Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter, or it's characters.
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Last Chapter:
The old man just nodded his head, and again at the aurors waiting in a respectful, if not surprised fashion at the cell door. Those same faces quickly shifted from the respectful, surprised smiles, to fearful scowls and hatred burning eyes.
Oh yes, I do believe I am screwed. Hopefully the guard doesn't decide to join in, I never liked him much.
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Chapter 4: Public Trial
I knew there was a reason to why I hated Albus Dumbledore; there were reasons to hate him even before he first betrayed my trust. It just took the final push of actually betraying me, misguided or not, to make me see those reasons. As I was dragged out of my cell after half an hour of torture, beatings, and degrading comments (and unfortunately, that guard did join in, even gave them 'pointers') I felt a new rush of hatred toward the man.
Really, I was coming to despise the old geezer.
How could he leave a malnourished, ill, innocent Azkaban prisoner with a group of aurors who in the name of justice would act as bad as those they called 'enemy'? It seems like common sense to me, I doubt the man would even apologize for leaving me with them, hell he might believe "I fell down the stairs" if it meant not seeing the world as it is. I have always believed ignorance to be only true crime (not matter how many times I have been in that category myself) and Albus Dumbledore has to be the most blind fool them all.
Sure the man is intelligent and usually knows things before anyone else, but he chooses to ignore human nature, the faults in everyone that chooses the 'light side' and magnifies the crimes of the 'dark side'. Somehow I managed to get myself labeled as the 'dark side' in Albus Dumbledore's mind, and thus, my place in Azkaban was secured until evidence that couldn't be ignored became obvious.
As the Ministry approved portkey was shoved in my shaking hands, my blurry vision of the glaring faces and the dark walls of Azkaban became a spiral of color, and I was soon amidst the gaping and gasping mass that was my retrial.
I hated Dumbledore all the more for making it 'public'. Again.
The courtroom itself was large, with long, elevating benches for what I assumed were for the Wizengamot and toward the back, and circling around the sides were places for the public and press. There were two side entrances, both guarded by aurors. Really it was quite like the one I was charged in, you'd think they would have some sort of variety. Think of the security risks!
Somehow, as I would've doubted it was possible in my state, I was standing. As a result, one of the aurors pushed me down into the hard, stone chair in the center of the courtroom. The chains immediately clasped around my arms (which hurt an awful lot, I'll tell you. Especially on bruised or raw flesh) and the aurors retreated from my position, secure in the knowledge I couldn't escape but unsure about the intelligence of standing too close.
Of course, I could hardly move so the aurors really had nothing to worry about. One would think they would use something less barbaric than chains.
The rest of the officials, people whom I hadn't really a clue as to what their purpose was, started filing into the courtroom. It was obvious when looking at them which ones knew of my innocence and which ones were sure that I was only here to get charged with the 'Kiss'. The ones who knew were shooting me pleading, pitying looks, and the ignorant ones were looking at me with burning eyes of hatred and gloating silently to themselves at my disheveled, bloodied state.
The public was settling down, I couldn't help but observe, and quieted all the more at the sight of Dumbledore entering the courtroom. The man didn't sit in the place I had come to know as the head of the Wizengromt's, he was seated where the minister or judge would usually sit. I couldn't help but wonder if he finally accepted the job.
I couldn't help but hope that he didn't. I had come to like Fudge. Or rather . . . I would have enjoyed being the one to cause him to be thrown out of office or at the very least tortured a little. For all I know he was dead!
I felt my face contort into a probably disturbing smirk at that line of thought, but if the reactions of the crowd at seeing it were anything to go by, I might want to erase its presence if I didn't want a mass mob trying to either kill me or flee in terror. The festivities have hardly begun, after all.
I hope none of them would mind if I found the 'fleeing in terror' option amusing.
Dumbledore started the trial with a mentioning of unnecessary titles and drabble that I chose not to listen to. I decided to examine my injuries instead. They weren't as bad as the last time, really; A bunch of burns and mild, but painful cuts, a couple of broken bones... and a whole lot of bruising. Heh, there is a boot print on my arm! It is a bruised footprint! I didn't know that was possible. If I ever see those Aurors again, I will have to ask them how they did it.
Oh, I suppose I was supposed to be paying attention, wasn't I?
"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, what do you have to say?" A gray-haired witch inquired from the right side of Dumbledore. I recognized it as the place the Undersecretary to the Minster usually presided. I noticed her eyes were usually soft when they spoke to me, well compared to the reactions I received everywhere else. So in all actuality, her eyes weren't really friendly.
Then again, I may have been frightened if they were. This kindness thing is too hard to tell apart from 'maliciously sadistic'.
I remembered that I was supposed to respond, but I hadn't a clue as to what the question was. Always a problem. I felt like I was in school again and was asked question from a professor who knew I wasn't paying attention. I was passed caring what the Wizarding world thought of me, so I felt no remorse when I croaked out "What's the question?"
I didn't give a good impression, I noticed. Perhaps goading them into anger was not in my best interests, but I am starting to believe Azkaban unhinged me more than I had previously believed. I had a secure excuse in place if I was ever asked. That, sadly enough, wasn't very likely to happen judging by previous experiences with said people.
The gray-haired witch glared at me but restated her previous words despite my disrespect. "You have been brought here for a retrial petitioned by various ministry workers in light of some new evidence. This court from here on out will disregard any previous rulings against you. How do you plead?"
My mind immediately froze on those words. Strangely enough, I couldn't recall them being asked at my last trial. Actually, I could barely remember that trial besides the resemblance of the room so I decided not to worry about it. It was of inconsequence anyway. For dramatic purposes I raised my head from its floor set gaze and looked into the periwinkle blue eyes of my betrayer and said those two words that should have saved me a fate in Azkaban, "Not guilty."
Unfortunately the effect was lost because the 'Not' before the guilty, came out strangled and incomprehensible and the 'guilty' was strong and clear.
One would think they would spare a glass of water.
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Edited 5-15-06
Original Notes: -cut becasue they were too long- Gosh I can talk. Basically I gave out a bunch of excuses, computer crashed, some appoligies, and expressed my annoyance with the first person perspective.