Praised or Blamed?

Praised Or Blamed?

The young man sat bound to the chair in the Wizengamot chamber. Unmoving, he seemed quite content and relaxed despite his state. This wasn't a seemingly crazed zealot, considering an aura of calm rationality fairly radiated from the young wizard, which, to those in attendance, gave the whole proceeding an even more sinister quality. It was quite shocking that this young wizard was even here, and the accusations leveled against him were outrageous.

What was unfortunate was that the young man didn't even flinch or protest any of the accusations. It was as if the young man simply didn't care, or perhaps thought himself to be above responding.

An older wizard, Tiberius Ogden, stood up, his plum-coloured robes glinting in the subdued dungeon lighting. Staring hard at the young man, he sighed.

"Does the accused have anything at all to say in his own behalf?" he queried in an exasperated tone.

Looking momentarily as if he would continue to not respond, the younger wizard finally inclined his head in acquiescence. His tone haughty, he drawled in a condescending manner.

"Very well. You're only doing your job, after all. I may as well indulge you. Hopefully, I'll inspire others to join the cause," he stopped to stare pointedly at a young man who was obviously his brother.

The brother glared at him and turned his head away. No one in the chamber missed the interaction, and all felt a stab of sympathy for the brother.

Ignoring the rejection, the wizard continued as if he were giving a speech. He was nothing if not political.

"There are often times when I consider that others won't understand my decisions. It is a sad part of the reality in which we find ourselves. This 'civil war' of the Wizarding World can be looked at from so many facets that it can boggle the mind. My own reasoning is that what I do, I do for the greater good. For my family, although they might disagree with my sentiments. They would surely call it warped. I merely choose to call my decision informed."

A woman could be heard stifling a cry. His mother. The wizard merely shook his head slightly in an exasperated manner before continuing on.

"My hope is that my actions will not only save my family, or at least part of my family, but improve our way of life. One day, perhaps their children, or even my own will understand why I took the course that I did. It is quite simple really. He-who-must-not-be-named is obviously winning the day, and to be caught out on the wrong side of the conflict is simply unacceptable to me," before he could continue, he was stopped.

Another elder, Griselda Marchbanks, asked loudly, "What exactly are you admitting to here, Mister..."

Cutting her off, the young man smirked. He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything.

"You see I have a need to be what my family isn't. An obvious lie was fed to me growing up. Being a bunch of Muggle Lovers hasn't helped my family one bit. They're still as poor as ever. The only way to succeed is to embrace our heritage and culture, not drown in the conflicts that the Muggleborn thrust us into continually."

Griselda Marchbanks asked him again, "Do you, or do you not admit to being a Death Eater? Did you, or did you not torture Penelope Clearwater with the Cruciatus Curse? Did you, or did you not kill those Muggles?"

Smiling beatifically, the young man deigned not to answer.

"Answer the questions, if you would..." the elder asked, before he cut her off again.

"Soon, you all will wish that you were too. Playing by the rules wasn't helping me, didn't you know?" the wizard responded, his eyes glistened slightly.

A series of gasps and murmurs were heard all over the room.

Closing his eyes, he continued, "Penelope wouldn't see reason. Why couldn't she see reason? So bright, so bright... a Ravenclaw... I was going to ask her to marry me, when," he stopped when another woman's cries filled the room.

Penelope's mother, obviously.

Opening his eyes, he realised where he was again. His eyes becoming hard, he lifted his chin slightly.

"It is no matter now. What's done is done. The Dark Lord is winning, and my sacrifices will be rewarded soon."

Turning to Dumbledore, Griselda Marchbanks addressed the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, "I think we've heard enough. He's just as much as admitted his guilt."

Sighing, Dumbledore nodded his commiseration and looked to the head of the jury, who nodded back his agreement.

The Headmaster sadly intoned, while looking at the young wizard, "Percy Ignatius Weasley, the Wizengamot finds you guilty on the following charges: Being a Death Eater in the service of Voldemort, using the Cruciatus Curse on Penelope Clearwater, and having witnesses who saw you kill no less than three Muggles using the Avada Kedavra Curse. You are hereby sentenced to life in Azakaban Prison without the possibility of parole, beginning immediately. This court is adjourned."

The young redheaded wizard lifted his head proudly, his rim-horned glasses giving him the air of an academic, which he was, after all. The courtroom erupted into chaotic jabber as the Aurors came to escort him out.

Yelling over the crowd, Percy proudly exclaimed, "Praise me, blame me, I don't really care. However, one day soon, there will be a reckoning. What side will you be on then? The Dark Lord is merciful and benevolent to those who serve him! Join him now while you still have the chance and perhaps he will spare you. These trials are a farce! Soon there will trials of a different sort. You'll see. There will be a New Order..."

Whatever else the young man had to say was drowned out by the wailings of a woman and the comforting hugs from a group of redheads surrounding her; her husband and her children. All eight of them were there for each other. They were a family after all.