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Remus
He was lucky that he had even managed to gain entrance, yet Amelia was an old ally and had allowed him a seat on the end of the gallery among the other lowborn. It was cramped and his sight was blocked by the large monstrosity, sorry, hat belonging to the woman in front of him however it was a seat nonetheless. Despite its precarious position, the seat gave him a good view of the gallery and he recognised many of the Lords currently taking their places. The majority of the highborn lords had managed to escape the War relatively unscathed, their money and positions making them untouchable from both sides. The nobility had not been without casualties however. Remus noticed that despite there only being six empty Lords chairs (three of which had died out long before Voldemort was even born) many of the seats were occupied by the family regent, holding the position for the young heir (in the majority of cases the last of their family) to come of age.
He also noticed the new Lord Trevalyn could not have been more than sixteen years old and Lord Booth still possessed a line of blond fuzz on his upper lip- not having yet made the transition from boyhood to adult. It was altogether ridiculous that these children could have the power to make decisions in the government yet that was the way the wizarding world was run, as it had traditionally been for hundreds of years since the days of Arthur, Lord Pendragon. After the fall of Voldemort, the ministry had become even stricter and only now twelve years later was it beginning to relax a bit more, hence the revision of the Death eater trials (although Remus thought that was more to do with Amelia than anything else).
"Lady Hallington of Highclere, Countess of Berkshire" the warden announced. Remus looked up in shock; he had not expected her to be here today. She had not attended the wizengamot personally for over ten years, sending her steward in her place and nobody had expected her to break her self-imposed exile for some Death eaters. When he had gone to see her in June she had looked haunted, like nothing he could say would bring that light back into her eyes. Remus closed his eyes, "What are you doing here Eira?"
Of course she looked beautiful as ever, her face set in a mask of pure indifference, her dark hair a startling contrast to her pale skin and violet eyes. She had always been beautiful so if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it was her at twenty years old, laughing along at something James had said. The illusion wouldn't last though; he always could see past her mask. When he looked closer he could see the bruises under her eyes and her shaking hands. She was thin as well, almost unhealthy looking with her aristocratic cheekbones jutting out at sharp points. Remus often wished he could go back in time; however nothing made him wish to go back to happier times then the sight of his old friend looking for all intents and purposes like she was wasting away before his eyes.
The reaction to her entrance on the gallery was no less extreme, with old Lord Ashcroft almost falling out of his chair and Lord Carter scowling visibly. Remus supressed a smirk, the Carters had been trying to get hold of Hallington lands for decades and old Carter had married his son off to Eira a couple of years after the war. He had never forgiven Eira for the damage his family's reputation had suffered, or the compensation he had had to pay. She had always known how to deal with people she didn't like, he mused with a laugh.
He could hear the hat lady in front of him assessing the situation. "That's Marcus Hallington's daughter" she whispered to her neighbour, who was in possession of an equally distressing hat. The neighbour nodded eagerly. "I heard she hasn't stepped out of the house in ten years" she continued. "And there were certain rumours", she paused delicately, "at the time, you know how it was". The neighbour nodded solemnly as if about to impart a great truth, "I heard that her Father provided the funding for most of You-know-who's activities".
Remus would've corrected them if it wouldn't have done more harm than good. The idea of Marcus Hallington giving any money to a known half-blood, no matter what his agenda was, was laughable. Marcus giving money to anyone, family included was a rare occurrence. He had met the man once, at one of the Potters Christmas parties and remembered his handsome appearance, roaring laugh and the unfathomable violet eyes he had passed onto his daughter. James had later cautioned him that despite his jovial appearance, the Earl was a cunning and dangerous man who hadn't got his high position in society without treading on a few people's toes, advice that had stuck in Remus' mind for many years.
He was shaken out of his musings by Amelia Bones entering, as the head of the Department that had put forward the review, she was overseeing the cases. The morning passed slowly, major death eaters such as the Lestranges returned to their cells with increased sentences. Remus saw many of his year mates from Hogwarts pass through and thanked the gods that he had chosen the right side. He was almost losing hope that he would've been included when the warden announced the next prisoner to be addressed was "Lord Sirius Black of Rochester, Earl of Kent".
Despite expecting it, Remus felt like someone had knocked him over the head. "This is what you came for" he reminded himself sternly. He chanced a glance upward to the Gallery and his eyes found Eira looking perfectly uninterested except for her pale skin and her hands clenched around the arm of the chair. The Lords around her were much more obvious, the House of Black had previously held a prestigious position in society and this would determine their future. If Sirius was sent back to Azkaban the Black family would die out and his entire estate would be seized by the ministry, the worst insult imaginable.
Eira
When she heard his name called, she was shocked beyond measure. The significance of his full title had not escaped her, or any of the older Lords in the gallery. The ministry was sucking up, as they always were and Sirius would go free for certain, the only issue left to debate concerned what the Ministry wanted, or likely who had paid them and how much they were willing to give to get it. She wasn't sure what she thought about his freedom, she hadn't spared the time to think that after all these years that he would be going anywhere but back to Azkaban.
"Innocent", the word even felt foreign on her tongue. She hadn't allowed herself to even imagine the possibility of him not being guilty, lest the memories of how he had begged her to believe him resurface despite all the time she had spent suppressing them. She heard them in her dreams often enough, "Eira, please… I'm begging you… I didn't do it, how could I have", the begging would turn into accusations, into anger, "You left me here to die", and the worst, "You never loved me". That one would stay for days, ricocheting around her mind, taunting her. "You could have saved him", it sung, "but you didn't believe him" and the voice laughed, taunting her, visions of her Sirius dead, against the wall, in the sea, crumpled up next to her. It was much easier to selfishly believe wholeheartedly in his guilt despite what her heart was telling her.
When she wrestled free of the memories, they were listing the terms of Sirius' release. He was to spend as long as necessary in St Mungo's for his physical and mental healing. The ministry would also give 100,000 Galleons per year that he had been falsely imprisoned, and a press conference would be held after his recovery. She could see him nodding tiredly, the spark in his eyes long gone. She looked at him properly for the first time since they had brought him out. He was gaunt, and his once luxurious hair was limp and stringy. The scariest difference was in his body language however. As long as she had known him, he had a presence in a room. He filled up the space with his laugh and his confidence. This Sirius was tired and could easily be overlooked in a group of people; he looked like he had given up all hope.
"And it's your fault", reminded the voice inside her. She could do nothing but agree. Azkaban had destroyed Sirius. After the trial was over, she had turned around to talk to Lord Flint, one of the minor Houses sworn to hers, so she could avoid all eye contact should he look up. Only once he had been taken to the Hospital did she allow excuse herself. That evening Eira cried alone, for the loss of the man she loved. Whatever role she had played in the situation, Sirius had gone into Azkaban a strong man and had returned little more than a shade of his former self. She had never once considered the possibility that he could lose the very parts of him that made her fall in love with him in the first place, and the surprise of it made her grieve for the life that they would never live, that had been taken away from them.