nce already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape
was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's
downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death
Eater than I am."
Harry turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep
skepticism behind Dumbledore's back.
"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall
review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime. ..."
Mr. Crouch's voice faded. Harry looked around; the dungeon was dissolving as
though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; he could see only his own
body - all else was swirling darkness. . . .
And then, the dungeon returned. Harry was sitting in a different seat, still on the
highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr. Crouch. The atmosphere seemed
quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the
walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of
sporting event. Harry noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite.
She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of
an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a younger Rita Skeeter. Harry looked
around; Dumbledore was sitting beside him again, wearing different robes. Mr.
Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter. . . . Harry understood. It
was a different memory, a different day ... a different trial.
The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.
This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who
was clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken
now; he was tall and lean and muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in
the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and
Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd,
waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.
"Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical
Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters," said Mr.
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Crouch. "We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our
verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce
judgment?"
Harry couldn't believe his ears. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater?
"Only," said Bagman, smiling awkwardly, "well - I know I've been a bit of an idiot
-"
One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr.
Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo
Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike.
"You never spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore
behind Harry. He looked around and saw Moody sitting there again. "If I didn't
know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently
affected his brain. ..."
"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's
supporters," said Mr. Crouch. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in
Azkaban lasting no less than -"
But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the
witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their
fists, at Mr. Crouch.
"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's
babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of
my dad's . . . never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I
was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting
me a job in the Ministry later on ... once my Quidditch days are over, you know ...
I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"
There were titters from the crowd.
"It will be put to the vote," said Mr. Crouch coldly. He turned to the right-hand
side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands . . . those in favor of
imprisonment..."
Harry looked toward the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised
their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One
of the witches on the jury stood up.
"Yes?" barked Crouch.
"We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for
England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said
breathlessly.
Mr. Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman
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got to his feet and bowed, beaming.
"Despicable," Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked
out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed. . . . The day Ludo Bagman
joins us will be a sad day indeed for the Ministry. . . ."
And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry looked around. He
and Dumbledore were still sitting beside Mr. Crouch, but the atmosphere could not
have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a
frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a
handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands.
Harry looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever
before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.
"Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.
The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking
a group of four people. Harry saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr.
Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.
The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms
that now stood on the dungeon floor. 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 petrified. He was shivering, his strawcolored
hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch
beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into
her handkerchief.
Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was
pure hatred in his face.
"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly,
"so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -"
"Father," said the boy with the straw-colored hair. "Father. . .please . . .
"- that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, 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 -"
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"You are further accused," bellowed Mr. Crouch, "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," shouted Mr. Crouch, "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. The boy began to scream.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there,
don't let him!"
The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose
quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at
Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into
Azkaban; we will wait! He
will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other
supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"
But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Harry could see
their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of
them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued
to struggle.
"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I
have no son!"
The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had
fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.
"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth.
"Take them away, and may they rot there!"
"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"
"I think. Harry, it is time to return to my office," said a quiet voice in Harrys ear.
Harry started. He looked around. Then he looked on his other side.
There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on his right, watching Crouch's son being
dragged away by the dementors - and there was an Albus Dumbledore on his left,
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looking right at him.
"Come," said the Dumbledore on his left, and he put his hand under Harrys elbow.
Harry felt himself rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around him; for a
moment, all was blackness, and then he felt as though he had done a slow-motion
somersault, suddenly landing flat on his feet, in what seemed like the dazzling
light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet
in front of him, and Albus Dumbledore was standing