“No. You really didn’t.”
“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”
Thirty voices filled the room, smiles all beaming Carrie’s way.
Christian squeezed her hand lovingly and led her inside; paper streamers and balloons covered every inch of the room. He handed her a red rose from behind his back and grinned widely, waiting for the time that she would laugh with him. Finally releasing a smile, she allowed him to drag her into the center of the room, receiving many pats on the back, hugs, and boxes wrapped in attractive wrapping paper.
“Cake!” a four-year-old, Christian’s best mate’s daughter, announced loudly, assisting a younger-looking Mrs. Lowe into the room with the masterpiece on a shiny serving dish.
“You look beautiful,” Christian whispered to Carrie, pecking her cheek softly. “Have some fun tonight. You work too hard.”
Mrs. Lowe began speaking of how she had created the beautiful cake, how she had mixed the icing, homemade, healthy and good for you without ‘all of that added stuff’, and began to cut large, thick slices to offer to the group. Most of the women complained of their diets, waving their hands in the air with ‘No, thank you,’. After many urgent commands to just eat the cake, most seized it and began to eat faster than even Carrie. It was absolutely delicious. All of the components made from scratch; the lovely cake was a triple-tiered obsession that had everyone begging for the recipe.
At ten to eleven, most of the party had departed. Only three couples remained, Christian and Carrie included, and they were now finding their purses and children, asleep on one of the beds up the stairs peacefully. Gathering up a child in each of their arms, their friends having two kids each, they waved goodbye, winking to Christian that the party had been a great surprise.
The cool summer’s night soon brought Christian and Carrie outside to rest on the patio. Wrapped in each other’s arms, feet hanging over the wood terrace, Carrie had thanked him.
Carrie kissed him deeply, lovingly, feeling the kiss all the way down to her toes. A butterfly feeling within her stomach erupted, more chaotic than usual. Something in Christian’s deep blue eyes told her that something tonight was different, was special.
He looked off into the black of the night, the stars twinkling down upon them. The full moon’s radiance glowed brightly that night, illuminating the garden and its many flowers only feet away from them.
“I love you, Carrie.”
Carrie turned her head sharply, staring into his eyes while he searched hers for the answer he so longed for. This had happened many times before to her. But never had Carrie had the strength, nor the love within her, to repeat it back.
“I love you, too, Christian.”
Carrie awoke from her dream all too soon.
~ * ~
Carrie felt the frigid air fluttering around her ankles sneakily, whipping at the hem of the black dress she wore as she walked through the first floor of the Ministry of Magic. Her heels, this time worn in opposition to the flats to come across as well mannered, clicked across the marble flooring with haste. After taking an elevator filled with many paper airplanes and haughty Ministry workers to floor nine, she had stepped off to descend the stairs down to the tenth floor, the place where the dungeons resided. The place where the trial of Gaston Avery, Nicholas Foreman, and Tyler Mathews was occurring. Luckily, she was not behind schedule. Ministry officials guarded the door like hawks. At least they’re not Dementors, Carrie thought, noticing their lofty structure and stern expressions. They closed the doors as she passed the room, the same room she wished she could be in. A secretary a few feet away told her that she was allowed to take a seat in the room down the hall. It was locked behind her and she took a seat at the frigid metal chair and table that accompanied it. Hands clasped together, head bowed, she immediately began to pray that Christian would be brought justice and that everyone that had any type of information would come forward to make the convictions that much easier.
~ * ~
Torches faintly lit the dark stone walls. Mrs. Lowe could see only far enough in front of her to find an empty place on the benches that filled the back of the room. Noticing the Wizengamot staring from the front of the room as she and her husband, Mark, took their seats, she counted fifty in the weak light, memorizing their faces, grasping that the three men’s fates were in their hands.
The Interrogators, the people who presided over the trial, wore plum-colored robes with a silver ‘W’ for ‘Wizengamot’ embossed on the sleeves. They were seated about twenty feet above the rest, in a balcony that Mrs. Lowe could see held exactly the fifty. In the heart of the room, three chairs were bolted to the floor, chains nailed to its legs and sides to restrain the accused.
“Rise.”
Everyone stood from their seat. Suddenly the room felt the happiness, or what was left of it, deplete quickly and easily. Once again, the crowd felt the effects of the surrounding Dementors take control, and most shivered inside the thin, collared shirts they wore. A member of the Wizengamot, an elderly woman, shouted a spell, allowing her wand to shoot forth a type of woodland animal that circled the room a few times. It calmed the members of the Wizengamot and the attendants, enough for them to safely stand without wobbling for the prisoners to enter. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, waiting for their son’s possible killers, Mrs. Lowe searched the room. She clasped her hand in her husbands’ tightly.
The three men then entered from a door near the front of the room, Dementors huddled behind them. Everyone froze, audibly hearing the thick shackles around their feet dragging across the hard floor, listening to their muffled snickers, watching their dirty faces smile, as if the reason they were here, on trial for murder, was something amusing or entertaining. Disgust filled Mrs. Lowe’s pores, and she felt her throat tighten. An urge to rush forth and slap at the three men was a very hard reaction to ignore. Heart beating erratically, she took her seat when Faraday motioned to the group and she leaned back onto the pew, closing her eyes, trying to achieve control of the trembling hands and legs that could hardly sustain her anymore.
She bit her lip. Nervousness took its place within her body as the Dementors exited.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today on behalf of the murder of Christian Lowe.” He clasped his hands together, eyeing the crowd carefully. His words shocked her at the sound of her son’s name. “The Wizengamot has very good reason to believe that these three men, Gaston Avery, Nicholas Foreman, Tyler Mathews, were involved somehow. I am here today to prove that they in fact, were.” Grey nodded to Faraday. Tyler Mathews seemed to have just noticed who the prosecutor was. The smile he had possessed while being dragged into the room, surveying the people, was missing, and he refused to look Grey’s way. He seemed embarrassed of him, much unlike the other two prisoners.
“Do you have a representative, Gaston Avery?” Faraday asked at his place high above them, the head of the Wizengamot, the Chief Warlock. His eyebrows raised, he narrowed his eyes keenly, awaiting an answer.
“Yeah,” he said, looking over to the other two, their eyes sunken. Tyler Mathews didn’t seem to be enjoying the fun as much as the other two, just like the pictures Carrie had seen the day before. His face was expressionless as he sat between the others.
“And who might it be?” he asked. Grey stared at him with an almost fearful expression.
“The Dark Lord. He can tell you anything you want to know.”
The attendants hissed and most of the Wizengamot became outraged, as if he had actually spoken the forbidden term and not just uttered its nickname. But no Dark Lord took his place amongst the jurors, no attempt for escape was made and no curses were shot forth, so it was immediately put off as a trick. Faraday seemed taken aback, but continued down the line nonetheless. The others, as well, did not have a representative to speak for them while they were on trial. Mrs. Lowe thought it because they had no one. That all of their friends were either in Azkaban, where she hoped they would be sent to, dead, or still remaining Death Eaters employed by the Dark Lord that would not dare show their face in public view with fear of being caught themselves.
“Tyler Mathews?” Grey began, motioning to the young boy in the middle chair. He looked up, staring into the prosecutor’s wide eyes, begging for sympathy. He knew he was guilty, the Wizengamot could see it in his face from the start. From his eyes.
The boy nodded.
“Son of Gregory and Laura Mathews?”
Mathews turned his head to a couple that was seated behind him, most likely only in their late forties, who appeared to the unknowing as at least sixty from the stress that their only son had put them through. They were ashamed. He nodded again as the Court Scribe began to work, his quill flying across the parchment. His inexperienced hands hurriedly scrawled in a messy script to keep up with the hearing. Mrs. Lowe discerned the sound of papers shuffling as he started on another sheet.
“Please tell the Wizengamot your age.”
He hesitated. “Sixteen.”
The arrogant, big-headedness that Tyler Mathews had possessed two days before in his pre-trial had completely vanished. The Dementors, or some unknown force, had apparently informed him of how cruel his life could be if convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban, and that was if he was fortunate. If convicted and sentenced without life in Azkaban, he could be facing a punishment of the Dementor’s Kiss, a penalty that he was terrified of. He hid his eyes behind his hair. Mrs. Lowe might have sympathized him if he hadn’t been on trial for Christian’s murder.
“Gaston Avery? Your age?” Grey asked, his eyes wide.
“You have to know that? Really?” Avery’s mocking tone turned Mrs. Lowe’s blood to ice. She couldn’t believe his audacity.
“Just answer the question,” Faraday told him through gritted teeth.
Avery sighed sarcastically and rattled one of the chains binding his feet. “Thirty-seven.”
“Nicholas Foreman?”
“Twenty-four.”
Grey looked up to the ceiling, apparently taking a mental note of something. Mrs. Lowe noticed Rita Skeeter seated in the front row near her and her husband, whispering something to the other woman that accompanied her. She prayed that she wouldn’t bother anyone or write anything negative about the trial.
“So all of you are all quite a few apart years in age. Is that correct?”
“What does age have to do with anything?” Avery asked loudly.
Faraday stood from his seat, anger turning his face beet red as he said, “Gaston Avery! You will bite your tongue or you shall be removed from this courtroom. We don’t need you to make an easy conviction.”
Grey continued as if nothing had happened. “The three of you pleaded ‘not guilty’ to any of the people the Wizengamot inquired that you murdered. Is that true?”
The three nodded silently. Avery sucked his teeth.
“But we’re here for only one victim. We’re here for the trial of Christian Lowe.”
No one said a word.
“Is it true that you serve the Dark Lord?”
“Believe what you want,” Foreman suggested, not making eye contact.
“Then you won’t mind if you show the Wizengamot your forearm?”
Tyler Mathews didn’t move, only twisted his fingers around the chains. Grey then proceeded to pull up Avery’s sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. He did the same with the other two, uncovering the same evidence.
“Followers of the Dark Lord,” Grey told the crowd as he raised Foreman’s arm. Grey’s eyes showed no surprise as he dropped the arms casually, revealing what was underneath the sleeves of their soiled cloaks with no regret of what he was doing. He was aiming for a conviction.
“I’d like to call the first witness. Carrie West, if you would. The witness has not been exposed to any of the other witnesses to be used in this case, for we did not release that kind of information in the letters sent out, summoning them.”
~ * ~
Carrie’s heart nearly stopped as she stood from her seat. The secretary, calm and collected, was motioning for her to move on to the courtroom. Smoothing her hair, she made her way to the double doors, inside, to the front of the dungeon. Grey eyed her, empathizing, his eyes sparkling. Taking a seat below the balcony of the Wizengamot, still in plain sight of everyone, she saw Mr. Lowe give her a wink and a smile, encouraging. Carrie noticed that a man she predicted was Riley Grey, judging from the card Faraday had given to her, stood near the members of the Wizengamot, not speaking. Rubbing his goatee, he focused his eyes on Faraday, who whispered that he could continue at any moment. Carrie noticed that he was very handsome. Grey’s arms were crossed, his lips set in a grim line. Desperately attempting to concentrate, he ignored the frail chatter of the attendees. Fingers snapping nervously, he finally walked to acquire his position in front of the three chairs. There was no seat for him.
“Please state your relationship with Christian Lowe.” He wasted no time with asking questions.
Carrie cleared her throat to find her voice. She fought the urge to lose consciousness again, like she did at the funeral, with so many pairs of eyes watching her. She tried to take Faraday’s advice and attempted to block out everyone else from the room.
“I was . . . I was his fiancée.”
“How long were you engaged?”
Carrie opened her mouth to speak but found no sound emerging.
“It’s all right. Take your time.”
Carrie stole a glance at the three accused men and her eyes hardened. Avery gave her a wink, but it was not a heartening one akin to the one Mr. Lowe had given her. It disgusted her and she realized that she wished nothing more than for these three to be punished for all of the heartbreak they had forced everyone to fall into. She found her voice again, strong and clear.
“Eight months.”
“You loved him?”
Carrie began to nod, but Avery interrupted. “How does that pertain to this? Does it matter?”
“Remove him, please.” Faraday had stood and was now speaking toward the front doorway.
The Dementors came into the room artfully, and Carrie felt the power that she had just gained slowly wavering. After they exited, Avery unchained and timid in their scabby, rotten hands, they continued.
“If you would, Miss West, please tell us how you discovered Christian Lowe’s body.”
Carrie stared at him like she had never seen him before. She couldn’t. She absolutely could not do that.
But she would have to. She would have to look past her tears, feelings, and at least attempt. She wasn’t the individual on trial, she remembered.
“Christian and I had planned to have dinner at his flat the day that---”
“His flat is located at 632 Gregorian Road, correct?”
Carrie nodded, biting her lip. She strained herself to continue.
“The day that . . . that I found him.”
“The day that you found him, murdered.”
“Yes,” she breathed. Taking a brief ten seconds to calm herself down, she went on. “I knocked on the door but after a few minutes, I thought he wasn’t home. It was odd, because we had planned the dinner the day before and he hadn’t cancelled. I tried the door and found it locked, so I used my own key. I figured he had gone upstairs where he couldn’t hear me.”
“Go on,” Grey told her, giving her a half-hearted smile.
“After I stepped inside, I yelled his name, but he still didn’t answer. I walked up the stairs and I couldn’t find him in the bathroom or guest bedroom, so I continued down to his own room.” Carrie now realized that she was almost gasping for air. After controlling herself she clasped her hands together, imagining that Christian was beside her, giving her strength. “I walked into his bedroom and found him . . .” She paused, trying to gather herself. She didn’t want to lose it in front of all of these people.
“What did you do after you saw the body?” Grey asked, taking a few steps toward her.
Carrie tried to respond, but found that she couldn’t.
“Miss West, I know that this is extremely hard for you, but you have to find the strength to answer.”
Carrie nodded once again. “I was in shock. I thought that it couldn’t be true, so I went and shook him. I knew he was dead. No one could sleep and look like that. While I was shaking him I noticed that he was still warm. That’s what prompted me to think that he was still alive. But I felt no pulse.” Her words were flying out of her mouth now, fast and nervous. “I ran down the stairs to see if I could catch the person that had . . . that had murdered him, but I never found anyone. Only that the door was open. The next thing I knew the police were there, and I was in the corner of Christian’s bedroom.”
Grey nodded.
“Do you have any reason to believe that the three accused, sitting right over there---” He pointed toward the three men. “---had anything to do with his murder? Anyone you know with evidence?”
Carrie began to open her mouth, but this time instead of not being able to speak, she struggled with not speaking. Immediately she eyed the three Death Eaters. Mathews had his head down, but beneath his hair showed the eyes that watched her intently. She almost felt that he felt her own pain, they were just so sad. Avery almost slouched in his seat, would have fallen out of it if there had not be chains to support him. Foreman stared into space, consumed with thought. She looked back to Grey, who was waiting patiently for her to speak.
“I do. But you might have a problem with bringing him in.”
-*Thanks to Fresca, once again, for her lovely job she does!
-*Also, a HUGE thank you very much to Lord Great Chamberlain, h_vic, and mudbloodproud for all of their consistent, wonderful help on these next few chapters. Without them, this would be a faulty mess of a bunch of writing. Also to Fresca for beta-ing!