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Neid, Calc, 273


Charlus Potter was up before dawn on 9 September. He stood in the bathroom, staring at the mirror and breathing the most unsteady breaths he’d had since the miraculous healing from the dragon fire. He stared into his own, dark brown eyes.

A boy’s life was on the line.

He was the only person that would stand between Jasper Odair and the dementors of Azkaban.

His hands were shaking as he tied his tie.

Dora snuck up behind him and reached around him, her hands threading the silk fabric about neatly. “You brave man,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear as she worked at it.

Charlus’s throat burned and when she’d finished knotting the tie, he turned around so he was looking into her cool grey eyes. He reached his palm up to cup her cheek and stared down at her. “What if I fail him?”

“You won’t fail him,” Dora replied.

Charlus brought his face down to bury it in her hair, his mouth softly placing a kiss on her forehead. He felt tears threatening him. “But what if I do? What if he goes to Azkaban? How will I tell James? How will I ever look in that blasted mirror again, knowing where that boy will go, knowing what it’s like there, what he’s going through?”

Dora pressed her cheek to his chest.

“I spent less than twelve hours there, Dora… less than a day... and here I am - nearly two decades later - and I can still feel it in my bones.”

“Shhh,” she whispered.

He clung to her.

“Charlus, you’ll do everything you can. You’ve always done everything you can to save the broken.” She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “You’ve always saved those who couldn’t save themselves.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his chin. “Whatever that idiot Crouch decides, you were there for a boy who needed you. Even if you cannot save him from it, you’ve been there for him through it, when nobody else was. And that’s how you’ll face yourself.”

Charlus hung his head.




Jasper Odair was sitting on the bench in his cell when the door at the top of the stairs that led into the dungeon opened. He didn’t even look up as the footsteps came down the stairs, as the cell door clanged with the keys that hung from the guard’s loop. Charlus Potter walked into the cell and over to Jasper and he knelt down in front of the forlorn teenager and put his palm on Jasper’s knees, staring up into his blank, unfocused eyes.

“Hey buddy,” Charlus said.

Jasper’s eyes focused on Charlus and he blinked, staring.

“I wanted to talk to you one more time about what happened before we go for a walk to that courtroom,” Charlus explained. “Just you and me.” Jasper’s eyes followed Charlus as he moved, sliding to sit down on the bench beside Jasper, their shoulders touching. Charlus stared at Jasper a long moment, then said, “You’ve got to know that this is really serious by now. I know you do. We’ve talked about how serious it is already.”

Jasper nodded.

“Do you have anything - anything at all - that you need to tell me about that night? About what happened? About why?”

Jasper’s lips pressed tight together.

Charlus sighed. “Jasper… you could end up serving a life sentence at Azkaban for this. Do you realize that? Because you were over seventeen at the time of the attack, if you admit to this - if you don’t fight this - you face life in Azkaban.” He stared at the boy.

Jasper closed his eyes… a shiver went down his spine.

“Buddy… please,” Charlus whispered.

There was a very, very long pause. Jasper looked steadily down at his trainers. Then -- “If… if I hadn’t been over age… if I was younger… if I was… say, a kid…” he looked at Charlus, “What would the sentence be then?”

“Expulsion from Hogwarts,” Charlus murmured, “Probably a snapped wand, probably a ban on using magic issued by the Ministry.”

Jasper bit his lip. Expulsion from Hogwarts and a snapped wand… a life without magic… well, in the Odair house, a life without magic was as good as a sentence to death, he thought. It was an end of hope. It was a promise to a destiny of becoming their father.

He couldn’t do that to Edgar.

He’d rather die himself than take away his little brother’s hope.

“Jasper?” Charlus asked, prodding.

Jasper shook his head.




Two dementors and the guard that watched over the cells by day walked Jasper Odair to Courtroom Ten. He was shackled by unbreakable chains, his arms wrenched back so tight his chest was forced to heave forward. Jasper walked with his chin held high, though his lower lip trembled. The dark corridor was cold and the dementors made it colder and the guard shivered and clutched Jasper like a shield - as though he reasoned that he would throw the boy to the dementors to be taken first should they attack.

The door to Courtroom Ten was heavy and iron and creaked when it opened.

The dementors stayed outside.

Jasper was led across the floor in the sunken room, all eyes on him - every member of the Wizengamot filled the stands and he saw the Minister for Magic - Harold Minchum - and the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, Barty Crouch. These were faces he knew from the pages of the Daily Prophet - faces he never thought he would see in real life.

He could barely see them anyway though for tears were streaming down his cheeks.

He couldn’t stop them no matter how much he told himself to.

The guard pulled him roughly ‘round a single chair that sat in the very center of the wide floor and he was shoved into the seat and thick shackles clanked out of the chair, biting onto his biceps and legs, holding him there, his fists still chained behind his back -- as though he were some horrid terrorist, as though he might kill them all if left unchained.

As though he were not a crying seventeen year old boy.

Along the left side of him were two chairs in the first row of the telescopic stadium seats - they were filled by Fabian Prewett and Charlus Potter.

Fabian Prewett’s face was pale.

Charlus Potter stood up as the guard of the dungeons turned and hurried back to the door of the courtroom.

Bartemius Crouch stood up, a podium before him, and he cleared his throat, “Jasper Phineus Odair, age seventeen, accused of the murder of his muggle father by way of the unforgivable killing curse. How do you plead?”

Jasper voice would not work as he tried to plea guilty.

“Innocent until proven guilty, Barty,” Charlus said, his voice ringing.

Bartemius sighed. “And you are --?”

“C’mon Barty, you know who I am,” Charlus replied, rolling his eyes.

“For the records, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m Charlus Potter and I am acting as this boy’s advocate.”

“Advocate for what! He’s already pleaded guilty on multiple occasions. This is a formality more than anything… The Ministry of Magic does not tolerate muggle-haters and murderers, nor do they tread lightly upon the fallen warriors of the Dark Lord’s cause.”

Charlus answered, “He was acting in self defense. Barty - he is not a fallen warrior of the Dark Lord’s cause - he’s a boy - a young boy with dreams and aspirations, with friends and classes to get back to. He’s a kid, Barty. He could be friends with your own son there, for crying outloud, Barty!”

There were several quiet mumbles from the members of the wizengamot.

Bartemius Crouch scolwed. “No son of mine would hang about with riffraff like him.” He paused, then, “But speaking of his friends -- Do tell me, Mr. Odair, if you could identify the wizards who were responsible for the attack on the department store last week?”

“There was an attack on a department store?” Jasper’s eyes were nervous.

“Playing stupid won’t help you at all, boy.”

“Barty, he’s been in a jail cell eleven levels below the ground. Do you truly expect the Daily Prophet delivers owls to the dungeons of the Ministry?” Charlus asked hotly.

There were two or three chuckles about the Wizengamot and Bartemius Crouch flushed.

Angered, he said, “Present the wand investigation findings, Mr. Prewett.”

Fabian looked sick. He stood up and reluctantly unfurled a scroll in his fist. “As the… the lead investigator in this… this case, I… I declare a thorough testing of the wand was made and… found… via the priori incantantum, that… that the wand in question - issued by Mr. Ollivander in 1970 to Jasper Odair - was the wand responsible for casting the killing curse that murdered the muggle Mr. Odair.”

Jasper stared very hard at his knees.

A murmur went through the Wizengamot.

“Again, Odair,” Bartemius Crouch demanded, “How… do you… plead?”

Again, Jasper’s voice refused to work.

“The wand’s evidence cannot prove that Jasper Odair cast the spell - only that Jasper Odair’s Wand cast it,” Charlus argued.

There was a rustling of papers on the podium before Mr. Crouch. “Mmhm..I see, but it seems as though Mr. Odair - being muggle born, of course - was one of only two wizards in the household at the time of Mr. Odair’s death. His eleven year old brother, Edgar, was the only other magical entity in the house.”

Jasper looked up. His ears began to ring with nerves.

“So, Mr. Potter, unless you are suggesting that an eleven year old boy managed to generate enough power - enough hatred - as to cast the killing curse...”

“I DID IT!” Jasper yelled the words even as Charlus Potter wound up to fight the battle. Jasper’s eyes spilled over and his voice cracked with desperation. Edgar could not be expelled. Edgar could not be sent back to that bloody home, that horrible place where he did not belong. Edgar could not be forced to live his life as a muggle. Edgar deserved better things and Jasper would take the hit to ensure that Edgar got the things he deserved. “I DID IT - I KILLED MY MUGGLE FATHER!”

“Aha!” yelled Bartemius Crouch, “Go on boy! Go on!”

“I HATED HIM, I’VE ALWAYS HATED HIM, AND I - I BLASTED HIM OUT OF MY LIFE!” His face was soaked. “I KILLED THE MAN!”

Charlus turned about, “Jasper - no - stop - you don’t need to -- Jasper!”

But it was too late.

The Wizengamot were gasping and whispering amongst each other...

Bartemius Crouch slammed the grovel he held against a block of wood to make a loud, cracking bang that filled the seats. “All in favor of sentencing this murderer to a life sentence in Azkaban Prison in the Black Sea, raise your hands?” There was a pause as a good deal of hands rose. “And those in opposition?”

There were significantly fewer hands.

Jasper shook.

Another couple slams of the grovel and Bartemius Crouch’s voice rang through Courtroom Ten. “I, Bartemius Artemus Crouch, hereby assign you, Jasper Phineas Odair to a 150-to-life long sentence ---”

“BARTY PLEASE!” begged Charlus.

“--- to Azkaban Prison, Isle of Azkaban, the Black Sea, at the hands of the Dementor of Azkaban.”

The guard rushed forward, grabbing Jasper Odair by his wrists and wrangling him away from the chair.

“Barty! This boy -- he’s innocent!” begged Charlus, “He’s innocent! He can’t -- wait! Guard - wait!” he turned - running after them, even as the Wizengamot rose and started leaving. Barty’s eyes were stone cold. “Wait!” Charlus cried, “Wait!! He’s innocent - he’s - he’s innocent!”

The guard pulled Jasper through the door, into the corridor, roughhousing him along until two dementors grasped Jasper’s arms, their bony ice-cold fingers curled over his flesh. He was shoved by the guard before a striped black background. His detention robes were magically transformed into the dingey grey and white stripes of Azkaban, his shoes disappeared, and a small stone placard was shoved in his hands… He held up a number… a prisoner number of Azkaban...

Neid, Calc, 273 read the number board.

Jasper looked down at it.

And there was a flashblub…

Brilliant white light, whiter than any light Jasper had seen in over a month…

It blinded his eyes and he blinked back tears that were forced…

And there was a pain, a blinding pain as he was branded with the same numbers across his chest, right over his collarbone - neid, calc, 273.

“He’s innocent, please no!” Charlus was still shouting, and Fabian Prewett was there, holding Charlus Potter back, and Charlus was shouting… shouting… The branding on his chest burned… and the world spun and Jasper Odair was fingerprinted, the photograph spellotaped to the sheet of paper they pressed his ink-soaked hands to and it was sent to be catalogued with his wand…

“Tell my brother I’m sorry!” Jasper begged as they dragged him away once they were finished booking him, once they were ready to transport him. “Mr. Potter! Tell my brother it’s going to be alright, tell my brother to live a good life, to do me proud, tell my brother that I said goodbye! Tell Edgar I love him more than anything else! Please!”

Jasper begged it even as they disapparated him away.

And his words were still leaving his mouth when - far, far away from the Ministry - there was a CRACK in a cell… a CRACK that echoed through the prison walls… and Jasper Odair - no longer to be known or called Jasper Odair, but now to be called neid, calc, 273 for the rest of his life - fell to his knees in the cell and the dementors gathered.