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I know that reparations have already been given, as much as is possible. I understand that the current democratic government can not, and should not, be held responsible for the actions of a totalitarian regime, but although my son is now a free man, I find that Azkaban is forever in his thoughts. The healers inform me that this is not unusual, that the vast majority of ex-prisoners will suffer lingering effects for the rest of their lives as such I am no longer writing a letter of complaint for him, or for myself, but instead to ask what is now being done to make a prison no longer a figure of fear and control, that destroys all and does not permit nor allow the possibility of redemption? We fought a war to move forward to a brighter future, but to those around me, the future remains a bleak one when the errors of previous decades seem doomed to repeat themselves.
It was an articulate letter. More articulate, at least, than most that arrived in Percy’s in-tray of Complaints and Correspondence. Usually, he compartmentalised these things neatly, but this letter gave him pause. He had not received the previous letters of the complainant, which had no doubt been forwarded to the relevant department of Crimes, Criminals and Justice. He threw a bit of powder in the fire.
“Justine?” he called out to the Complaints Archive Secretary. Justine Everglade was always in the office, but sometimes had been known to get lost amongst the shelves. A slightly dusty face peered back at him.
“Hello?”
“It’s Percy in Complaints. Could you look up an archive box for me? Name of Shunpike, Stanley.”
“Certainly. I’ll courier it down to you. Is it active?”
“At least in the past year,”
“That will make it easier to find then. I’ll get it to you by the morning post.”
“Thank you,” Percy replied and then withdrew. He tapped at the letter on the desk once more, thoughtfully and, although it rankled to leave something unfiled, still couldn’t quite decide where this particular missive should be directed to. CC&J would surely send a perfunctory reply and ignore it and something about its raw honesty made his stomach twist a little at the thought. He had followed the rules blindly to the letter once already, in his own small way, he was afraid of doing so again.
The box the next morning also surprised him. Archive boxes contained, as a rule, a small summary of the complainant, a list of persons involved and copies of any correspondence.
Shunpike, Stanley was born 2nd August 1975.
Percy racked his brains, but could recall no Shunpikes in the year above him at Hogwarts.
Mother: Daisy Jones
Father: Reginald Shunpike
The space underneath, used for genealogical designation, was no longer considered politic, but the boxes the archive used had been bespelled en masse a good twenty years ago, and so the symbol for half-blood was quite clear across the lid. There were a handful of letters already in the box and Percy carefully lifted them out onto his desk.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing on behalf of my son, Stanley, who was imprisoned in Azkaban under the previous regime under suspicion of being a death eater. At the time no enquiry was made into Stanley’s health, circumstances or state of mind, and, most distressingly, neither myself nor my wife were contacted by any representatives to inform us of Stanley’s arrest. I have been unable to ascertain any record of a trial, if one took place, only of a notification in the newspaper (enclosed). A perfunctory check by law enforcement officials would have revealed not only that I should have been informed of Stanley’s arrest as his next of kin, but also that, as per his healer’s records (enclosed) that following a case of Skullkap when Stanley was a young child, he is marked as not possessing full capacity, and thus should not have been permitted to stand trial without myself as his carer and his healer present.
Following his incarceration, Stanley was then removed from the prison by forces now identified to be of the Dark Lord’s army, and put under the imperius curse. He came to shortly before what is now being referred to as the Battle of Hogwarts, and in a confused state, found himself lost within the grounds of one of the Death Eater strongholds, along with other victims of the Curse, and remained with them until the hold was liberated following the final battle.
I recognise that dark forces were present within the Ministry at this time, and am glad that all previous rulings are to be re-assessed but I am writing to request that, in the interim, Stanley should be remanded in my or a reputable healer’s custody. I have thus far only been permitted one visit to his cell in Azkaban and his condition horrifies me greatly.
Yours faithfully,
Mr Reginald Shunpike
Percy swallowed at the picture, already appearing before his eyes. He thought he remembered Stanley Shunpike now, at the time when the ministry was starting to fray at the edges, when people began to look at the wall rather than catch another’s eye; when Umbridge started looking far too pleased with herself.
The image of Mad Eye Moody’s Roving Eye, affixed like a hideous talisman to her office filled his mind until he was forced to rise from his desk and stumble to the lavatory and splash his face with cold water.
He did not want to read more. The temptation was overwhelming to simply box the archives up and send the latest letter off to the Crimes, Criminals and Justice team and leave it to them. It was their job after all, really. Anyone else in Percy’s job would not be expected the think further than that: the letter was addressed to the Justice department and involved an ex-convict (now cleared of charges).
Percy made a pot of tea, took a deep breath and returned to the contents of the box. The intial reply had been a courteous one, due to lack of healer resources Stanley was not moved to a healer but was sent to Azkaban’s own infirmary and his father and their lawyer had been allowed regular access. Skimming through the following letters, in the resulting hearing Stanley was freed unconditionally, and a sum of condolence payment, by way of reparation, taken out of the funds collected by the ministry for the Imperius victims would be provided.
The funds took over six months, and several letters, to reach Stanley’s account, during which time, it seemed, Stanley’s father became increasingly angry, and then weary.
I am now a full time carer for my son. His limited resources of independence, for example his previous employment as conductor on the Knight Bus, is no longer possible for him. He suffers from traumatic shock and is prone to flashbacks, medical care is, as I’m sure you at the ministry are aware, unfortunately limited due to the damages taken to the medical buildings and the amount of war wounded, who all deserve the best possible care that can be provided. Stanley is not a war hero, I know, but he is a Wizarding citizen and thus I would argue deserves at least your consideration and courtesy in providing what little reparations can offer in terms of medical treatment.
The world has changed, Reginald Shunpike had written, but at present I cannot help but feel that it has not done so for the betterment of all wizarding folk.
The sentence haunted Percy, even after he had returned the archive box to Justine’s care. Reginald’s last letter remained, horrifically, unfiled on his desk, but the weekend was upon him and with it arrived an influx of howlers that had required an “all hands to the pumps” approach for his small office to deal with.
That evening, he looked around over his drink at the Club, and, as fond as he was of it, he felt a sadness remain in the pit of his belly: here they were in a club which had been founded both for the purposes of providing a safe place to meet, but also to grant a kind of privilege, to restore privilege by association to those whose very natures worked against them in the normal social circles of the wizarding world. The world had changed, after Voldemort, and perhaps it was too soon to tell how exactly, but Percy couldn’t help but worry that perhaps it had not quite changed enough.