The Trial

One dementor on either side of me. They're intended to scare me, to keep me frightened and submissive. It isn't working. Dementors never scared me. My worst memory is when those blasted spiders tried to kill me in the Forbidden Forest five--no, four years ago. That's nothing. I can handle it.

The door is slightly open. I can see people filing in. My family. Mum and Dad, Bill and Charlie and Ginny sit together in the middle section of the ninth tier. Mum is sobbing. Dad is pale. Bill and Charlie and Ginny just look kind of stunned. Percy is up with the minister, quill at the ready. He's still the secretary, so he has to take notes on this. I can tell he's less than pleased about it. And I don't really care. George is in the front row, talking to someone I can't see. He's pale and trembling, but he finally nods and goes up to join the rest of the family.

"Bring him in," someone says. His voice echoes slightly.

The dementors lead me in. Mum buries her head in her hands. George, trembling, reaches out and grabs Ginny's hand tightly. Dad turns grey. Charlie and Bill look ill. I observe this with a detached air. I don't overly care.

But then I see Harry. He's sitting in the front row of the third section. Hermione's sitting next to him, and she's buried her head in his shoulder. I can tell she's crying. Harry's holding on to her shoulders tightly, but there are no traces of tears on his face as he's looking at me. My first thought is that he doesn't care any more than I do, but then I realise. Harry is forcing himself to look at me. I can tell it's killing him to be sitting there while I'm standing down here. And I feel my first pangs of guilt.

Strange, isn't it? I didn't eel any guilt over causing the death of my own brother. But I feel guilty because it hurts Harry so badly that I did.

The man leading the trial looks down at me from his post, up near Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody. "Ronald Bilius Weasley," he says in his loud booming voice, "you are charged of alliance with the Dark Lord. How do you plead?"

"Guilty," I say in a clear, carrying voice. Did that just come out of my mouth?

"You are further charged," the man continues, "of espoinage with the Dark Lord, carrying information on the whereabouts an movements of Harry Potter and others. How do you plead?"

"Guilty." What the bloody hell am I thinking?

"You are further charged with torturing the six-year-old child of Auror Marcus Spencer in an attempt to make him join the Death Eaters. How do you plead?"

I hear Mum give a slight wail and see my family blanch as I say, "Guilty." Did they not know what charges were going to be levied against me beforehand?

"You--are--further--charged," and here the man seemed to be having difficulty with his words, "of passing information and setting up a trap leading to the capture and death of Frederick John Weasley. How do you plead?"

"Guilty." Why deny it? It's true. All of it.

The man nods slightly. "We will now hear the testimony. Mr. Lucci? Your questions."

A tall man stands up in front of me. He looks emotionless. "Mr. Weasley," he says in a stern, carrying voice, "please tell us. When did you become a Death Eater?"

"Officially, four months ago."

"Officially?"

"I've been working for them for a year. However, only fully fledged wizards are permitted to join. And I didn't turn seventeen until last March. Over Easter vacation, I managed to get out for the initiation ceremony." Mum gives a low sob.

"Why did you decide to become a Death Eater?" Mr. Lucci asks me.

"I was mad at Harry," I said honestly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of pain cross his face, and I once again feel the prick of guilt upon my conscience. Oddly enough, I don't want to hurt Harry any more than I have already.

"This is all because you had a fight with Harry?" Mr. Lucci asks in disbelief.

I shake my head. "You couldn't call it a fight. It takes two people to have a fight, and Harry wasn't mad at me. I yelled at him."

"What was the--what were you mad at him for?"

I hesitate, wondering how best to phrase it without hurting my friend--former friend, I guess. He'll never forgive me for this. "He started going out with another one of our mutual friends."

"Which one?"

"Hermione Jane Granger."

"Why were you mad at him for that?"

"I...I think I was afraid I would be left out." It's a relief to talk about this. I can't seem to stop myself. "It was a stupid thing to think--I realise that now--but at the time I was afraid of being abandoned by my best friends. I guess that...well, I was so worried and angry at the thought that I turned to the Dark Lord. People I was certain wouldn't abandon me. And I was so mad at Harry that I was willing to do anything to get back at him."

Mr. Lucci nods a little. "I see. Moving on...why did you torture Calla Spencer?"

I'm about to lie. I'm about to say that I don't know why, except that it seemed like a good idea at the time, when I catch sight of Harry's emerald eyes. When we were younger, he always seemed to know when I was lying. I just got out of the habit of lying to him after a while. I can tell now that he knows I'm telling the truth, and he'll know if I lie. And if I lie it will kill him.

So I'm totally honest, even if it lands me a snog session with a dementor. "I knew from experience that if I threatened someone near and dear to his heart--that if I tortured that someone--he'd crack, do whatever I asked as long as I didn't hurt his daughter. I don't think he expected me to actually do what I threatened to do."

"How did you know from experience?"

I looked up and met Ginny's horrified blue eyes. "Two years ago, when the Dark Lord came out into the open, I was one of the six students in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy threatened my little sister. I would have done anything they asked me to do to keep her safe. And Harry very nearly turned himself over to the Death Eaters to keep Neville Longbottom safe. He would have if the Aurors hadn't shown up."

There is a brief silence as everyone digests this. Finally, Mr. Lucci shakes his head. "No further questions."

The man from the beginning stands up. "First witness, Mr. George Eric Weasley."

George comes down and stands in the front row as instructed. He swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth like they always do. Not that George has ever lied in his life. Unlike me.

"Mr. Weasley," Mr. Lucci says calmly, "could you please tell the jury exactly what happened the night of Frederick Weasley's death?"

I can feel the anger rising. What a question! Why are they putting George through that? Can't they see it's going to kill him to have to relive all of that? Why didn't they just ask me?

But George is an absolute brick. Granted, he sounds as though he's trying very hard not to cry, and once or twice h has to stop, but he tells them everything he can remember. How I disappeared early that morning. How he and Fred got a note at their joke shop, saying they had two hours to come and get me or I'd be dead. How they closed the shop early and ran to find me, praying the whole time they weren't too late. How the chamber they were supposed to find me in was empty. How an eerie, echoing voice had laughed at them, called them fools, told them it was not I but they who would not live out the hour. How the roof collapsed on them suddenly.

"I got out with a bruised arm," George says. He's coming to the end now, and it's getting harder for him to talk. "Fred never made it. When...when I dug him out, I was just sitting there...holding him...and I heard laughter. I--I didn't tell anyone right afterwards, because I hoped so much I was wrong, but somehow I knew I wasn't. One of the laughs was Ron's. I'd know it anywhere."

For the first time, I feel a rush of guilt because I killed my brother. Fred is dead and it's my fault. I want to apologise to George, right here, right now, but I can't.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," says Mr. Lucci, and George sits gratefully. The officiator stands up.

"Next witness, Mr. Harry James Potter."

Harry stands up. He's seventeen now too--his birthday was just a few days ago. In fact, it was the day I was arrested. Somehow, he seems so incredibly mature. It's like he's really and truly a man. He's left his boyhood behind forever.

Mr. Lucci looks Harry in the eye. "Mr. Potter, please describe your relationship with the accused."

"He was like the brother I never had," Harry says. His voice is strong and sure, but I can see that he's in pain.

"Were you aware at any point in the past year that the accused was working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Definitely not." I know when Harry is lying just as surely as he knows when I am. He's telling the truth. "Ron's my best friend. I'd trust him with my life."

I can't tell if anyone else caught that or not. The jury didn't seem to, but I think Hermione did. She's looking up at him with an expression I can't quite read, but then I was never very good at figuring out girls. Although Hermione's more woman than girl anymore. At any rate, I'm filled with new hope. He used the present tense. He used the present tense. That's got to be a good sign. He does still care.

Mr. Lucci goes on. "How many friends--besides yourself and Miss Granger--would you say Mr. Weasley had?"

"Quite a few. I think everyone liked Ron. He was very rarely hard to get along with."

I look at him in surprise. He's absolutely right. Mr. Lucci seems slightly taken aback. "But you and Miss Granger were closest?"

"Yes. The three of us were best friends from Halloween of our first year. Ron and I were friends even before that--the day we met on the train."

A low murmur, almost like the wind through a cornfield, sweeps the chamber. I daren't allow myself to hope. I'm going to be condemned just the same. The question now is whether I'll be sentenced to life in Azkaban or get the Kiss. I admitted my guilt. The testimony is to see what they'll do with me.

All of a sudden, I repent. I'm no longer the hard, indifferent criminal I was as I watched my family sit down. I care. I love. I regret what I did to my family, to my friends--if they truly are two separate bodies. I repent. I truly am sorry for what I've done. But sorry is too late now. Unless Dumbledore can do for me what he did for Snape, I am essentially finished.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Mr. Lucci says. "No further questions."

Harry sits, his emerald eyes fixed not on me but on the official at the top of the hall. Hermione slips her hand into his--I can see it, even if no one else can. The official stands. "A short recess while the jury makes its decision."

The jury files into another room. I notice the official and Dumbledore follow them. The dementors unchain me and lead me from the hall. I try to be brave, but know it is futile. I am scared, scared the way I should have been in the beginning. I cannot see anyone I know. The courtroom is clearing.

Finally, after what seems like hours, I am led back in. Again I sit, and again the chains lock around my wrists and ankles. Perhaps the chair can sense guilt. Perhaps.

The courtroom fills again. Harry and Hermione look so pale I can see through their skin. My family is ashen as well. Mum is still sobbing. Ginny has started as well. Even George wipes his eyes every now and then.

I glance up at Harry as the final few people file in. Our eyes meet for the first time throughout the whole proceeding. I can see that he is scared. And he knows that I have repented.

The official stands. "Has the jury reached its verdict?"

"We have," says one of the jurors, standing up.

"How does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant guilty on all counts."

No one is surprised. Mum sobs hard, but no one is surprised. I am guilty. I admitted it myself. I am almost angry at the jury--if I say I am guilty, why must they pronounce me so?

The official looks at me, hard, then turns to the jury again. "All in favour of life imprisonment, please raise your hands."

All but three jurors raise their hands. The official seems surprised, but I know they would have recommended the Kiss.

The dementors lead me out. I do not resist. Why bother? I have seen, firsthand, what happens when a person tries to resist a dementor.

I am surprised, however. Three people are waiting just outside when the dementors emerge with me, to the holding room where I am to wait until nightfall; the dementors cannot take me to Azkaban during daylight. Harry is there, Hermione right beside him as she normally is. And George is with them.

I don't know what to say, but Harry steps up. "Ron," he rasps, in a voice not entirely his own. "What I said out there is true. Every word of it."

"I know," I answer hoarsely.

"Azkaban or Inlé, you'll always be my best friend."

I manage to force a small grin. "Thanks, mate."

Hermione steps forward too. "Ron, I'm sorry. If I'd known..."

"Don't worry about it," I interrupt her. "Really. It was stupid of me to act the way I did. I know that now."

Then George comes over to me. "Ron.." he croaks, then bursts into tears.

I start crying, too. I can't help it. "I'm sorry, George. I'm so sorry," I sob over and over again. The dementors, seeming to sense what is going on and knowing I will not run away, release my arms. I give George a hug, sobbing the whole time. He cries as well, hugs me back, and keeps telling me that it's okay. But we both know it isn't.

Finally, he really does have to go. Together with Harry and Hermione, he begins to leave. Harry, however, stops briefly, turns back towards me, then gives me a hug as well. I hug him back.

He rejoins Hermione, glances back only once, then leaves as well. I hang my head. It is all over. I allow the dementors to lead me away.

I will never graduate from Hogwarts. I will never again hold a wand. I will never fly on a broomstick or watch a Cannons match...or see Harry play his final House Cup match.

But that is entirely my own fault. I dug this hole and I will have to lie in it.

At least I stopped digging before it was too deep--and I made it as comfortable for myself as possible.