I am Pepper Imp of Slytherin…
Ignorance is bliss.
I am not ignorant. In fact, there is much evidence to the contrary. Not only am I one of the youngest Heads of Department that the Ministry of Magic has ever seen, I am a woman who has suffered “ and seen “ loss.
The Second War is finally over. Harry Potter has vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and identified all of the fallen warlord’s allies. The Ministry has rebooted and fired any staff that was allied with the Dark Lord “ we are ashamed of the time that we spent twisted around You-Know-Who’s little finger.
Kingsley Shacklebolt is heading the Ministry magnificently, and I sincerely hope that he remains Minister. I do not think that anyone could make things run so smoothly “ especially with all the trials that I have to attend.
The Death Eater trials are a daily occurrence now. Why, only yesterday, I presided over Crabbe, Goyle, and Macnair’s trials. Being the Head of Magical Law Enforcement doesn’t really give you much leeway to sit out on certain trials that you would rather not attend.
My office is a complete tip, I think as I walk into my office in the early morning “ at least, I think it is. The magical windows can be so confusing…
Shuffling the papers around on my desk, I groan as three more owls swoop into the room, delivering the daily paperwork from Azkaban. I shoo them away impatiently, and place the papers on top of the already amazingly tall pile on my desk.
“Miss Keelan?”
I snap my head up, my blonde with teal streaked hair flying around and whipping my face. A large amount of the employees under my lead were immediately against my appointment “ they seemed to think that colored hair and a young age would count against my intellect.
Of course, Amelia would have thought differently. And apparently she did “ she was the one who requested that I receive this post after her death.
“Yes, Haught?” I say, more sharply than I intended. This paperwork must be getting to me.
“There’s been a meeting scheduled this afternoon with the Russian and Swedish Ministers of Magic. Do you want me to book an interpreter?” The intern speaks very quickly, as if he wants to evacuate my office as soon as possible.
“Yes, why not? Oh, no, no, no…” I have seen the small fleet of memos that has flown into the room behind the young man. I wave him away and start to open the charmed paper airplanes.
The first one is the largest and most important. I drop it out of shock the first time I see the name, but I plough on and reread it, hyperventilating as I do.
‘Bel,
Lucius Malfoy’s hearing is at nine o’clock this morning. Be there “ Shacklebolt says that he has a feeling that Malfoy will try and wriggle out of Azkaban.
- Robbie
PS. Beth has been having a terrible time with the terror toddler “ don’t stop by the flat unless you want to be covered in chocolate syrup and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.
I don’t even think to register the post script “ even my best friend’s attempt at humor can’t lodge the stone that has taken up residence in my stomach.
Oh, dear. Oh, oh, dear “ this was just the trial that I had been dreading. I had almost wished that he wouldn’t be given a trial, but Shacklebolt was far too fair to allow that sort of injustice.
After slowing my breathing by breathing into a paper bag, I pull on a long, purple Wizengamot robe to cover my jeans and t-shirt and sweep out of the office. My co-workers call out greetings, and I return them half-heartedly. I hope that I’m not obviously shaken as I had appeared so many times before, and I don’t want to give them another reason to doubt my ability.
And my sanity.
When the lift opens on the Department of Mysteries, I’m the only person left in the contraption. The hallway in front of me seems increasingly smaller and suffocating as I walk down it, further away from the only remaining escape. I have to collapse against the wall and shake my head… my fear is getting the better of me again.
I stagger down the corridor until I manage to wolf down enough air to stand up straight and walk without feeling faint. Suddenly, my hand collides with the cold metal of a doorknob and I twist it, breathing in deeply as the door opens and my eyes search the courtroom frantically.
I want to sit down. I want to go home and sit on my bed with my head in a bucket. But I can’t “ Amelia wouldn’t want me to. She was my mentor, and I can’t let her down. She was also the one who requested me to replace her, after all.
I walk (rather unsteadily, I might add) across the courtroom, settling myself in my seat. I shuffle my notes around, wanting to desperately chew my nails. Running a hand through my multi-colored hair, I fret about what I am being asked to do: abandoning my usual position of questioner to become a prosecutor is not something that I’m used to.
And I want nothing to do with that man.
Shacklebolt is sat proudly in the judge’s chair, his face looking calmly at the documents before him “ which is more that I can say for myself. I’m so nervous that I'm actually shaking.
His rumbling voice suddenly fills the courtroom. “May the accused grace us with his presence?”
This is it; I think frantically as I knead my hands together. This is it. Face your fears, just do it. Deep breaths.
The last remaining Dementors come into the room “ the Ministry is in the process of getting rid of the foul creatures, but most of the personnel in charge of that area thought it best if they were released in stages “ and I shrink against my chair. All I can think of is the press release about his death… the nervous breakdown after being told that Amelia was dead…
In between the creatures is a very thin Lucius Malfoy “ granted, his hair is lank and greasy, and the circles under his eyes are not pretty, but he still demands a sort of respect. He sits in the chair across from Shacklebolt, his arms on the rests. The chains clink as if they are judging the occupant, and do not bind him “ they obviously remember Malfoy’s “donations” to the Ministry.
If I was in my right mind, I may have objected about the failure of the chair.
The Aurors in the room dash towards Malfoy, their robes flowing behind them. As bad as I am feeling, I let out a small smile “ I have implemented this procedure. The men frisk Malfoy and remove his wand and anything that he has on his person “ it protects the jury and the accused (since a few of the Death Eaters have resorted to harming themselves to get out of trials) and it prevents any resistance to questioning.
“You are Lucius Julius Malfoy, am I correct?” asks Shacklebolt.
“Yes,” says Malfoy. His voice is cold and scathing, though the old indifference is gone “ there is a sort of desperation edging inside.
“Do you deny possession of illegal substances and Dark Objects?“ Shacklebolt begins the questioning, relentless confidence in his voice.
“Yes.”
I stand up, surprising myself. “May I, Minister?”
Shacklebolt nods. “State your name and questions.”
“I am Isabel Sofia Keelan, head of the prosecution. Mister Malfoy,” I say, turning to the blonde man. “What evidence do you have to say that you were not in possession of illegal substances in your house? We can call in Arthur Weasley if we need to.”
“No need, Miss Keelan,” he says smoothly. “I merely want to say that, technically, they were merely being kept there for a close family friend.”
“What friend, Mister Malfoy?” I press.
“Borgin from Borgin and Burkes of Knockturn Alley.”
I turn towards Shacklebolt, who nods and gestures to the door, which opens, and the old shop owner comes in. “State your name and your story,” says Shacklebolt.
“Bricius Borgin, co-owner of Borgin and Burkes of Knockturn Alley,” the man says, his smooth voice much like Malfoy’s.
But he seems a bit… strange to me. His eyes seem slightly glazed over… but he appears confident enough in himself, and I look over it.
I begin my questioning of the oily man. “Did you ask Mister Malfoy to conceal illegal substances in his home?”
“Yes,” Borgin says slowly. “They were very popular at the time of the transfer, and I was to reserve them for the Parkinson family. I asked Lucius to keep them at his house to stop customers attempting to buy them “ or steal them, since the location of my store is… unfortunate.”
I nod, and Borgin is shown out of the room. Malfoy lets a little smirk play on his lips. Shacklebolt takes over the questioning, and shows no apprehensiveness at the answers that we are being fed.
“Do you deny the use of Imperius Curse on numerous victims, the late Unspeakable Boderick Bode in particular?”
“Yes.”
Shacklebolt’s voice does not deny the surprise that I know is there. “Miss Keelan?”
I stand up again. “Mister Malfoy, why do you say that you did not employ the Imperius Curse against Boderick Bode?”
“I was Imperiused myself. It’s as simple as that, Miss Keelan,” says Malfoy.
“Minister, do I have permission to call in a witness?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I nod to the guard at the door, and he opens it. Severus Snape strides into the room.
Madam Pomfrey and a team of St. Mungo’s Healers had miraculously saved the man from the brink of death. Snape had been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, and has since been regarded as a “war hero”. I smile in his direction.
He scowls.
Shacklebolt obviously doesn’t want to prolong this trial any more than I do. “You are Severus Snape, correct?”
“Yes,” he says, his cold black eyes looking straight at a dumbfounded Lucius (apparently, Lucius still thought that Snape was on his side - we don’t usually supply prisoners with the newspaper). Snape’s face is expressionless. I can’t say that I’m surprised.
“And what is it that you wish to present?”
“An account of Mister Malfoy’s standing in the Dark Lord’s supporters and his assignments,” says Snape lazily, almost as if he didn’t care what the outcome of this trial was.
“Would you be willing to take Veritaserum to ensure the truthfulness of your story?” Shacklebolt isn’t fazed by Snape’s attitude, and neither am I. I had expected this “ he had been just like this when I had asked him to appear at the trial.
“Yes, as much as I would discourage it.”
Shacklebolt nods. “Then present your evidence.”
“Lucius Malfoy was in the Dark Lord’s inner circle “ up until the end, of course, when he was booted to the bottom of the food chain after failing to retrieve the prophecy. He knew most of the Dark Lord’s secrets “ he was even trusted with one of his Horcruxes.”
The crowd gasps, like he had uttered a disgusting cussword and thrown in a hand gesture for good measure. He rolls his dark eyes, sneers, and continues with his monologue.
“Of course, he was ordered to kill “ like we all were. He killed numerous Muggles and numerous wizards. He was also ordered to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries,” he pauses, as if trying to recall something that had slipped his mind. “And he had been told to try and keep Dumbledore out of Hogwarts at any costs.”
Something clicks in my mind, and I realize that the information doesn’t add up. “But You-Know-Who didn’t return until 1994. How could he have received orders?”
“Let’s just say that he had contacts with Quirrell that none of us did,” he spits, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“And did You-Know-Who ever use the Imperius Curse on Mister Malfoy?” I ask, trying to wrap the conversation up.
“Not that I am aware of. And I was aware of quite a lot.”
I nod, and he stands and sweeps out of the room.
“Liar,” says a voice from the center of the room. “He’s lying.”
“I highly doubt that the court will take a convict’s word against a war hero’s.” I don’t want to wait for Shacklebolt to state the next question. “But what about Muggle-baiting at the World Cup? And what about the murders “ especially the one of Callum Keelan!”
I don’t realize that I had shouted the last sentence until my neighbor places a hand on my shoulder and gently pulls me down into my seat. I shrug it off “ as much as I appreciated the gesture “ and stand up again.
“What about my big brother?” I whisper.
“Miss Keelan, at the World Cup, what kind of decent husband would leave his wife and son if Death Eaters were on the rampage?” he pauses, as if expecting someone to nod or say ‘aye, aye’. When he gets nothing, he continues, “And again, I was Imperiused! I had no idea what I was doing. I did not kill Callum Keelan “ I was merely the tool that the Dark Lord used to kill him.”
Tears well up in my eyes, but I plough through. “May I call in a second witness, Minister?
“Of course, Miss Keelan.”
This time, I motion to the Dementors standing at the edge of the room. They exit, and the whole room seems a little brighter. Only for a second, though, because they return a minute later, holding an eighteen-year-old boy between them.
Draco Malfoy.
It bothers me that I am only six years older than this wizard, yet I have to sit up and face the facts of war.
The boy slumps into the chair and looks up, his formerly pale skin almost grey, and his eyes dull and broken.
“Mister Malfoy, you are here to present evidence to the court in exchange for release from Azkaban under the charge of attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, am I correct?” Shacklebolt retakes the stage by speaking for the first time in a while, and commanding respect.
“Yes, sir.” Lucius Malfoy looks enraged to see his son so submissive.
“Mister Malfoy, what is it that you wish to present?”
The younger Malfoy keeps his head down when he speaks “ so much so that I almost don’t hear him. “Arguments that I overheard my parents having, sights at the Quidditch World Cup, letters with the addresses to known Death Eaters and the recount of the pressure for me to take the Dark Mark. And I would be willing to take Veritaserum if you require."
“Very well. Miss Keelan, you may begin your questioning.”
“Mister Malfoy,” I begin, “what did you overhear in these so-called ‘arguments’?"
“I heard my mother shouting at my father about the consequences of his actions. He would always retort with statements and threats from the Dark Lord, and that made my mother stay quiet, though she still worried about our wealth and standing if the Ministry found out about what my father had done.” The teenager had been glancing at his father all throughout his speech.
“And what exactly was your mother afraid that the Ministry would discover?”
“Murders, mainly. And the use of the Imperius Curse.”
“All right. What did you see at the Quidditch World Cup? Did your father stay with you and your mother like he claims?”
“Most of the time. He got her and me into the forest, and then ran back into the fray. I saw him return to the tent later that night, clad in the signature cloak and mask.”
“Okay. What about the letters?”
“Between my father and Macnair, mostly. Getting information about the Ministry.” Malfoy’s face is becoming greyer and greyer as his father’s grows red with anger.
“And the pressure to take the Dark Mark?”
“My father had been dropping hints to my mother for years. Only after my fifth year did he start pressuring me to enlist. The shouting matches were tremendous, and I am very thankful to my mother for standing up for me. But in the end, there was nothing that anyone could do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And why was that?”
“In the summer before my sixth year, when my father was in Azkaban, my mother took me to the Dark Lord. She told me that he had threatened to kill my father if I didn’t follow his orders… I fought. I wanted to join, I admit, but not like that. But she held my arm out to him while he branded me like a stray bull."
“Thank you, Mister Malfoy. We will be sending paperwork to Azkaban as soon as we can.” Shacklebolt cuts in to my next question “ he obviously wants to finish this up as quickly as he can.
I sit down again. I can see the pain and suffering in the boy’s eyes as he is hauled away, his feet dragging against the floor.
Shacklebolt makes a show of looking like he doesn’t care, but I know better. He isn’t that kind of man. “Finally, Mister Malfoy, do you deny bribing the Minister and “ in connection “ the Ministry itself?”
“Yes.” Merlin, if I weren’t a Ministry official, I’d give him a thump or two.
“Miss Keelan?” Shacklebolt’s eyebrows are raised as he speaks.
I feel slightly lightheaded as I stand up, but I continue, while feeling a bit sick. “And why do you deny the charges, Mister Malfoy? You gave large sums of money to the Ministry, and then managed to stop laws that you didn’t want. A bit fishy, don’t you agree?”
“Not really, Miss Keelan. I gave the money as donations to the Ministry, nothing more. The influence and regard for my opinion came as a… very nice gift.”
I sigh. My time is over “ it is the defense’s turn to speak.
On the other side of the room, a young man stands up with a piece of parchment in his hand. His eyes are darting across the page, his mouth forming a small ‘oh’ as he reads. His shoulders fall, and he replaces the mountain of files back in his briefcase.
The man clears his throat. “My client wishes that it be known that he would be willing to retell his story under the influence of Veritaserum, including a booster on the anti-antidote beforehand.”
I smirk “ surely, even with the serum’s several ways of deception, this prisoner would not be been able to weasel out of this one. Shacklebolt nods, and the Aurors go over and pour a small vial of black liquid down the blonde man’s throat, followed by a vial of clear liquid.
Kingsley repeats each question, slowly and carefully.
Malfoy repeats the same answers.
After each question and each answer, my mouth falls open a little more “ how could this convict get away like this! Only… maybe he hadn’t committed those crimes…
I glance around the courtroom “ Shacklebolt’s trying to keep a blank face, but he’s failing - the movements he makes are shaky and his eyes are wide. The members of the jury look just as surprised. A few are even trying to rid their ears of earwax.
When Shacklebolt finishes, he sighs. He raises his quill. “It is time to deliberate on the fate of this man. All in favor of conviction?”
I raise my hand. So do many others, but I fear that there is not nearly enough support…
“And those in favor of release?”
The rest of the hands fly up in the air. I could have killed the “unbiased jury” requirement there and then.
Shacklebolt counts the hands and scribbles something on a parchment.
“Very well “ Lucius Julius Malfoy, you are cleared of all charges. You may leave “ your wand will be returned to you at the door.”
Tears blind me as the man stands and strides to the door. They are leaving hot trails on my face when he slams the door behind him.
I step out of the courtroom moments after “ I don’t want to be comforted, not now.
I let the tears come, and soon after, they cease. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and start down the corridor, making my way back to the lift.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of white-blonde. I turn and see Narcissa Malfoy prancing down the corridor to meet her husband. I close my eyes and count to ten “ if I say anything, I’d lose my job. Or worse.
When I open my eyes again, I see the woman slip a small, glass jar of white substance into Malfoy’s hand.
And it clicks “ everything clicks. He’d not modified his memory “ such a thing is near as to impossible “ he’d merely removed parts that he didn’t want revealed!
He’s probably been Impurised in the past… he’s just rearranged the memories that he’d left in his head “ he probably did get Draco and Narcissa into the forest at the World Cup. And Bode… he was Imperiused!
That wretched man - there is only one thing to do.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!” I call down the corridor, index finger outstretched. “You have no right to leave this building!”
“Why ever not? I was just cleared, Miss Keelan,” he says calmly. His hand is in his cloak pocket, his long fingers presumably wrapped around the glass jar.
“I saw what you did. I know how you escaped. GUARDS! MINISTER!”
I see nothing except my own victorious feeling “ the feeling that I am finally going to put justice to Callum’s death. I don’t see Malfoy whip out his wand and flick it in my direction, a shot of red light flying towards me.
Next thing I know, I am flying backwards and I hit the floor heavily, my head hitting the bottom part of the column.
I see spots, and then succumb to the beckoning darkness.
My eyelids flicker open again, and I see the whitewashed ceiling of the hospital. I groan.
“Miss? Miss? Are you awake?”
I manage to nod feebly. The back of my head is throbbing terribly.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Isabel Keelan,” I say, and I am surprised at how scratchy my voice is.
“And can you tell me where you are?”
“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries,” I say.
“She’s going to be fine, Mister Malfoy. It was a good job that you brought her in when you did.”
My eyes snap open. He’d won the trial! He’d gotten away… he’d done… something…
“Miss Keelan, can you tell me what you can remember? Mister Malfoy tells me that you fainted because of nerves and hit your head, but what’s your story?” asks the kindly nurse, making a note on my clipboard.
I try to focus on what had happened that morning. “Um… Malfoy was cleared, I left the courtroom… and it’s all a bit groggy after that. I must’ve fainted…”
“All right. Well, Miss Keelan, we’ll have to keep you in for a little while longer. Just relax,” says the nurse, and she walks off.
I fall back onto the pillows “ I’m sure something else happened… I just can’t place what exactly happened…