throat.
Just like the Pettigrew from my imagination...
Shaking my head, I reached them more quickly and I knelt besides Ron on the floor. He tried to grab Harry, but every time one of his hands were going to touch him, Harry made a violent move and howled. Desperate and suddenly feeling brave, I roughly grabbed his hands, as they were clawing his own face. Slamming them to his sides, he began to trash more harshly, his pants sounding harder, as if he was having problems to breath.
"Harry!" Ron called, helping restrain one arm that freed itself.
"Oi, Harry!" I shook him roughly from one side. It didn't work.
Without even caring that twenty pair of eyes were watching us, I cupped his face with both hands. I winced in pain though, when his hands suddenly freed and they mercilessly grabbed the back of both my hands.
"Harry!"
His eyes opened abruptly. His hands' tight grip faltered slightly, making me reluctantly let go.
"You alright?" Ron asked, merely sounding as a hoarse whisper.
"Of course he isn't!" Professor Trelawney said excitedly. I glared at her. Wasn't she supposed to take care of her students? "What was it, Potter? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?" Apparently, Harry's health didn't matter.
"Nothing," he said curtly. Grabbing one of his elbows, I helped him to slowly sat up. To my confusion, he looked around us nervously, suddenly griping my hand tightly. I knew all the class was surrounding us, but Harry was almost used to public attention. So, were was his problem coming from?
"You were clutching your scar!" said Professor Trelawney. "You were rolling on the floor, clutching your scar! Come now. Potter, I have experience in these matters!"
I snorted saying, "Yeah right," while Harry looked up at her.
"Professor Trelawney, I think Harry should go to the hospital wing," Neville said firmly behind Ron, giving me a pointed look. I frowned at him, but decided to play along.
"Yeah," I nodded. "It seems Harry here has a very bad headache, hence the scream. So, I'm going to take him up to Madam Pomfrey."
Harry looked bewildered for a moment, but then I winked at him and he subtly nodded.
"My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room!" cried the strange Professor. "If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever -"
"I don't want to see anything except a headache cure," snapped Harry.
As I helped him to stand up properly without him stumbling, the class backed away from us. They all looked unnerved.
Rolling my eyes, I mouthed a 'Thank you' to Neville, and after saying a goodbye of his own to Ron, Harry and I walked down until we reached the last step of Trelawney's ladder.
Harry looked a bit awkward, so I had to take up the lead. Still grabbing his elbow, I dragged him towards the opposite direction of the hospital wing.
"Annie, what - "
"Sirius told me that if something like this showed up, went straight towards Mr. Dumbledore," I interrupted him. He visibly relaxed.
"So, what really happened up there?"
"I think I fell asleep."
"No shit, Sherlock?" I asked him sarcastically.
Harry rolled his eyes before he continued. "I dreamed about Voldemort. he was accusing -"
"Pettigrew?" I said aloud, but he still continued.
"- Wormtail of making a blunder. He punished him for that. And they talked about - "
"About?" I encouraged him. We were pacing down the corridor. He didn't continue.
We stopped walking. As we stood in front of the familiar gargoyle statue, I realized something.
"Um, do you know the password?" because, I was sure as hell that Mr. Dumbledore must have changed the old one.
Realization hit Harry's face too. "No."
Annoyance flew through me. "Brilliant," I scowled. "Um, Choco Sparks."
Like I had thought, the password have been changed.
"Sherbet Lemon?" Harry tried tentatively.
The statue didn't move.
"Okay," Harry said with a sigh as we stared at it, "Pear Drop. Er -"
"Licorice Wand?"
"Fizzing Whizbee."
"Drooble's Best Blowing Gum."
"Bertie Bott's Ever Flavor Beans..."
"Nah, I don't think he likes those."
"Oh, just open up, will you!" Harry said angrily to the gargoyle. "We really need to see him, it's urgent!"
The gargoyle didn't even made the slightest move.
Then Harry kicked the statue, and funny enough, he began jumping on one leg. I chuckled, and he glared at me.
"Chocolate Frog!" he yelled angrily, standing on one leg. "Sugar Quill!" I put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Stop it, wonder boy. I don't need you getting hurt before the last task," I puffed out my cheeks in annoyance as I stared at the gargoyle.
I began tapping my foot on the floor and crossed both my arms.
"Annie, it's not time for you to - !"
"Cockroach Cluster."
The gargoyle suddenly sprang to life and jumped aside. I blinked happily while Harry had the decency to gap openly at the statue. His eyes darted between the gargoyle and me.
"How?" Harry asked as he stared at me.
"With Mr. Dumbledore, always expect the unexpected," I shrugged like if this didn't surprise me anymore. Ha! As if that man couldn't stop surprising me every year! And certainly, that name just popped out of nowhere. In fact, I was only joking when I said it.
We hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind us, taking us up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker.
We could hear voices from inside the office. We stepped off the moving staircase and hesitated, listening.
"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"
"And what do you think's happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" Moody's growling voice said.
"I see two possibilities, Alastor," Fudge said. "Either Crouch has finally cracked - more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history - lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere -"
"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly.
"Or else - well..." Fudge sounded embarrassed. "Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what the woman is?"
"I consider her to be a very able headmistress - and an excellent dancer," Dumbledore said quietly.
"Dumbledore, come!" Fudge said angrily. "Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless - if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got -"
"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid," Dumbledore said, just as calmly. "I think it possible that it is you who is prejudiced, Cornelius."
"Can we wrap up this discussion?" Moody growled.
"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then," Fudge said impatiently.
"No, it's not that," Moody said, "it's just that Potter and Barton want a word with you, Dumbledore. They're just outside the door."
Excellent way to break the tension of a conversation, if you ask me.
The door of the office opened.
"Hello, Potter, Barton," Moody said. "Come in, then."
As usual, the extravagance of the Headmaster's office let me speechless. Except that now all the Headmasters and Headmistress' portraits were sleeping.
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was standing beside Mr. Dumbledore's desk wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.
"Harry!" the man greeted jovially. "How are you?"
"Fine."
"I don't think we have been introduced," Fudge said as he stared at me curiously. Psst! Like if he cared!
"Barton, sir. Anya Barton," I had moved forward and in an instant, Fudge was shaking my hand. He had this strange look on his face.
"Oh, yes! Well, it is nice to meet you, miss. I can see your resemblance with your father."
Interested, I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I thought I got my mother's good looks."
His laugh boomed in the silent office.
"You're right! But it seems you have your father's humor," Fudge chuckled. "Either way, we were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds. It was you who found him, was it not, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry said. Then, he added, "We didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?"
I snorted at the image that brought. Dumbledore smiled at Harry behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.
"Yes, well," Fudge said, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, Anya, if you'll both excuse me...perhaps if you just go back to your class -"
"We wanted to talk to you, Professor," I broke in quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave us each a swift, searching look.
"Wait here for me, Anya, Harry," he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."
They trooped out in silence past us and closed the door. After a minute or so, Harry and I heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. We looked around.
"Hello, Fawkes," he said.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's pheonix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry and I. Last time I was here, I hadn't seen him. Perhaps he was out, hunting.
Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk while I silently stood behind him, words forming on my mind.
"What are you going to tell him?" I asked curiously.
He shrugged. "Everything, I guess."
Shaking my head, I once more began to pace. What had this meant? Could it be that his vision and what I had dreamt were related? It was more likely. But how? How could've we both seen the same thing?
Suddenly, Harry stood up and began walking to a black cabinet behind us. I haven't noticed it, but there was this silvery-white light that shone through the tiny doors and up to the wall.
Opening it, I looked over his shoulder and saw a shallow stone basin with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols I had seen on my Discovery of Witches book. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing I had ever seen before. It could be gas, or was it something liquid? It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid - or like wind made solid.
I wanted to touch it. And so I did. Pulling out my index finger, I was close to touching it.
"Annie!" Harry grabbed my hand, but unfortunately, his strength made me stumble, and roughly, my hand ended inside the basin.
Everything began to swirl. We both were thrown forward as Mr. Dumbledore's office lurched. As we both had been headfirst, I thought we would have ended hitting the bottom. We were falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool -
And suddenly, we found ourselves, not in Dumbledore's office, but an all-together different place.
The room was dimly lit, underground must be. There were no windows, just torches in brackets like the ones that light the corridors in Hogwarts. Rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that made me shiver. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it.
"Um, Annie?"
Harry had said my name so may times I believe he will tattoo it on his skin. "What?"
"Can you please move? You're - erm, kind of - straddling me."
And so I was. He had his arms wrapped around my waist, not letting me fall. My back faced him, gratefully making him not able to see my red tomato face. I quickly scrambled and too a seat besides Harry on the bench.
You know, after doing a very dramatic entrance (in my opinion), I ought to say we should have been attacked. I mean, there's like two hundred witches at least, and not one single of them had sparred us a glance. Was it normal for them to see two fourteen year old teenagers fall from the ceiling? From my other side, Harry gave a very loud cry of surprise, and quickly, I searched for the problem.
We were sitting next to Albus Dumbledore.
"Whoa!" I jumped backwards, taking Harry with me, seeing as he had done the same and ended leaning on me.
"Professor!" Harry gasped. "We're sorry - we didn't mean to - we were just looking at that basin in your cabinet - then Annie - we - where are we?"
But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored us completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.
I, myself looked around, wondering what the hell was happening.
"Annie," Harry's quiet voice made me look disturbed at him. "I think we are on a memory."
I couldn't help it. I gasped and stood, reaching over Harry and frantically waved a hand in front of Mr. Dumbledore's face. He did not blink, nor look at one of us. I knew he wouldn't act like this, so Harry must be right. A memory, who would have thought I would end seeing one in flesh and blood.
Obviously still shocked, Harry slapped my hand away and made me sit properly.
"What are the waiting for...?" he mumbled.
"This place... it looks like a Muggle tribunal..." I thought aloud.
Before we reached any other conclusion, we heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered - or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.
My insides went cold. The dementors - tall, hooded figures whose faces were concealed - were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint, and I certainly couldn't blame him for it ... I knew the dementors could not touch us inside a memory, but I remembered their power only too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.
"Karkaroff?" I exclaimed. The man indeed was Karkaroff. Unlike Mr. Dumbledore, whom looked like he hadn't aged at all, this man looked younger. His hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. The chains on his chair glowed gold, and slowly, they snaked their way up to Karkaroff's arms, preventing any form of escape for him. I had read about those in Hermione's gift. They were called Chain Bind: no one but the caster could pull them off. Powerful magic, if I recall.
"Igor Karkaroff," a curt voice said to my and Harry's left. We looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside us. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. "You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."
Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.
"I have, sir," he said, and although his voice was very scared, I could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I - I know that the Ministry is trying to - to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can..."
There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced distrust. Then I heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledore's other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, "Filth."
While Harry had leaned forward, I had to lean backwards carefully. As we both saw past Dumbledore, we found out that the owner of the voice was non other than Mad-Eye Moody. He certainly looked better with his two eyes. He was staring in intense dislike at Karkaroff.
"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."
Mr. Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose.
"Ah, I was forgetting...you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?" Moody said with a sardonic smile.
"No," Dumbledore said calmly, "I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."
"But for filth like this..." Moody said softly.
"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," Mr. Crouch said. "Let us hear them, please."
"You must understand," Karkaroff siad hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy...He preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them -"
"Get on with it," Moody sneered.
" - we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - He alone knew exactly who we all were -"
"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in," Moody muttered.
"Yet you say you have some names for us?" Mr. Crouch said.
"I - I do," Karkaroff said breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and I am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely -"
"These names are?" Mr. Crouch said sharply.
Karkaroff drew a deep breath.
"There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."
"And helped him do it," Moody murmured.
"We have already apprehended Dolohov," Crouch said. "He was caught shortly after yourself."
"Indeed?" Karkaroff said, his eyes widening. "I - I am delighted to hear it!"
But he didn't look it. I could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless.
"Any others?" Crouch asked coldly.
"Why, yes...there was Rosier," Karkaroff said hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."
"Rosier is dead," Crouch said. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."
"Took a bit of me with him, though," Moody whispered to Harry's right. Harry and I looked around at him once more, and saw him indicating the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore.
"No - no more than Rosier deserved!" Karkaroff said, a real note of panic in his voice now. I could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting.
"Any more?" Crouch asked.
"Yes!" Karkaroff said. "There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons and the Rosenbergs!" I growled. Of course I remembered the name of Natasha's parents murderer. I hoped - no, wished - that he had received the worst punishment Dementors could give. From the corner of my eye, I could see Harry staring bewildered at me, but he didn't question my sudden change of mood. "Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"
Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together.
"Rookwood?" Mr. Crouch said, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"
"The very same," Karkaroff said eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -"
"But Travers and Mulciber we have," Mr. Crouch said. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -"
"Not yet!" Karkaroff cried, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"
He sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard.
"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"
"Snape has been cleared by this council," Crouch said disdainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."
"No!" Karkaroff shouted, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"
Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.
"I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."
That's reassuring.
I turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skrepticism behind Dumbledore's back.
"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime..."
Mr. Crouch's voice faded. The dungeon began to dissolve as if it were made of smoke: I clutched tightly Harry's arm. the place faded into darkness -
And then we returned to the dungeon. Harry and I were sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr. Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. Harry and I noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blond hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a young Rita Skeeter. We looked around; Dumbledore was sitting beside us again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter... I understood. It was a different memory, a different day...a different trial.
The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.
This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who was clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now; he was tall and lean and muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.
"Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters," Mr. Crouch said. "We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgement?"
I couldn't believe my ears. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater? That nut being a killer?
I had the urge to laugh loudly.
"Only," Bagman said, smiling awkwardly, "well - I know I've been a bit of an idiot -"
One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr. Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike.
"You never spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore behind us. We looked around and saw Moody sitting there again. "If I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain..."
"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters," Mr. Crouch said. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than -"
But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their fists, at Mr. Crouch.
"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwook was a friend of my dad's...never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on...once my Quidditch days are over, you know...I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"
There were titters from the crowd.
"It will be put to the vote," Mr. Crouch said coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands...those in favor of imprisonment..."
Harry and I looked toward the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up.
"Yes?" Crouch barked.
"We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said breathlessly.
Mr. Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to his feet and bowed, beaming.
"Despicable," Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed...The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day indeed for the Ministry..."
And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry and I looked around. We and Dumbledore were still sitting beside Mr. Crouch, but the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands. We both looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.
"Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.
The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. I saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr. Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.
The dementors placed each of the four people in the four 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. Curious, I darted my gaze between the woman and the boy. they did seem familiar...
The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.
Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.
"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous -"
"Father," the boy with the straw-colored hair said. "Father...please..."
" - that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," Crouch said, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. "We have heard the evidence against you. 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," Mr. Crouch bellowed, "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 -"
"No, father!" the boy sobbed. "I didn't! Please -"
"And lastly. You," Crouch looked up. I followed his gaze and saw him staring at the woman. She was smiling mockingly at him. My eyes widened. NO! She couldn't be - "Are accused of using the Cruciatus Curse on Auror Alexander Barton while in duty - being murdered protecting his daughter - Anya Barton, whom was subjected with the Cruciatus Curse and to a failed attempt of murder."
I was gaping. I knew Harry was now openly turned to me, asking with his eyes why didn't I tell him. I simply didn't knew. Looking at the woman, I finally noticed it: the shape of her face, her tall lanky yet curvaceous form, the shaped doe wide eyes that gave her a crazy look, the confidence on her posture. All of this belonged to the Black's family charm. She was the murderer of my father. She was the woman I most feared. She was a Black.
She was Bellatrix.
"I now ask the jury -"
"Mother!" the boy screamed below, and I heard the wispy little witch beside Crouch begin to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"
"I now ask the jury," Mr. Crouch shouted, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"
Yes they did. I wanted them all to die in prison. make them pay for their acts. For hurting Neville's parents: making him grew alone without the love of his mother and the proud gaze of his father. For their fault, I was sent to the Orphanage: I could have grow with my father. Sure, I would dearly miss my mum, but I would still have my father's presence on my life. Love, I would have grew in a loving childhood. But instead, I was a neglected child, a freak. Yes. they must pay.
I flinched from the touch. Harry had wrapped me in a one sided strong hug, his cheek resting against mine.
I should have blushed. I should have stuttered. I was supposed to move away from him on embarrassment and look at anything but him.
I didn't.
I welcomed his touch, burying my head on his shoulder. He only hugged me closer, squeezing my shoulder. I let the tears fall in silence.
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!"
They had sentenced them, just like I wished it to.
Did that make me a bad person?
"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!"
I lifted my head to see what would happen. The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats; Bellatrix, 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!"
But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though I could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as Bellatrix swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle.
"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" Mr. Crouch bellowed, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"
The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.
"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"
"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"
"I think, Harry, Anya, it's time to return to my office," came a quiet voice besides us.
There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting to my left, watching the dementors dragging away Crouch's son- and there was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on my right, looking right at me and Harry.
"Come," the Dumbledore on our left said, and he put his hand under Harry's elbow. He already had a grab on me. I felt ourselves rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around us; for a moment, all was blackness, and then I felt as though we had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on our feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of us, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside us. Suddenly remembering our position, I wriggled out of Harry's grasp and scooted a few feet away from him. Away from all of this.
"Professor," Harry gasped, "I know I shouldn't've - we didn't mean - the cabinet door was sort of open and -"
"I quite understand," Dumbledore said. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry and I to sit down opposite him. I did so without complain.
The contents on the basin had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath our gaze.
"What is this?" Harry asked shakily.
"This? It is called a Pensieve," Dumbledore said. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you both know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."
I nodded. Yes... there was too much on my mind lately... like what I had just seen...
"At these times," Dumbledore said, indicating the stone basin, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."
"You mean...that stuff's your thoughts?" I asked, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.
"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "Let me show you."
Dumbledore drew out his wand out of his robes and placed it to the tip of his silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, it looked like there was hair sticking to it- but then I saw that it was same shimmering substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore than added the new thought to the Pensieve, and I was astonished to see mine and Harry's faces swimming around in the bowl. Then they faded, and were replaced by Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling.
"It's coming back...Karkaroff's too...stronger and more clearer than ever..."
"A connection I could have made without much assistance," Dumbledore muttered. "But never mind that." He peered over the edge of his half-moon spectacles at Harry and me. "I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and I put it away quite hastily. Obviously I didn't close the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention."
"Sorry," we both mumbled.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Curiosity is not a sin," he said. "But we should always exercise with our curiosity...yes, indeed..."
Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry, Professor Dumbledore, or myself. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin. "He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouse last Thursday..."
"But why, Bertha," Dumbledore said sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"
"Bertha?" Harry whispered, looking up at her. "Is that - was that Bertha Jorkins?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opague once more. "That was Bertha as I remember her at school."
The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck suddenly how very old he was looking. I knew, of course, that Mr. Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow we never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.
"So, Harry, Anya," Dumbledore said quietly. "Before you both got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."
I nudged Harry's side gently and motioned for him to tell.
"Yes," he nodded. "Professor - we were in Divination just now, and - er - I fell asleep."
He hesitated but Mr. Dumbledore merely said, "Quite understandable. Continue."
"Well, I had a dream," Harry said. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail... you know who Wormtail-"
"I do know," Mr. Dumbledore said. "Please continue."
"Voldemort said something like Wormtail's blunder had to be repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake- there was a snake beside the chair- he said he'd be feeding me to it instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail- and my scar hurt," Harry said. "It woke me up, it hurt so badly."
Mr. Dumbledore merely looked at him before he gazed at me, the question hanging on his eyes.
"I saw it," I said quietly, staring down at my gaze. I was suddenly shy. "The room kind of - suffocated me, I was dizzy. Then I saw them. I was on a corridor of an old house - Victorian style - they were talking, he was arguing - he didn't have the power enough to punish him, but he still did so."
They were looking at me. I was sure of it. I was almost sure - one gaze was filled with hidden pity, the other concealing his sudden rage.
"That's all, I suppose," I mumbled.
"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. He turned to Harry and said. "Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"
"No, I- how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" Harry said.
"The two of you aren't Sirius's only correspondent," Dumbledore said. "I have also been in contact with Sirius since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I that suggested mountainside cave in Hogsmeade as the safest place for him to stay." Silence. "Is this the first time it happens Annie?"
I opened my mouth to say 'yes', but I stopped short. No, it wouldn't be the first time. There was third year, when I saw Sirius' eyes on the crystal ball in Divination. The Divination exam itself. When I stared at the crystal hand ball Tonks gave me, and I had unknowingly seen the attack on the World Cup. Then there were the drawings. The already drawn future. Eh, it seemed fate has been carved on page rather than stone.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
Thankfully, Mr. Dumbledore didn't ask further on it.
He got up and began pacing behind his desk. Every now and then, he'd place his wand to his temple and withdraw another memory, adding it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast I wasn't able to make any of it out- it was all just a blur of color.
"Professor?" I called hoarsely. It would be one of the rare times I called him 'professor'. It always had been 'Mr.', but right now, I needed a logical answer: something that could possibly give me a solution.
Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry and I.
"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.
"D'you- d'you know why my scar is hurting me?" Harry asked.
"Or my... problem," I trailed quietly, not looking up from my lap.
Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry and I for a moment, and then said, "I'm afraid your question can only be answered by Miss Rosenberg, Annie," he said quietly. I shook my head once more. Would the surprises ever end? "But, I have a theory," he nodded at Harry. "No more than that. ... It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."
"But. . . why?"
"Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."
"So you think . . . that dream . . . did it really happen?"
"It is possible," said Mr. Dumbledore. "I would say - probable." He suddenly turned to me. "Annie, did you see Voldemort?"
"No," I said. "Just the back of the chair he was on. I saw this as if I had been eavesdropping on the door."
The Professor nodded gravely, now asking, "Did you see him then, Harry?
Said boy shook his head. "It's the same. But - there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But...but then how could he have held the wand?" Harry finished slowly, looking curiously at Mr. Dumbledore, then me. I swiftly looked away from his too intense eyes.
"How indeed?" Dumbledore muttered. "How indeed..."
Neither Dumbledore, Harry, nor I spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placed his wand tip to his temple and added another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.
"Professor," Harry said at last, "do you think he's getting stronger?"
"Voldemort?" Dumbledore said, looking at Harry and I over the Pensieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given us on other occasions, and always made Harry and I feel as though Dumbledore was seeing right through us in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not. "Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions."
Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.
"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared...within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, does not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."
Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry and I.
"These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees - as you both may have heard, while waiting outside my office."
Harry and I nodded. Silence fell between us again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. I had the urge to go. hid on the girl's dormitory, ponder silently on bed, tell Caleb all of my worries. At least he would hear and not criticize.
"Professor?" Harry said.
"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore.
"Er . . . could I ask you about. . . that court thing we were in ... in the Pensieve?"
"You could," said Dumbledore heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others ... particularly now. ..."
"You know - you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well...were they talking about Neville's parents?" he then looked at me. "About your dad?"
For once, I was grateful he had asked this. I had been pondering a little, but the shock was too much to held.
Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look. "Has Neville never told either of you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?" he asked.
I shook my head. The last time something too personal about Neville had been brought, we both had been to emotional, not feeling like admitting it to each other. What happened on Moody's class... it was all related to his parents, my dad...
"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents and your father, Annie," Dumbledore said. "His father, Frank, like Alec, had been an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you've both heard. Alec had thought throughfully all the consequences of that night on Halloween: he made sure that both his family and his friends were safe. He went to a specifically place, one were all his ancestors had been safe before."
"The Arx's Cathedral," I breathed. Mr. Dumbledore nodded.
"Though it had been a rather brilliant plan, Alec had not count on Voldemort already knowing the place's location. Four of his followers had done the unthinkable to gain access of the knowledge for their Master to return."
"So they're dead?" Harry asked quietly.
"No," Dumbledore said, his voice full of a bitterness I had never heard there before. "That night, only Alec Barton had been murdered. The Longbottoms are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."
I closed my eyes tightly. It was worse. My sweet dear innocent friend, had he really suffered all of this? Were our paths going to be always intervened in the pain the Dark Lord had brought upon us?
"They were very popular," Dumbledore said. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was - given their condition - none too reliable."
"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" Harry said slowly.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"As to that, I have no idea."
We sat in silence once more. The swirling contents on the Pensieve bringing a calmness I had not been able to feel today. It was a lot of information for my brain to process.
"Er," Harry started, "Mr. Bagman . .."
"... has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.
"Right," said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts.
"And ... er ..."
But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him. Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.
"No more has Professor Snape," he said.
I looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes.
"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?" Harry blurted out.
Mr. Dumbledore did not look away from my eyes. They held something - information about this. Delicate knowledge of why Snape can be a trustworthy man. And grudgingly, I myself, know that Severus Snape was an ally for us. A neutral one, that is.
The Headmaster looked at Harry then, and his gaze lingered on him as long as he had on me. "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."
I knew then that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told me it was time to go. I stood with Harry and Dumbledore pulled himself up as well.
"Harry, Anya," he called as we reached the door. My nickname had been forgotten by him, my name once more surfacing, just as reality did. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he's ready."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, while I nodded. We turned around.
"And -"
Harry and I looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at us for a moment, and then said, "Good luck with the third task, Harry."
Harry nodded. And we both went through those doors, right to the present world.
We didn't return to class. I went right outside to the school grounds, walking somewhat in a dream state to our tree. My favorite place when I had been part of the 'Fantastic Four'.
I knew Harry had followed me. I didn't stop him. I didn't want to face reality yet. I wanted to be alone. Cry because Natasha knew what was happening to me and didn't think I was mature enough to know. Cry for Neville, whose parents lived on a constant hell, because he had not been on a normal childhood. For Harry, having to live with those awful relatives of his, not able to meet his parents and just have the memory of an album photograph. For me, to have lost a chance to live a semi-normal life with my father.
Dropping my bag, I threw myself down to the grass on a sitting position. I wrapped my arms around my legs, hiding my face on my knees.
Silent footsteps stopped in front of me, but I did not change my position. I heard him shuffle awkwardly around, and then he walked around me. Harry too, slowly took a seat behind myself.
I expected him to start asking about what had we seen, Why did I hid all of this from them? Why didn't I admit that Neville and I had a connection since that first DADA class? He should be shouting at me for not trusting, for not being honest like I had promised him at the end of our second year.
What he really did had shocked me.
Confidently, Harry leaned his back into mine. Startled, I had lifted my face a little and looked over my shoulder at him. He wasn't looking at me, but at the sky. It was a cerulean blue, with specks of orange and pink on them. The same one in which appeared on my dreams when I was in the Orphanage, when I wished for someone to come and get me from that dark whole.
Myself unsure of what this little response would do, I leaned my back on his too. Gently, he intertwined his fingers with mine. I held as tightly as I could. The message silently being exchanged between us.
The rest of the afternoon, we just spend gazing at the sky until the sun disappeared over the horizon.