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SIYE Time:9:19 on 28th March 2024
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The Weight of the After
By Paperyink

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Category: Post-HBP, Post-DH/AB
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Violence
Rating: R
Reviews: 14
Summary: As the trials against those complicit in Voldemort's regime begin, Ginny Weasley must come to terms with the worst year of her life- on record. But not every war story should be told.
Hitcount: Story Total: 12883; Chapter Total: 1806
Awards: View Trophy Room






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Chapter 3: There Ain’t No Rest for the Witches

Hermione wrestled her way through the steadily growing crowd in the courtroom towards where Harry and Ron had saved her a seat. She almost got caught in the swarm of journalists and schoolmates that buzzed around her, but Ron’s arm reached in and yanked her through, swinging her onto the bench.

“Who is ‘the general?’” she asked when she landed in front of him. 

Ron gave her a perplexed look. “Did I pull you too hard? Did you bang your head when I wasn’t looking?”

No,” she drew out, lips twitching with amusement. “I keep hearing people say, ‘the general has it under control,’ ‘the general will tell us what to do,’ the general, the general. Who are they talking about?"

Ron shrugged. “If you don’t know then I don’t know.” 

Hermione heaved a sigh, then switched tracks. “Well, anyway, Ginny isn’t happy that we're here," she said reproachfully as she squeezed between him and Harry, her wild curls getting into both of their faces.

"Oh really," Harry snapped sarcastically, breaking out of his tension-filled daze and batting her hair out from under his nose, "I couldn't tell." He jerked his head towards Ginny, who, after their now-customary standoff, had what looked like a difficult conversation with Hermione accompanied by intense hand gestures, before sending Hermione over to them. Now, she was angled away from them and whispering quickly with Neville, periodically shooting Harry, Ron and Hermione heavy glances.

"That is the understatement of the year," Ron agreed, now focused on the consuming task of untwisting the tie on a bag of sweets. "She's got that expression on that makes her look like mum. I hate when she does that."

"What did she say?" asked Harry, a little desperately.

Hermione heaved a long-suffering sigh. "She said that there are more important things to do than sit here for hours listening to her talk, and then gave me an excessive list of examples.”

“At least she talked to you,” Harry grumbled, dragging his hand down his face. “That sounds like a longer conversation than I’ve had with her in months.” He hunched over, sinking back into his brooding swamp, but then he abruptly sat up ramrod-straight.

“You see it says ‘war crimes committed’?” He asked in an urgent, low voice. “You don’t think they asked her here because she was …, ” he stopped and didn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t know what to think,” Hermione muttered, glancing at Ron out of the corner of her eye as he valiantly attempting to ignore the conversation. “She has been different, I suppose; more distracted, or– well, you've seen her. But she isn’t that different. After all, the war impacted everyone in a variety of ways, and I figured if there was anything out of place it was because of F–”

“Can we not talk about this?” Ron interrupted, looking up from pocketing the twist tie to glare at both of them. “I– what did we expect? That she and the others were having picnics by the lake and eating pumpkin pasties while we were out in the woods?” They all avoided eye contact at this assertion, a touch too close to the truth. “But no, this,” he gestured to the whole courtroom, “is proof. And I don’t want to talk about it. Not– not before I have to sit through it.” 

“I only just–,” Hermione persisted, but then she bit her lip hesitantly. “I don't understand why she didn’t tell us anything," she finished despairingly.

"What’s hard to understand?" Ron asked despite himself, stuffing a handful of freed Pepper Imps in his mouth, leaving his ears lightly steaming. The effect would have been comical if not for the cold dark circles that had been present under his eyes since the light had left his brother's. "She's proving to us that she can handle whatever's going on with her by herself. And," he added in an afterthought, "she's protecting us."

"From what?" Harry and Hermione said in unison.

Ron didn't answer immediately. He studied his little sister. Her jaw was tensed as she took in the courtroom, and though she nodded authoritatively as Neville talked in her ear, it was obvious even from fifty feet away that her hands were trembling slightly. Ron set down his bag of sweets.

"After the Chamber, she cried for a few days, but just a few days. She was… with everything that happened… she was only eleven, you know?" His mouth pulled down with remnants of grief. Hermione took his hand, and he squeezed hers gratefully. "But after that, she put on a brave face, went back to talking our ears off, and forced everyone to start treating her normally again. Because she saw what it was doing to mum, to all of us. I don't think I've seen her cry since then, not even…” He trailed off, swallowing thickly. "Look, I don’t know everything, but I know enough about Ginny. She put our well-being over hers then, and she's doing the same thing now."

Harry and Hermione didn't need to respond; they both knew he was right. The mood between the three of them settle into a familiar sense of foreboding they’d thought they were finished with.

The midday sun broke through the clouds and shone into the courtroom, its high, stained glass windows sending refracted, multi-colored rays running up and down the benches. A beam struck through the crimson panes and landed on Ginny, bathing her in a fiery glow. As she turned her face away from the window and in their direction, the shadowed pain etched across her face was clearer– starker. A trick of the light, maybe.

"I think," Hermione said, "I think this is going to be bad."

 


 

"They won't stop staring at me," Ginny muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Neville tore his eyes away from where Hannah and Anthony were talking and followed Ginny's line of sight. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gazing towards them with identical troubled looks plastered on their faces.

"Well, of course they won't. They're worried about you," he said simply.

"I wish they'd shove off," she said forcefully, "but if they're going to hear about it this way, so be it. Fine by me," she lied, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

"Hang on a minute, what? " She turned towards Neville, who had a strange mixture of outrage, confusion, and concern on his face.

"What?"

"You– you haven't told them? Any of them?"

"Of course not!"

 "Bu– wh– but why ?"

 "Why haven’t I chosen to psychologically terrorize my family? What an interesting question," she mocked. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What was I supposed to say? When should I have told them, after Fred's funeral or after Lupin and Tonks's? Or maybe I should have done it last month when my mother still wasn't getting out of bed." She’d been waiting for this argument, and she thought she was doing a bang-up job of getting her point across. 

Neville didn’t seem to agree. He shook his head, his honest eyes boring into hers. "This is not the way they should find out,” he said firmly. Annoyingly, a stab of guilt went through her again. She rubbed the fabric covering her left forearm distractedly and Neville's eyes flickered to the spot.

"You think I don’t know that?" she forced out. "You think– this is not how I wanted– I didn't expect this to be…” she faltered, searching for the right words, and true to the pattern her life had taken lately, cannot find any. If she were being honest with herself and the world, she would’ve admitted to him that this path of revelation was the easiest one she had come across.

The clouds shifted overhead, and sunlight tinged with red suddenly burned into her eyes. Her body's involuntary reaction forced her to shy away, and she inadvertently met the eyes of the three people that were causing her such consternation. Hysterically, her frustration flared at how haphazard she looked compared to them, polished in their sensible business robes. She glanced down; her dark green dress had more than one ink stain on it; Charlie's old dragonskin jacket was one stray thread away from unraveling, and her shoes were not as much boots and they were beaten leather twisted around her feet.

She cleared her throat and roughly tucked her hair behind her ear. "It doesn’t matter. This is the way it's happening." Neville’s gaze burrowed into the side of her head, but then he sighed, relenting, and took both a physical and proverbial step back.

They turned towards the rest of their little group, and Neville beckoned the others to lean in. Silence fell among them as they waited for Ginny to speak. She wrinkled her nose; they were more prim and polished than her as well. Even Seamus looked austere. She hated it. “Listen,” she said, frowning grimly, holding each of their gazes in turn. “We have to make this count. Choose your words carefully– do not let Parkinson manipulate them. Don’t–” she gritted her teeth, “don’t let them manipulate you.”

They all nodded seriously– except for Seamus, of course, who gave a sideways salute and opened his mouth to say something. “Nope,” Ginny said, jabbing her finger at him before he could make a sound, eyes narrowed. “No more.”

“Have you thought about what it’ll be like?” Neville murmured, a softness in his eyes that was too understanding for Ginny’s liking. “When we see them?”

His words sent a sharp ache pressing into her chest, but Ginny quashed it down with a click of her tongue and elbow dug into his side. “Stop psychoanalyzing me. Who died and made you therapist?” she retorted. 

“You know, the answer to that question,” Anthony said, and Neville sighed wearily and hung his head, clearly knowing what was coming, “is everybody.”

Biting back a smile, Ginny nodded. “Right. The therapist is dead, long live the therapist.”

“Oh for the love of–” Seamus groaned. “I can’t deal with a whole day of the two of you…” he gestured wildly at her and Anthony, “talking to each other.” 

This time, Ginny couldn’t stop the smirk from blooming on her face. Suddenly, she felt a little less dead inside, and was about to say something else obnoxious when Neville cleared his throat and surreptitiously pointed to something behind her. Hestia Jones was heading their way. Just like that, Ginny’s mood sunk once more.

"Right mates,” Anthony said, motioning to Neville and Seamus, his face ironing out, “let's jump into this cesspool headfirst, shall we?" As he strode past her, he bumped her shoulder with his. Before Ginny could follow them, Hannah grabbed her arm and pulled her off to the side. 

"Ginny," she began quietly, "I did what you said. But if it comes to it, I can…” She trailed off, her mouth set in a determined line. Ginny caught her hand and squeezed it. 

"I know," she smiled humorlessly. "But maybe things will work in my favour for once in my life, who knows?"

Hannah gripped her arm tighter, her sweet face marked in concern, and Ginny was so bloody tired of constantly facing that expression on her friends and family. "You know, they'll understand. They'll understand why."

Ginny gave Hannah a long look.

"Okay," Hannah said with a resigned sigh. "Just– just know I'm here for whatever you need." And with that, she headed towards the benches, but not before catching up with Neville and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Ginny watched as Neville’s face turned a radiant red punctuated with a bashful smile, his eyes trailing Hannah's form all the way until she took her seat among a few other D.A. members who had come for support, including a pale Dennis Creevey, a stern Terry Boot, and a solemn Susan Bones. A jolt went through her; the courtroom had become so full it was bursting at the seams. A second jolt ran through her as she noticed both Percy and Bill were now sitting next to Ron– and that their heads were drawn together in deep conversation. 

She pulled the sleeves of her jacket around her fists to cover her eyes, gritting her teeth against the panic that began to enclose her brain. But there was just no time, she thought bitterly, no time for any of my shite. And so she pushed it away, blew out a weary breath, tried to take a step forward, and, naturally, crashed into something immediately in front of her. She swore, ripping her fists away from her eyes and jumping back, before realising it was Luna, smiling at her vaguely, wearing what could only be described as a white tunic with a corn-husk-and-daisy-patterned overcoat thrown over it, miraculously there when Ginny needed her the most. She choked out an elated, relieved laugh and snatched Luna into a tight embrace.

 "You could have said hello instead of standing there silently and freaking me out," she said into Luna's shoulder.

Luna shrugged, "you seemed quite busy up here." She patted Ginny's head lightly, and Ginny snorted as she pulled back. 

"I didn't know you were coming." 

"Neither did I," Luna said, eyes wide, "but Daddy's off to Puerto Rico– there was a reported sighting of a Purple-Striped Monos Voladores, and you know how rare those are.”

“I do,” Ginny agreed.

“So I'm here for the Quibbler.” 

"Good," Ginny said firmly. "At least ethical journalism will be represented here by one honest person." She glared in the direction of Rita Skeeter. She was now trying and failing to interrogate Padma Patil, who was literally batting her off like a fly. 

"Oh yes," Luna said in her dreamy tones, "although, I was hoping you would write the piece."

"Wha– me?" Ginny asked incredulously, utterly nonplussed. Luna tended to have that effect on most people, but it rarely happened to Ginny anymore, and when it did it was usually a lot funnier than whatever the hell was happening here.

"Yes, you," Luna responded, eyebrows raised as if it were obvious. "You're the best writer in our year, maybe even in Hogwarts, and this is your story to tell." She said this as matter-of-factly as if she was explaining how to make tea. “So I'll take the notes, and you'll write it. Yes?"

Ginny gaped at her, and Luna smiled back cheerily. "I knew you'd say yes!" she exclaimed. "Okay, good luck! Don't lose your temper too badly," she called out bluntly as she flounced away. 

"But, Luna! I didn't–” she croaked out, but Luna was already halfway across the large room, being hugged tightly by Hermione. Ginny groaned; there were now too many people in the courtroom that she knew. Her plan to make the trial as impersonal as possible was quickly unraveling. She had been foolish to believe it wouldn't happen.

She reluctantly sidled over to where Hestia was briefing Neville, Seamus, and Anthony. Hestia smiled and winked at her, pink cheeks dimpling. For a moment, Ginny was afraid she’d be accosted by concerned, here-to-help looks from yet another adult in her life, but Hestia squared her shoulders in a most business-like manner and cleared her throat to get their attention, her glossy black hair glinting in the refracted sunlight.

"As you all know by now, I will be the head of the prosecution for this case. I've read the statements you gave to Magical Law Enforcement, and it should be enough to put the Carrows behind bars for a long time. I was a Chief Prosecutor before the war, so not to worry, I won't muck it up," she winked again at them all. Seamus, of course, winked back. "But," she added sternly, eyeing each of them in the intense manner only barristers and mothers knew how to adopt, "if there is anything else you can think of that would help the case, please do not hesitate to say it."

Neville shifted uncomfortably beside Ginny, and she almost groaned out loud. How was it that someone who’d kept secrets under fear of torture was such shit at it under the stern gaze of a bloody solicitor?

When no one responded to her inquiry, Hestia nodded. "Right," she said briskly, gathering up an alarmingly large stack of parchment. "Answer the questions clearly, don't lose your heads, and these wankers will be out of your lives for good."

"Pinky promise?" Anthony deadpanned. Hestia's lips twitched before she turned around, leading them to the witness benches. They walked together in a tight group, purposefully avoiding all contact with the gathering spectators, but that didn't stop Rita Skeeter from diving between Anthony and Neville and landing haphazardly in front of Ginny. 

"Ah, Miss Weasley!" she exclaimed, breathless excitement clear in her brittle voice. "The youngest warrior of the family. There is no doubt that we owe a great deal to you and your compatriots, but what really went on at Hogwarts this year? Terrible, terrible times no doubt, but surely the stories are a tad… hysterical? Surely some of these ‘missing persons’ are simply taking a much-needed holiday?” She laughed, a tinkling, unnerving sound, before abruptly changing her demeanor and leaning forward, eyes narrowed. “How does it feel to be here, surrounded by your schoolmates, on the other side of the law, possibly about to send two people to their deaths ?" Her tone became strangely hushed at the word "death" as if she’s attempting to evoke sympathy for the Carrows. Anger flared through Ginny.

"Why are you here?" she snapped at Rita, who drew back, clearly bemused by the question.

"I am here on behalf of the Daily–”

"No," Ginny interrupted, "I don't mean here," she gestured around the courtroom, "I mean here. On this earth. Still. I thought all bottom feeders were supposed to evaporate once Voldemort did, but clearly, I was wrong." Neville, Seamus, and Anthony sniggered openly, and she heard a booming laugh to her right that unmistakably belonged to Ron. It was immensely gratifying.

Rita flinched at the mention of Voldemort but then curled her lips in a menacing smile. "It's so wonderful to see that the youth's sense of humor has not been taken away by war," she said loftily. "Tell me, Miss Weasley, will your jokes help you keep the interest of your precious crush, Harry Potter? Now, without a price on his head, he can find someone a little more… civilised, if you catch my drift."

Ginny’s eyes widened in shock, and she almost involuntarily shifted her arm back, with clear intent to strike.

"Oi, why don't you bugger off, you manky shrew," Seamus sneered, as Neville caught her arm and prevented her from moving any further. Rita gave a hair-raising tinkling laugh, pivoted on a teetering heel, and sidled away. If she moved quickly enough, she was certain she could hex Rita right between the shoulder blades. 

"That twat," Anthony growled, hooking arms with Ginny and pulling her towards the witness benches as if he’d guessed her train of thought. "As full of lies as she is with vodka. She doesn't know what she’s talking about Ginny, she's just baiting you." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Neville eyed her nervously. "Were you really going to hit her?"

"What do you think?" she snapped. 

She dropped down heavily on the benches, Neville and Anthony flanking either side of her as if they were her security detail. 

"Don't let her get under your skin, Ginny," Seamus advised from the other side of Anthony. Ginny rolled her eyes; that was a fat load of tosh coming from him. 

"I'll behave as long as she does," she grumbled, arms crossed.

Neville sighed wearily and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the giant double doors opened with another great clang. A hoard of witches and wizards of a variety of nationalities came bustling through, murmuring seriously to each other as they made their way to the seats designated for members of the International Confederation of Wizards. Ginny couldn’t believe her eyes; there weren't only wizards and witches from all over Europe, but from all over the world. She overheard snippets of conversations in French, Hindi, Spanish, Arabic, and other languages, some that she'd never heard before. The English throughout was spoken with the usual English, Scottish and Irish accents, but there were also American and Australian dialects scattered through the crowd. 

She’d never imagined her little trial would attract or require so many officials from around the world, and judging by the awe on Anthony’s, Neville’s, and Seamus's faces, they hadn't either. She glared towards Kingsley. Not full court my arse, she thought angrily. 

"Jesus Christ," Anthony muttered. "Wh– what do they have so many people here for? This is fucking ridiculous." But even as he said this, he ran one hand self-consciously through his curls and straightened his tie with the other. Neville gulped audibly next to her.

A woman emerged from the pack in a waltz, unfurling a sure and practiced path towards Kingsley. She was middle-aged, petite and pale, with a sheet of strawberry-blonde hair and grey eyes, her gently upturned nose the only delicate feature on an otherwise-intimidating face. She glided more than she walked, her deep blue velvet robes artfully trailing behind her. When she arrived next to Kingsley, she offered up her left cheek for a sterile kiss.

“That’s Ruxanda Ivanova,” Anthony told them, and when Ginny glanced at him for more information, she caught him brushing hair out of his eyes in a strangely nervous manner. "She's been in the justice game since before the Soviet Union collapsed. Her takedowns are fucking legendary .”

When Ginny looked back up, a man who must have been Dominic Esnaider had joined them on the bench from seemingly out of nowhere. He surpassed Ivanova and Kingsley in both age and style; the silver scarf adorning his navy robes looked to be made of fine silk, and his pale blonde hair had flecks of gray that seemed more like a choice than the result of aging. He grasped Kingsley’s hand in an enthusiastic shake then pulled Ivanova in for what was clearly a much friendlier greeting than she was prepared for, kissing her zealously on both cheeks.

Anthony continued with his commentary. “That’s Esnaider, obviously. His family’s old style, all about vamps– you know, the classic shite. But I’ve heard that he fancies himself as an ‘anti-corruption superhero’, whatever the hell that means.”

“You’ve heard? ” Ginny mocked. “What, do you gossip with his nan over rounds of mahjong?”

“Scrabble,” Anthony shot back.

The last person to join the three magistrates arrived there in the sort of politician-power-stride that Ginny had– up until that glorious moment– only ever seen done by men. She was shockingly young, with a willowy frame, a dark, curly business bob and sharp features, her black pencil skirt and maroon blouse decidedly more Muggle-like than anything her colleagues were wearing. She wrung both Kingsley’s and Ivanova’s hands enthusiastically but failed to hide her lackluster reaction to Esnaider's greeting as well as Ivanova had. 

"Then that’s Shira Klein," Anthony added unnecessarily. “Her record for winning human rights cases is astounding for someone so young. She’s ruthless.”

Once they were seated, the magistrates busied themselves with individual tasks. Esnaider pulled Kingsley into a rapid-fire conversation. Klein put on a fashionable pair of spectacles and began neatly stacking court files in front of her. But Ivanova simply surveyed her surroundings in a similar way to Ginny, though her gaze held detached intrigue instead of Ginny’s own special cocktail of annoyance and sheer anxiety.

Anthony cockily leaned back on the bench. "Shira's well fit, and a nice Jewish girl to boot. I'll ask her out after the trial, you’ll see. Mum'll be proud." Seamus and Neville both snorted, but Neville at least coughed to try to cover it up. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Oh please. Both of those women could cut you idiots down with a single glance," Ginny whispered reverently. "And I’d stand there, basking in it."

"Catch yourself on. Just wait until you're on the other side of their glares," Seamus grumbled.

She didn't have to wait long. Ivanova leaned forward to speak to Kingsley, who muttered something in response. All of a sudden, her and Klein’s equally piercing gazes landed on Ginny. Esnaiders followed their lead. The boys shifted uncomfortably in their seats. 

"Why are they looking at me?" she asked, confused. "The Chosen One is over there." She jerked her thumb in the general direction of Harry, but even as she said this, unwanted sympathy rose in her. This must have been how he felt every day. She shook her head impatiently. 

"I reckon you're the star of this story, Ginny," she heard Seamus say. Several members of the Confederation were taking heed from Klein and Ivanova and eyeing Ginny curiously. She scoffed. The star of what

"What a shit story. I want a rewrite."

"Order, order!" Kingsley's booming voice rang through the echoing chamber. The room immediately fell silent, and rows of people turned to face the center of the room, where the chain-decorated chairs awaited their occupants. Kingsley drew the parchment in his hands closer to his face, and when he cleared his throat, a quill beside the judges’ stand rose to attention. As he began to read, it jumped into a frenzied skate across the roll of parchment beneath it. 

"Today, the eighteenth of August, nineteen-ninety-eight, begins the seventh hearing in the Special Court Tribunal for the Second English Wizarding War. This trial will concern the alleged war crimes committed against wizards and witches of all blood statuses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the time period of the war, from nineteen-ninety-seven to nineteen-ninety-eight." He drew breath and then began to read the rest of the document quite quickly.

"These alleged war crimes are herein direct violation of Sections II and VI of the Wizarding Code of Justice and Human Rights, ratified in 1948, and the Wizarding Section of the Fourth Treaty of the Geneva Conventions, ratified in 1949, regarding the rights of both magic and non-magic persons in times of war under international wizarding law. These crimes include: membership of a criminal organisation, withholding of defensive weapons, discrimination, cruelties, atrocities, torture, and other inhumane acts, as set forth in Counts 1, 2 and 3 of this indictment." A shocked silence fell over the already-quiet crowd at the mention of torture. Ginny wondered, not for the first time, what these people had been expecting when they walked in (uninvited, in her opinion) to the trial. Kingsley went on.

"The wizard and witch accused of these crimes and accordingly named as defendants are Amycus and Alecto Carrow, confirmed Death Eaters and respective Professors of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the school year nineteen-ninety-seven to nineteen-ninety-eight. Magistrates Ruxanda Ivanova, Shira Klein, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dominic Esnaider will oversee the hearing of the accused. In addition to the given evidence, Head of Prosecution Hestia Jones has called Seamus Finnigan, Anthony Goldstein, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley as witnesses. Head of Defense Dorian Parkinson has elected not to call any witnesses thus far. The accused may be brought in." 

Ginny's blood ran cold. Her ears began to thrum with the distinctive movements of hunched, heavy bodies that she detected from the corridor outside the courtroom. The crowd inside chattered on, blissfully unaware, but Ginny would have recognised the sounds anywhere. They were unmistakable, even with chains jangling on their wrists and ankles– the terrible rumble of them barging through a door to drag her by the hair to Merlin knew where for Merlin knew what; the rustle of robes that always preceded an agonising hex; the heavy swoosh of a stubby hand drawing back before striking across her face. She’d be astonished if those sensory memories ever left her, or left her alone.

The doors opened with a long, slow groan this time around. The Carrows shuffled through the doors, shackled arms held by two Security Wizards. Amycus’s ratty black hair was matted with dirt and his face glistened with oil from the lack of hygiene that accompanies a prison sentence. His striped uniform was grayed and unwashed, but even as he limped into the courtroom with difficulty, he didn’t have the usual aura associated with time in Azkaban. No doubt the lack of Dementors guarding the prison had drastically improved the lives of prisoners. It was a change that Ginny had, up to that moment, wholeheartedly supported. 

She assumed Alecto looked much the same. Ginny hadn’t managed to look at her yet.

Amycus’s murky brown eyes scanned the courtroom and landed on their little witness section. His leer deepened and, as if part of some obtuse plan, he casually rolled the sleeves of his uniform up to his elbows, revealing his coveted Dark Mark, the cleanest skin on him by far. 

The others drew in sharp breaths, but Ginny’s eyes accidentally slipped sideways. 

Alecto’s cold, sadistic gaze was waiting for her there, and by her triumphant expression, Ginny knew that it had been trained on her since the moment she walked in, always the patient fucking predator. Tiny, needling pinpricks of pain rushed up her skin; how had this gone so wrong already? She’d prepared for this moment, coached herself on how not to get backed into a corner, and here she was basically voluntarily walking backward, and Ginny couldn’t help it; she reached out to grasp both Neville's and Anthony's hands tightly. She knew it was a fatal error the moment she did it. Alecto's gaze flickered to their joined hands, and she began to laugh, terribly; Amycus joined in soon after. Vomit threatened to ascend Ginny's esophagus, but she didn't let go.

"Settle down, settle down," Kingsley said, and although Amycus and Alecto were the only ones making any noise, his gaze was fixed on Ginny and the others. "If you'll take your seats, Mr. Carrow, Ms. Carrow, this trial can commence." 

Amycus gave a mocking salute to Kingsley, and despite the guards shoving them along, they sauntered over to the chained chairs as if they were thrones. The chains immediately wrapped tightly around them, but they both eyed their new confines with indifference. Ginny wanted to kill them. 

Kingsley cleared his throat. "This trial will begin with–” 

"Now, now," Amycus interrupted in his acidic voice, a twisted smile forming on his loathsome face. "We don' wanna start this trial wivout reacquainting wiv our old friends, now do we?" He looked straight at Ginny and bared his crooked teeth. "How's about you give us a proper greeting, huh She-Weasel?" Alecto barked another laugh.

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