Little Memories

The Wizengamot hummed with anticipation, speaking hurriedly to each other as they discussed the situation that was about to be presented before them. Witches and Wizards alike turned and talked, in disbelief of what their decision would ultimately, without a doubt, be. They sat in their red and black robes and hats as Minister for Magic Scrimgeour hurried into the seat at the front of the room, just in front of the chair that sat in the middle of the room. The chair was worn and lackluster, dings and scratches in the once brilliant varnish and the padding of the chair nonexistent. The clasps on the armrests were open and ready to be locked.

The Minister knocked a wooden mallet against the gavel, silencing the room quickly. He glanced around nervously, swallowing hard before drawing in a deep breath.

“We are gathered here today to decide the repercussions for Charlotte Goyle for crimes…committed…” the wizard paused, unable to think of a proper terms for the young girl. “Please escort her in.”

Double doors were pushed open on one side of the circular room and two bulky Aurors escorted the pale, thin girl to the chair. The Wizengamot was astounded at the fact that the Death Eater, the youngest they had encountered, did not fight like the others, but walked in obediently with her head lowered. The Aurors sat her in the chair and clasped her arms in the chair facing the many witches and wizards that came to the trial. Her skin was pale, appearing to have a faint blue tinge to it, and her eyes were dark with lack of rest. The grey, coarse gown she was given hung loose on her gaunt frame. It was obvious what the effects of three days in Azkaban could do to a person.

“This is going to be a quick trial, Miss. Goyle, you understand? We have more than substantial evidence against you and this is merely a carrying out of the proper judicial process,” Scrimgeour said, his voice stern and emotionless. Charlotte merely looked up at him and nodded silently, being the obedient little girl that she was. Whispers broke out when the light exposed a bright purple and blue bruise that spanned an entire cheekbone, given to her when an Auror smashed her face against the floor of a Hogwarts corridor. Those whispers were easily contained when the mallet hit the gavel yet again.

“Did you or did you not pledge your allegiance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” The Minister of Magic asked, keeping his emotions well kept as was required of him. He couldn’t believe that such a young girl would place herself in control of the darkest wizard of their time. Charlotte’s pale, cracked and chapped lips pulled to the side when she recognized that even the Minister for Magic refused to speak the name of Lord Voldemort. Whispers grew rampant yet again.

“Yes, I did,” she said in a hoarse voice causing fully blown talking to echo through the halls of the domed room. One of the Aurors moved from beside her and pulled up her left sleeve, exposing the brand on the delicate skin of her forearm. The talking grew even louder and more boisterous. Scrimgeour looked around at the Wizengamot gathered around him before hitting the gavel hard with the wooden mallet, commanding the order to return to the room once more. It hushed, but not as quickly as it had the two times before.

Charlotte looked around the room, her bright blue eyes appraising those who were about to judge her. Benches lay empty on each side of her, which were supposed to be reserved for those coming to see the trial. Not even her parents or brother showed their faces there, which she knew was smart of them. They needed to hide because they would be put under close examination now that she had been found out. She felt neither fear nor any shame. She didn’t feel anything and was thankful for her numbness.

“And did you or did you not execute an attack upon Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the night that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was assassinated?” Scrimgeour asked her, his voice giving a slight shake from fear. He knew what would happen to the delicate little girl that sat in front of him because of the choice she had willingly made. He knew that no one would be lenient toward her merely because she looked like a child. Her crimes and confessions were too great.

“I did,” Charlotte replied, her raspy voice echoing off the walls. She drew in a deep breath of air as her nostrils flared, yet she felt completely relaxed and at ease with what was happening. Some of the older wizards and witches of the Wizengamot remembered one instance where a Death Eater acted like her, yet not as docile. Bellatrix Lestrange had given the Wizengamot and the Aurors seeing to her a rough time. Charlotte Goyle, however, was calm and quiet, yet straight to the point. It scared them how emotionless the young girl appeared to be.

“Then you know the penalties,” Scrimgeour said, leaning forward and looking at the girl before glancing around at the people that had gathered around him. “All those in favor of clearing her of all charges,” he asked, yet not one of them lifted their hands to defend the young angelic looking girl who sat before them. “And all those in favor of sending her to Azkaban for the rest of her years,” Scrimgeour asked, his voice breaking at the thought of someone so young ruining their life so quickly. Every hand was raised and every eye was turned to the girl. The Minister for Magic drew in a deep, shaky breath. “That settles it then. Charlotte Goyle, you are going to spend the rest of your days locked away in a cell at Azkaban. Have you anything to say for yourself,” he asked, staring down at her. The girl looked up at them with such a haunting look in her transparent-blue eyes as she met the eyes of each and every one of them, fear chilling each of them as her lips curled into a small smirk. Her eyes finally landed on Scrimgeour and the smirk widened into a wide, toothy, yet malicious grin and he knew that she knew something that none of them did.

“The majority of you will be dead within the next year,” she said with a morbid sort of happiness. Enraged shouts and screams echoed through the room as many of the Wizengamot stood and began to yell at the young girl as she grinned up at them.

“Take her away,” Scrimgeour said tiredly, not even bothering to quiet the group of witches and wizards this time. The Aurors flanking Charlotte quickly unlocked the iron clasps on her wrists and escorted her effortlessly out of the room. The Minister for Magic threw down the mallet and turned, walking out of the room without another glance back at the still outraged witches and wizards of the Wizengamot.