Trial and Tribulation

I was taken to Courtroom ten in the sub-basement of the Ministry of Magic. This is the largest of the dungeons that passed for courtrooms in the Ministry. It has dark stone walls and ascending tiers of benches on all sides with dim lighting provided by torches set in intervals around the walls. The elevated judge's box with defendant's chair sitting in a deep well in the centre adds to the intimidating atmosphere. Did I say intimidating? I meant; suffocating, stifling, even frightening.

When I was led into this chamber they slammed the door shut behind me with a resounding boom that shook the floor. I almost jumped out of my skin. This amused the people sitting in the tiers of seats surrounding me to no end. They then led me to the chair in the centre of the room. The instant I took my seat chains leapt over the arms as well as around my legs and bound me tight. This seemed rather unnecessary as the lunar cycle didn't call for a full moon for another week.

Every seat in the courtroom was taken. People were even sitting in the aisles and standing along the wall behind the top tier of benches. This rather surprised me. Unbeknownst to me, during my stay in Azkaban, the Daily Prophet had been running some rather sensational articles about werewolves. They had been calling for the summary execution of all known individuals infected with lycanthrope. I had been painted as this mad raging beast that might be expected to explode into a murderous rampage at any given moment. There were a lot of disappointed people in the courtroom that morning. You see, they were expecting this huge frightening monster. Instead they found a small frightened little man in their midst. At a slight five foot four I'm hardly intimidating.

The usual formalities were performed. The justices and presiding Minister of Magic introduced themselves or were introduced by the Minister. The charges were read out and my solicitor and barrister introduced themselves. I was asked my name (as if they didn't already know it). I apologised for my appearance. There are no facilities for bathing in Azkaban. Nor are we allowed to use magic. Therefore I was a mess in my ragged prison garb and the smell was... unpleasant. The Minister therefore graciously forgave my less than hygienic condition. He stood a little and performed a simple charm that cleaned both me and my clothing. I appreciated his kindness tremendously and thanked him profusely.

My trial lasted a week. It was the most gruelling experience of my life. My solicitor was hard pressed to present a viable defence for the admitted murder of my family. My barrister argued brilliantly bringing tears to the eyes of all and sundry on a regular basis. There were times, often in fact, that I wondered if he was part of the prosecution. In the end the disappointing conclusion of the court was that I wasn't responsible for my actions. They were unfortunately lenient. I had hoped for a guilty verdict and death sentence. Instead my eldest son was appointed my guardian and I was remanded to his custody. This is an arrangement that neither of us has ever been happy with.

Upon my return home I found that he had stripped the house of any but the most basic furnishings. Some of the rooms were completely empty. In fact most of them were. He forbade me to leave the property for any reason. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in the neighbourhood nor were there to be any visitors allowed. Upon any complaint or objection he would perform a silencing charm on me. Fortunately, I only saw him when the moon would be at such a cycle where I might transform. My son would arrive an hour before dusk. He would chain me in the basement and leave. Often he would take his time in returning. One time he did this and didn't return for two days.

Thanks to the Prophet, I wouldn't have had many visitors anyway. People shunned me on the very rare occasions that I was allowed to go out in public. The only light in my life were the letters that regularly arrived from my two daughters. Though I never saw her again, Angela has written me about twice a week, reliably. She never blamed me for what happened.

My eldest daughter finally resorted to bringing petitions against her brother for abuse. She was finally allowed to visit me and was aghast at the conditions he was keeping me in. The house was clean. Indeed, it was easy to keep so. I simply closed off the empty rooms and lived in the three that had been sparsely furnished. My bedroom furniture was moved into the study so that I didn't have to go upstairs, thanks to Margaret (my eldest daughter). She also started supplying me with seeds and gardening supplies. I had always been an avid gardener. Now I had to learn how the Muggles did it. No more magic allowed for me! It took me several years. I did find that I was able to perform some simple, weak magic without my wand. It took considerable concentration and effort though. Some of the magical plants in my garden had to be removed as I couldn't handle them anymore. This was a relief as there was a Venomous Tentacula that was wreaking havoc every time I went outside. Bloody thing chased me around the blinking garden a number of times. I finally trapped it in a corner until the blighter could be removed.

Being that I was now regularly corresponding with my daughters, I had to have the materials. It was easier to buy them from the local merchants. However my son wouldn't hear of it. I had to go to Diagon Alley. This meant the painful interaction with the wizarding community. Flemmings (predecessor to Flourish and Blott's) was an exercise in extreme patience. They wouldn't even acknowledge my presence till every other customer had been helped. Then there were the duties of the store. Anytime I took something down to look at it they would take it away from me and put it back. I would resort to this tactic finally to get them to help me so that I could get out of the store. Even then they would regularly over-charge me. Often items that I had chosen, and paid for, would invariably go missing from my purchase before I left the store. They got so insufferable with me that I wouldn't even go there without my son or daughter in attendance. Getting cheated got old fast. Finally Margaret dressed down the manager so thoroughly one afternoon that he was shaking in his shoes. They were better after that.

The leaky Cauldron was always a treat. Magdelena and her son Tom were always kind and saw to it that the other customers left me alone, or at least didn't abuse me. They always had some special dish for me and asked about my girls every visit. Magdelena took an interest in my welfare and I found that there were now two people keeping my son in line.

In my thirty-second year, I came down with an ailment that wasn't able to be treated at home. I tried for months. Finally, Margaret took me to St. Mungo's. We sat in the waiting room for fourteen hours before a healer would see me. Then he did so only because I had lapsed into unconsciousness and Margaret raised such a fuss they couldn't continue ignoring me. The photographer from The Daily Prophet arriving must have had a great deal to do with it as well.

In the examination room the healer directed his questions to Margaret at first. He refused to speak to me or to acknowledge my presence. Margaret threatened to go to the director and speak with the young reporter in the waiting room. In the end the healer reluctantly agreed to physically examine me. He did so without touching me any more than he had to. The diagnosis was that my diet was causing an imbalance in my immune system. He was astounded that I subsisted on largely the vegetables that I grew in the garden and a thin gruel of rolled oats.

The healer produced a menu for me to be supervised by my guardian. By that time I saw little of my son. Margaret had largely taken over his duties, thankfully.

With Margaret supervising my diet, my health gradually improved. She also insisted on getting me new clothes. Since I wasn't able to launder them, she would take a bag of dirty clothes each week and return the clothes she had taken previously. We agreed upon Muggle clothing as it was easier for this arrangement. I had a devil of a time with the trousers. She had gotten them two sizes too large and they would drop to my ankles without warning. I finally tied twine to the loops around the edges and passed this over my shoulders. Not elegant, but it worked. Margaret inquired at a muggle shop about this problem. She said that they stared at her like she was some kind of mental case. They recommended a long leather strap they called a belt. The things these Muggles think of.

Margaret was able to determine my size by passing a piece of twine through the little loops sewn in a border around the waistline of my trousers. She then took this to the Muggle establishment and they gave her a belt of the appropriate length. She found the experience amusing and no small amount of fun.

She arrived with her prize the next week. It was as if she were returning home with treasures from a foreign land. The clerk had showed her how to don this worthy Muggle artefact. It worked and looked considerably better than my twine. Margaret was ebulliently enthusiastic and I was amused with her. She became the only light in my dreary existence.