Coup de Foudre [Fred Weasley] [4]

⚡️ Chapter 67 ⚡️

The door in the corner of the room opened yet again. And this time, there were six Dementors who made their way inside. They were flanking a group of four people. A few of them whispered to one another. Vega squinted her eyes slightly to see who some of these people were and realisation washed over onto her as if a bucket of ice had been dropped over her head.

It was her own parents.

Vega gaped silently in shock, disbelief and low-lying anger, watching as the Dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor.

Among the people, there was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of being petrified from just being there.

The teenaged boy was shivering heavily, and his straw-coloured hair was all over his face, and his freckled skin was milk-white in fear. At the sight of the boy, the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock herself backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.

For a moment, there was silence in the dungeon room, but Vega wasn't aware of it as her eyes were trained on the two men and the woman sitting next to the boy. She was feeling sick and resentful.

The thickset man was her father, Rodolphus Lestrange.
The thinner man was her uncle, Rabastan Lestrange.
The smug woman was her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange.

More that Vega stared at the three Lestranges, the more anger coursed through her body – she wanted to attack them when suddenly Crouch stood up, reminding her that she was in a memory. Mr. Crouch looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

For a moment, Vega wondered if she looked the same way.
That thought made her feel even more sick.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," Mr. Crouch said clearly and without any outgoing emotion. "So that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous –"

"Father," interrupted the boy with the straw-coloured hair. "Father... Please..."

"– that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," Mr. Crouch said, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. "We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror – Frank Longbottom – and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named –"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it – Father, don't send me back to the Dementors –"

"You are further accused," Mr. Crouch bellowed. "Of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury –"

"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," Mr. Crouch shouted loudly over his own family. "To raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph.