The trial
Myra Cunningham grunted as she was unceremoniously dragged to the accused bench by the Ministry Guards, before she was shoved in her seat and the magical enchantments locked her in place. Her wand had been taken the moment she had been arrested, and with her hands and feet magically bound together there was little she could do from this point onwards to resist. Instead she focused on the table where the judges soon would be taking place. Deep inside she already knew what the outcome of this trial would be, but for now she allowed herself to hold on to the sliver of hope that things would turn out differently. Unrest swirled around in her stomach, and she contemplated whether throwing up right here would help stall things. Not that it would change anything, but still. The doors for the public opened, and wizards and witches stormed in, each one just as happy to jeer and sneer at her, and the accusations were all the same: mudblood-harbourer, traitor, glad they caught you, you deserve everything you're getting, did you really think you could get away with it, and so forth and so forth. Myra closed her eyes and tried to ignore the insults thrown her way. Luckily the enchantments in place to keep her from running off also prevented anything from coming in, so the few stray objects that were thrown at her bounced off the invisible walls, leaving her unhurt. A silent tear dripped out of her eye. When had the world become so hateful? This only served to draw more cheers from the crowd that now surrounded her. Suddenly a bell was rung, and the room fell silent. The door to the judges' table opened and in walked the three judges, clad only in black, and each having their face schooled in an expression that could be described as the epitome of seriousness. Myra drew in a shuddery breath, trying her hardest not to look terrified.
Really, it was a mock trial. She didn't even have anyone representing her. She was utterly alone. "Ladies and gentlemen," the chief judge began, "we are here together to witness the trial and sentencing of Miss Myra Cunningham, age 28, resident of Aviemore, Scottish Highlands. Miss Cunningham stands accused of hiding mudbloods and halfbloods. Furthermore, she was caught teaching their children magic. She has been uncooperative in pre-trial attempts to educate and inform her of the wrongness of her actions, and therefore this court deems her incorrigible..." Myra sucked her breath in. She had expected this to some extent, but hearing it in person still brought her into a state of shock, since that meant... "The usual sentence for those among us who have become brainwashed by these blood traitors and have shown no remorse for their actions is the de-ageing and re-education of the guilty individual, and the court sees no extenuating circumstances that would change this case. Therefore," the judge looked to her directly, "you, Miss Myra Cunningham, are sentenced to be de-aged to the age of three years old and re-educated with a suitable family. This sentence will last at least until you turn eighteen, at which point an evaluation of your re-education will take place and it will be decided whether you're fit to re-enter society or whether a second de-ageing process should take place. Court dismissed!" With those words the judges left the room. Myra heard a swish of the enchantments around her being lifted, before being dragged on her feet, stumbling out of the courtroom behind the guards, with the cheering mob behind her. She was trembling all over. De-ageing was a cruel punishment, and designed to be so. Where it would have been easy to have been kissed by a dementor or to have received a death sentence, de-ageing was designed to extend the torture. You were placed with confidantes of Lord Voldemort, and not released until you were deemed 'rehabilitated', or whatever that meant. No doubt they had already assigned her a suitable family.
Not soon after having dumped her in her cell the guards came to collect her again. She was dragged through corridor after corridor in the prison, passing plenty of security points underway. The swirling in her belly began again and for the first time she was able to admit to herself that she was afraid, so afraid. She had lost all control over her fate, and the only thing she could try to do was stay mentally strong through this fifteen-year torment, in which every effort would be made to make her a blood puritan. The trembling started anew, causing her to stumble. The guards never stopped, so she was dragged behind them for a few moments while trying to find her footing. They never so much as glanced in her direction. At last they arrived at a sterile looking door. The guard on her left knocked twice, before opening the door and leading her inside. The inside was just as sterile. The room was painted a stark white, and as good as empty save the chair in the middle and the trolley table next to it. It looked a bit like a chair one might see at the dentist, but this one was equipped with armrests and straps to secure the hands, feet, belly and head in place. In the corner Myra could see the two magiwitches that would be conducting her sentence, and she inherently tried to move away from them. A large mirror on the side of the wall told Myra her future 'parents' would be watching this procedure take place, which both disgusted and embarrassed her beyond belief. "Put her in the chair," the older of the magiwitches said. Myra let herself be led to the chair, but right as she was about to be shoved into it panic kicked in and she started thrashing as wildly as she could, muttering "no, no, no, no..." under her breath. It was all in vain, of course, as the guards easily restrained her and put her in the chair, holding her down while the older witch fastened the restraints, finishing with a sticking charm to her legs for good measure. She was well and truly trapped. Her breathing was coming in gasps, and she felt herself on the verge of hyperventilation. The second nurse now came forward and picked something off of the trolley. When she held it up, Myra gasped. It was a syringe, and quite a big one too, filled with a silvery liquid. She closed her eyes tightly.
"This is the de-ageing potion," the younger witch explained, looking at the mirror. "It was designed to be delivered intravenously. I will shortly administer the injection. The process should not take longer than a minute." With those words she tapped the syringe and drew nearer to Myra. However hard she tried to look stoic, she could not deny how scared she was, and seeing the needle approach made her whimper. She screwed her eyes shut tight, and shortly after felt the cold of the alcohol wipe that was used to clean her arm. Seconds later she felt a sharp sting and a liquid being released underneath her skin into her veins. It felt wrong, and she shuddered involuntarily. The liquid seemed to spread through her body inhumanly fast (which it probably did), but other than feeling a bit lightheaded she didn't notice any immediate effects. That was until a few seconds later, when she felt an intense burning pain at her extremities, which slowly spread further down her body. She clamped her mouth shut, determined not to scream, but couldn't help but whimper at the intensity of the pain, which soon was encompassing all her body, growing stronger and stronger. She saw stars dance in her vision, and heard screaming, but couldn't discern whether it was hers or someone else's, before passing out.