Disclaimer: Still don't own.

: Love Sex and a Bottle of Vodka :

: Chapter Twenty-Seven :

Hermione sat unmoving on the wooden bench, staring off into space as she listened to the nameless judge seated in the front of the room. Although the Great Hall was filled with people, Hermione felt as though she was completely and totally alone. She vaguely recalled Dumbledore quickly explaining the process of a wizard trial to her. It sounded a lot like a muggle trial…just with wizards. He had told her, looking more than a little harried, that this would be a quick, make-shift trial, because they were all juveniles. To be honest, Hermione didn't really understand any of this. Every little thing was a mystery, from walking to remembering to breathe. The last time she felt this disoriented was when she woke up and was slammed with amnesia due to a magical infliction.

She could recall with greater clarity what Dumbledore looked like, rather than what he was saying. He seemed truly aged; any light that had danced in his eyes were put out. Ice seemed to fill her insides, falling from her throat, joshing her heart, and clattering noisily on the pit of her stomach. She flexed fingers that felt as though they didn't belong to her. They seemed small, narrow, and terrified. Was it possible for parts of her body to be removed and terrified by themselves? Hermione vaguely realized that she wasn't being coherent.

Someone beckoned towards Hermione and she got up. Why was it so cold in the room? She didn't recall it being this cold when she ate her meals here, three times a day. She was led to an even colder chair where she was suddenly hit with a barrage of questions. Answer fell, numbly, from her cold, blue lips. Where did her words go after they faded into silence?

The room seemed to be filled with nothing but nameless eyes and they were all on her. They eyes stretched from right in front of her to the back doors. She had lost track of the time. Hermione heard her voice escape her lips, without her consent, to hang, dismembered and dying, in the air.

"And you said you went on a…date? A date with Dean Thomas?"

"Yes."

"And what did you do on this date?"

"Objection, your honor. How is this relevant to the case?"

"I have a point."

"Then make it."

"Could you please describe what happened at the end of this 'date'?"

"Ms. Granger?"

"The girl is ill. You can hardly expect her to answer every hare-brained question."

"Severus."

"We are wasting time. The children are ill and grieving and I will not sit here and watch them endure a ridiculous trial that should be set up months from now."

"Minerva."

"I understand that your hands are tied, Albus, but this is ridiculous."

"Albus Dumbledore, if you cannot restrain your faculty, we will restrain them for you."

"She won't answer the question. She still hasn't."

"Then could someone else please explain what happened?"

"Yes, your honor. They were said to be taking a walk when supposedly Dean Thomas slipped and fell. In trying to stop his fall, Hermione Granger fell as well and hit her head. She woke up with temporary amnesia but she has recovered since."

"Do you believe it was in malicious intent, Ms. Granger?"

"What are you implying? That this boy, who is only seventeen, would risk his own neck in hopes that Ms. Granger would jump off the cliff after to him? That is too absurd to even be considered a possibility."

"She still hasn't answered."

"Ms. Granger?"

"It wasn't in malicious intent."

The questions and voices kept going on. The questions jumbled themselves up inside her head as she stared off into space like a dead doll. Different voices would object the whole procedure, that it was too early, that she was sick, that this whole ordeal was absurd. Why was the trial so early? Was she dreaming all of this?

She felt herself gasping. Was that her own hands that were grasping at her throat? Hermione felt as though she was standing in the opposite side of the room, watching herself fall to her knees. She watched herself be surrounded by the faculty. Hermione watched, silently, as she was helped to her chair. The never-ending trial continued.

Ron pulled his sister close to him, patting her shoulder. Their family, especially their mother, was openly affectionate, but he and Ginny had stopped hugging years ago. It just seemed too awkward and weird. But now, when he had no words of comfort, nothing in the world that could make the thin, red-haired girl seated next to him feel less wretched, the only thing he could think of was to hold her close to him. Maybe that wouldn't make her feel better either, but it was proof that at least her brother was still next to her, alive.
Minerva McGonagall's lips were pressed together tightly, turning white. She was furious, to say the least. Of all the rude, preposterous things to do. She was completely speechless. The white, drawn faces of her students, wearing expressions of people much, much older than they are, was enough to make her anger rise again, like a phoenix, from the flames of her fury.

It was the politics of the wizarding world that she did not appreciate, the endless intrigue and the secret alliances, backstabbing, and blackmailing. They were supposed to be wizards and witches! They were supposed to be an advanced, hidden society, not like those fumbling muggles that were still relying on electricity, who fought over the most outrageous things like oil. But here was her beloved wizarding community that was putting her even more beloved students through torture because of the precarious maneuverings of those in high position. Leave these children alone! They are grieving. Let them fight amongst themselves but leave the children alone!

Next to her, Albus' was completely stiff and his face was expressionless. Across the room, she could see Severus seething; they both did have a hard time hiding their anger. After several moments, Severus got up and turned swiftly on his heel, his robes turning around him. All eyes were on him as he stormed out of the room, his shoes making curt noises against the stone ground. The room seemed to shake when he slammed the door shut behind him. After a moment, Minerva followed him. She could endure this no longer.

Hermione felt something strange in her eyes. She kept bringing her hand up to her eyes but they came away wet and clear. They weren't the right color. The backs of her hands didn't come back smeared with blood like expected. It was the most peculiar feeling.

Suddenly, the judge slammed his gavel down and Hermione realized that the jurymen had silently filed back in, heads bowed like children who had been scolded. They all looked up at the cold, marble judge. His face was paper white and she could see the blue veins on his neck.

"Dean Thomas has been charged with"

Time seemed to drag on and each word seemed to drop and clatter and break on the ground. Every single person in the great room held their breath. Hermione raised her haggard, tear-stained face to look at the judge, who stared back at her with his obsidian eyes.

"Dean Thomas is not guilty for the death of Draco Malfoy."