The Trial
“Well,” said Mr Cotte. “My advice was taken at last. That is, to remove the House of Assembly.”
“So the credit is yours for getting our lawn back?” inquired Madame Desprez.
“Certainly,” said Cotte. “Of course, I hadn’t realised I was advising the wrong person.”
They were crossing the Dining Chamber lawn, heading for lunch at the newly rebuilt Dining Chamber, which gleamed in the warm sun as if it had never been crushed by falling boulders. Way above them, two large heads were visible – a pair of Giants were sitting at the top of the Great Cliff, sunning themselves.
Along the valley lay the equally repaired New Hogwarts, the Ravenclaw tower elegant and perfect once more. It had been a huge relief to Ginny to hear that no-one in Ravenclaw had been killed, that McGonagall had called the entire school into the Great Hall to ask for Patronus volunteers before the rocks had started to fall.
“La Nue and the Visendakona are both skilled at providing a spectacle,” allowed Cotte. “I wonder what other son et lumiere they are planning for us? I can hardly wait.”
Ginny didn’t answer. Wherever she went, it seemed, her eyes replayed the days of the battle. The Hogwarts Express looming towards her, folding, exploding, burning. Dementors sweeping down the rock face of the Great Cliff. Ravenclaw Tower in ruins. The shattering of the Dining Chamber. The fallen on the battlefield at the gates of Beauxbatons.
“Perhaps Mr Cotte can advise you on your priorities,” suggested Mr Lesassier. “The people must be entertained.”
Ginny could only mutter something.
“If we are planning entertainment,” said Madame Desprez eventually. “I would like to see the whole Hogwarts Express scene again. From the first surprise appearance, the crash, the explosion, and finally La Nue repairing it. I’m sure we could sell tickets for that. Then we could afford all the extra pupils she wishes to bring here.”
Even in her preoccupied state, Ginny could appreciate their efforts to cheer her up. She had seen the tears in Madame Desprez’s eyes when they’d all attended the memorial service for the fallen, French and British. Ginny knew only two of them: Poseidon Bonnacord, of course, and Elgin Yaxley, but it was the saddest time she could ever remember, because she’d caused all those deaths.
“You must not take responsibility for this,” McGonagall had told her forcefully after the service. “And remember your promptness in counterattacking the Dementors. Not a single soul was lost, and that huge credit is yours.”
“I turned it into a war,” Ginny had replied, rebelliously. “And made an enemy of Henri Sendulla into the bargain.”
McGonagall shook her head, forcefully. “No! He is annoyed, certainly, but he understands. I believe he hates Dementors as much as the rest of us. And he recognises that with the British Ministry of Magic against us, we need all the allies we can get. Even Giant ones.”
“I should have found another way.”
“You fought for freedom. Your Aurors fought alongside you because of that. When an Auror swears the oath of Aurorship, they promise to protect others. My great regret is that British Aurors died, because they were given orders by criminals, because they were lied to. Their deaths are the heavy price that lies demand.”
The following day Ginny was sitting in her office, still numb, when Professor McGonagall paid her a rare visit. She was holding a formal parchment, which she laid gently on Ginny’s desk. Ginny could only look at it in confusion.
“We’re holding the trial in the Room of Requirement,” said McGonagall.
“Trial?” echoed Ginny as her insides dissolved into nothing. She still couldn’t forgive herself, but did she want to be put on trial? She shook her head in uncertainty, and made herself meet McGonagall’s gaze.
Those piercing eyes bored into Ginny’s. “You’re not on trial. Delphine Bonnacord is. You need to sort yourself out, Ginny. Have the faith in yourself that everyone else does.”
The Room of Requirement’s courtroom wasn’t the grim dungeon Ginny had expected, ringed with dark stone and festooned with chains. This one was outdoor, for a start, on a hot, sunny day, a little amphitheatre surrounded by fluted columns. Outside the Room of Requirement, Ginny knew, it was a summer’s evening, darkened by rain, but here was only warm sunshine, a sunshine that soothed, and mended.
In the centre of the arena was a stone table, around which the accused sat together with the judges – McGonagall, Sendulla and Ginny – and witnesses. There were stone seats beyond the table, rising towards the line of columns. These were for onlookers, but they were empty.
The table was large, but everyone could clearly hear what was said.
“Professor Sendulla,” McGonagall began. “I believe you have examined all the Hogwarts wands of concern?”
Sendulla nodded. “Firstly, this is Malcolm Baddock’s wand… The stick is broken, but the core is intact and it can still be tested. Yew and Unicorn hair. I used Priori Incantatem to examine the last twenty spells his wand had performed, and there was nothing unusual to be found. Purely spells which it would be normal for a final year student and prefect to carry out. No offensive spells. I found a single defensive spell, but Professor Stonelake has said the spell was used in a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson about a week before Baddock’s disappearance…”
“That’s correct,” put in Stonelake.
“…But certainly no memory spells of any kind,” Sendulla went on. “The breakage seems purely mechanical, not spell damage. I suspect he broke it himself after his memory loss.”
“And Miss Moore-Hexham’s wand?”
“Yes. I have it here. This one is… pear and dragon heartstring. A similar pattern of spells. No unusual spells, not even a defensive spell. I have also…” He sighed. “Tested the wand of every Hogwarts pupil in the three senior years. I have found nothing suspicious.”
“That must have surprised some of them,” Ginny remarked.
Sendulla looked resigned. “There were spells that don’t belong on any school syllabus,” he agreed. “But nothing resembling a memory charm.”
“We’ve been through the same process with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang,” put in Ginny. “Undine has checked all the Beauxbatons wands, and I the Durmstrang ones. Top three years in both cases. And nothing was found that shouldn’t have been there.”
“And Beatrix Holombec has checked the staff wands for all three schools,” said McGonagall. “And found nothing.”
And gone home, thought Ginny with relief. At last. She adored Beatrix, but had found the extended exposure to the wandmaker hard on the nerves.
“But what about the other wand?” put in Madame Pomfrey.
“This one?” McGonagall was holding up a slender metal pin.
“That’s not mine,” said the accused quickly. “Someone left it in my room. I thought it was a hair pin.”
McGonagall gave her a beady stare. She gave the wand a flick, and a long-stalked flower appeared from the end of it and dropped onto the stone table. It lay there in the strong sunlight, the petals a vibrant purple. “But it is a wand, Miss Bonnacord,” she said. “If not a particularly good one.”
“I didn’t know that. And my name is Caroline Moore-Hexham! This…” she gestured in annoyance at herself. “This is a spell! A trick!”
McGonagall turned to Anthony. “Do you recognise this wand, Mister Goldstein?”
Anthony shrugged. “I’m not Ollivander. It looks like ones I made.”
“And who did you give those wands to?”
Anthony pointed. “Her. Delphine. Well, I left them with her. Only she was calling herself Cadence Demoulin back then.”
“When was this?”
“About two years ago. Before…”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted McGonagall. “We don’t need to go into that again. We already have your declaration.”
“So I’m not on trial here?” Anthony demanded. “I can go now?”
“No,” said McGonagall. “And no. We would appreciate it, Mr Goldstein, if you would remain a wee while longer… Professor Sendulla, you found no other wands of interest?”
“No.”
“Professor Stonelake, do you have anything to add regarding Mr Baddock’s unfortunate spell damage?”
“There’s little I can say,” confessed Stonelake. “The memory loss was so extensive, and there is no trace of the spell that caused it, which is no surprise. And there is no sign of recovery of Baddock’s memory.”
“He can speak now!” put in Madam Pomfrey.
“Yes,” agreed McGonagall. “But he now has a Yorkshire accent, similar to Laura Madley’s, and entirely different to his original one. That only demonstrates her care for him, and not any recovery of his memory.”
Madam Pomfrey looked crestfallen but didn’t object further.
“Can you add anything more, Madam Pomfrey?”
“Well, no, except that it’s dreadful what’s happened to that poor boy…” She caught McGonagall’s eye. “No,” she said in embarrassment.
“Mr Goldstein…” McGonagall paused, while Anthony looked mutinous. “Mr Goldstein, do you recognise the spell that was carried out on Mr Baddock?”
There was a long silence, and then Anthony muttered something.
“What was that, Anthony?”
“I said no,” he said, annoyed.
“It sounded like, not really, to me,” put in Ginny.
“Mr Goldstein, have you ever created a memory-changing spell?”
“You said I’m not on trial here!”
“And you are not,” returned McGonagall. “Please answer the question.”
“All right,” said Anthony, eventually. “Yes, then.”
“What spell would that be?”
More silence, then a gusty sigh. “I called it Mugshot.”
“What does that spell do?”
“It… It’s more specific than Obliviate. It just erases a single person from the memory.”
“Which person?”
“The person wielding the spell, of course,” said Anthony, peevishly. “I did think of a way of extending the spell to a named individual, but I never tried that.”
“Because…?” prompted McGonagall.
“Because… I wasn’t interested. Because I didn’t have time,” said Anthony, still sulky.
“And do you think that could have had the effect we have seen on Mr Baddock?”
“No!”
“Can I ask some questions?” put in Stonelake.
“Of course,” said McGonagall, continuing to glare at Anthony.
“Is your spell based on Obliviate?” Stonelake asked Anthony.
“Not really, no,” said Anthony. But he didn’t elaborate.
“How does it differ?”
More rebellious silence from Anthony. “Obliviate hits short term memory,” he said eventually, grudgingly. “Mugshot’s more general.”
“Long term memory too?”
“Yeah. But it only looks for one person. Like I said.”
Stonelake was tapping his fingers on the table in front of him, and his eyes were on them. “In your opinion,” he said slowly. “Does it seem likely to you that Obliviate could damage long term memory?”
“No,” admitted Anthony. “Obliviate is purely short term.”
“And Mugshot?”
“It’s too specific!” Anthony objected. “It’s not going to blow everything!”
Stonelake was back to studying his fingers. Anthony spoke into silence. “Can I go now?” he asked, crossly.
“Let’s imagine,” Stonelake said slowly, apparently not hearing Anthony. “Someone’s fixated. On you, let’s say. They can’t think about anyone else. Anything else. And you reject them.”
“Reject them?” Anthony asked, uncertainly.
“They worshipped you,” said Stonelake, musingly.
Anthony looked at Stonelake as if he was mad. “No-one worships me!” he said heatedly. “People… If people look at me, they ignore me, particularly at first… People tolerate me, at best!”
“Cadence took you to bed,” said Stonelake.
“I…” started Delphine, and then stopped. Ginny felt her face heat immediately. She risked a glance in McGonagall’s direction, but her face was impassive. Even Poppy Pomphrey looked unworried by this turn of conversation.
“Because I worshipped her!” Anthony shouted. “She… just tolerated me! For a while! That’s all!”
“Why? Why did you worship her?”
“Because… Because I thought she was perfect! Any more stupid questions?”
“Because she was smart, like you?”
“No!”
“No,” agreed Stonelake. “No. Delphine isn’t as clever as you. You worshipped her because of her appearance. Her face, her figure.”
“Yes!”
“So… take that worship. Think about how it fills the mind. Do you remember that? The obsession?”
“No! Not any more…”
“Remember the way it consumed you. She asked you to do things, like design a wand without a memory, and you obeyed.”
“I’m not on trial here!”
“You obeyed, you did what she wanted, because you were besotted with her. She flavoured every thought you had.”
“You weren’t there!”
“Every thought. Every memory. So when Cadence – Delphine, Caroline – used Mugshot on Malcolm Baddock, to remove every memory that included her from his mind, it did exactly that. It took everything.”
“No!”
That shout wasn’t from Anthony, who was still looking at Stonelake in dumb amazement. But Delphine Bonnacord was on her feet, angry and desperate.
“This was nothing to do with me!” she cried. “We’d split up! I told you!”
Stonelake’s measured gaze switched to look at her. “I don’t think you understand the power you have, Delphine.” He shrugged. “Beauty, and innocence.”
Ginny was on her feet as well now. “Innocence?” she demanded, and she could hear other objections around her.
Stonelake flicked a look around the table, unperturbed. “Innocence,” he repeated.
“But she’s seventy-plus!” Ginny objected. McGonagall testily waved her back to her seat.
Stonelake didn’t respond to Ginny. He was calmly examining Delphine, who had by now sunk back into her chair in confusion.
“Her beauty came first, of course,” he said. “Such beauty that even someone as entirely egotistical as Tom Riddle noticed her. And of course, in his egotism, he wanted her, she became his possession. So he…”
“Made her immortal!” said Madam Pomfrey.
“Made her eternally young. She stayed – stays – young and beautiful. Nobody knows how he did that – do you, Delphine?”
Surprised, Delphine shook her head.
“Aging is a physical process, true, and Voldemort has obviously stopped that, somehow. But it’s a mental process too. As we mature, experience stamps its hold on us, particularly on our faces. Yet Delphine still looks like a teenager. Because the Dark Lord somehow prevented that too. So she cannot mature. She is condemned to be ever a child. To be always innocent. To remain – to the equally young – perfect. The prisoner of time.”
“She’s not innocent!” Ginny objected, along with everyone else, in a hubbub of sound. “Look what’s she’s done!”
“We need quiet,” said McGonagall, firmly.
Stonelake turned to Ginny. “What has she done? She abducted Anthony, true, and yes, she locked him in his room. And she encouraged him to create a wand without a memory. Probably her worst crime.”
“That wasn’t my idea!” said Delphine, loudly. “The Hidden Wands wanted that! They wanted privacy! Everybody wants privacy!”
Stonelake waved her down. “And she nearly caused your death, Madame Weasley,” he said. “When you tried to catch her.”
“Well, yeah…”
“But she didn’t condemn you to death. Others did that, and failed. Others besotted with her. And don’t you think it strange, Ginny, that she must have known you were trying to find her, but she didn’t leave Beauxbatons? She didn’t attack you. She didn’t even hide particularly well, and you found her, and she merely ran.”
“But what about Malcolm Baddock? She destroyed his mind!”
“I didn’t mean to do that!” That was Delphine, her hands like claws in her own hair. “He… he put my name in the Goblet of Fire! He said he’d done it to show his love for me. But I told him I… I hated him, for risking my life, for exposing me. But he loved me too much, he said. He wanted to… end his own life, he said. So I tried to take away his pain. That’s all! Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?” There were tears running unchecked down her beautiful face.
Stonelake’s voice was unusually gentle. “Delphine Bonnacord has spent most of her life – more life than most people ever achieve – at school. Because she is still a teenager, and that is all she wants. To be with other teenagers. And it’s all she can cope with.”
Every eye was on the crying Delphine Bonnacord.
“I did some research,” Stonelake continued, “and others should check, so we can be sure – but no harm ever came to any of her fellow pupils because of her in the decades she has spent at the three schools. The exception, it seems, is Malcolm Baddock, and that only because someone else gave her a weapon she couldn’t handle.”
Anthony remained in his seat, his shoulders down. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said stubbornly, but Ginny wasn’t sure he believed that.
“It was your Personator spell,” she said. “And your wand.”
“And I don’t understand that,” McGonagall broke in, perplexed. “You say these metal wands are weak, but this one totally destroyed Baddock’s mind!”
“I’m not a wandmaker,” said Stonelake. “But as I understand it, mind spells don’t need to be particularly strong. Look how far Imperio can reach. The power of mind spells lies in their precision, their sophistication.
“And the state of mind of the spell caster matters, too – and the power of that mind, of course. I suspect Madame Weasley could probably end someone’s life with Avada Kadavra even using a metal wand.”
“No, thanks,” said Ginny, uncomfortably.
“And perhaps Delphine’s mind is as strong. And Delphine was in a state of panic, too, which would also strengthen the power of the spell.”
Anthony was looking at Stonelake in suspicion. “You’re not blaming me?”
“No,” agreed Stonelake. “In my opinion, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your intention that your spell would damage the mind, and I don’t believe you predicted the effect it could have. We should ask other wandmakers, but they will probably agree.”
“Wandmakers?” Madame Pomfrey sniffed. “They’ll just protect each other,” she said.
“Mr Goldstein isn’t an established wandmaker,” Stonelake pointed out. “Why would they protect him?”
“But what are we supposed to do with Delphine?” McGonagall asked then, querulously. “We can’t let her carry on like this! She’s Voldemort’s girlfriend, for goodness sake!”
Stonelake shrugged, and leaned back. My job is done, his attitude showed. Someone else can decide.
“I’ll take her on,” said Ginny, slowly. “At Beauxbatons.”
Delphine lifted a tear-stained face from her arms and stared at her in dumb confusion.
“What?” demanded Sendulla. “What about your pupils? They need protecting…”
“I’ll protect them,” said Ginny. “But she needs protecting too. We have senior year family houses, for late starters.”
“You’ll put children in the same house as her?” insisted Sendulla.
“I know these kids,” Ginny said, calmly. “They mature early these days. And she probably deserves a break. I… I was a Death Eater’s girlfriend. For a while. He wasn’t guilty of anything, either. Not really. His only crime was being on the wrong side.”
“No!” said Delphine, dashing tears from her eyes. “I can’t do this! I have to hide! Everyone hates you, if you don’t age!”
“Over to you, Anthony,” said Ginny dryly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anthony demanded indignantly. “I’ve got a girlfriend! One who won’t drop me in it!”
Ginny shook her head, amused. “Give Delphine a new face. Maybe one not so perfect this time. And you like researching spells, Anthony. You’ve got a few years’ head start. How about making that Personator spell of yours let people get older?”
Anthony looked grumpy. “You make it sound really easy,” he said.
“Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“No…”
“Or perhaps some other wandmaker will beat you to it,” Ginny suggested.
“Hang on…” began Anthony, annoyed.