SALEM ᵈ ᵐᵃˡᶠᵒʸ

vi. Failures

Dementors.

There were people sitting on the benches, shivering to their wits or hiding their faces behind shaking hands.

I turned to look at an unfazed Umbridge just walking ahead, and gritted my teeth so hard I felt my jaw ache.

"If we weren't on a mission right now," I murmured lowly to Hermione, "I'd kill her myself."

She didn't say anything except, "It's horrible what they're doing to those people. . .this—this isn't right."

"Nothing is right anymore. Not now."

"Mafalda! Ella! Come, quickly!" Umbridge called ahead sharply, the only time I was thankful she had hollered. If she hadn't. . .I didn't want to imagine what it was like for my anger to mingle with the icy despair the Dementors craved so badly.

The courtroom wasn't any good either. The braziers hung on the walls held balls of blue fire, making the room appear much colder. The high ceiling and small diameter of the room was made as if to make us feel trapped in the bottom of a well. Worse, there were still Dementors in the furthest corners of the room, watching closely despite not having a face.

Hermione and I silently followed Umbridge to the seats, taking our place on the raised benches beside the high seat where the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot usually sat, this time it was occupied by Umbridge.

Once we had settled, the hearing began, and it was awful right from the bloody start.

The feeling of not being able to do anything — to prevent anything — as evil happened in front of me was excruciating. Many a times most of the people being questioned had to be dragged away by the Dementors themselves, screaming and trashing for their innocence. I didn't know whether it was a good thing that Umbridge didn't ask me to speak at all, I didn't dwell on it for too long.

And to think this entire thing was going on because these people were Muggleborns? It made me want to vomit right then and there. I couldn't even imagine what Hermione was going through; I was just glad that I'm with her all throughout this hellish experience for emotional support as she wrote down accounted reports on each hearing.

The last and final person to be heard was:

"Mary Cattermole," Umbridge called monotonously.

A small woman entered, visibly trembling from head to toe and as pale as a sheet. I startled upon realizing this was Ron's — Mr. Cattermole's — wife.

"Sit down," Umbridge said, using the same soft tone she always uses right before unleashing her wrath. "You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?"

Mary nodded shakily in her seat.

"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"

The woman suddenly burst into tears. "I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"

Guilt twanged in my heart.

"Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?" Umbridge continued.

Mary sobbed harder. I bit my lip, looking away and blinked rapidly to dry my eyes.

"They're frightened, they think I might not come home—"

"Spare us," Yaxley interrupted with a sneer. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."