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"Officer Gerald, can you give a detailed account of the events that occurred leading up to and during the alleged crime?"The question came from Madam Bones—measured, precise, and without any theatricality. Her voice held no accusation, nor comfort. It was the kind of neutrality that made Jerry Gerald sit up straighter, as though instinctively aware he was being evaluated under a microscope.
"Yes, of course," Jerry replied quickly, eager to regain control of the narrative. He cleared his throat and launched into his testimony. "I was stationed with a unit of dementors assigned to me by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Our task was to search the Hogwarts Express for contraband once it reached a predetermined stop. I followed orders, deploying the dementors as instructed when the moment came."
He paused, drawing a breath as confidence slowly crept back into his voice."Everything proceeded as expected until a powerful magical aura was suddenly released—intentionally, I believed. That aura sent the dementors into a frenzy, breaking their formation and causing them to swarm the train. Once I became aware of the disturbance, I apparated onto the train and discovered that the dementors were either fleeing or had vanished. I attempted to question Lord Fae, who was in the corridor. He refused to elaborate, saying only that he had, quote, 'handled it.' Based on his proximity and lack of cooperation, I arrested him on suspicion of interference with an official investigation."
Madam Bones nodded slowly, her expression carved from stone—revealing nothing. "Thank you, Officer Gerald. I have no further questions at this time."
Across the room, Cassian Vale sat silently, legs crossed, fingers loosely laced. His eyes were not on Jerry, but on Madam Bones. She was withholding judgment, as expected. No tells. No flickers of emotion. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement was a practiced player in court politics.
"Does any other member of the council wish to question the first witness?" Fudge asked hastily, as if hoping to conclude before the scene grew legs.
"I have an inquiry."
A hush swept the room.
The voice was smooth, melodic—and chilling. Several Wizengamot members flinched.
Lady Evaline Greengrass rose with elegant precision, her robes falling around her like black water. She didn't bother acknowledging Fudge. Her gaze was already fixed on Jerry Gerald, her expression glacial and precise.
"When you arrested Lord Fae," she said, each word dipped in venomous civility, "what definitive proof or direct evidence did you have that tied him to the aura projection you now claim caused the dementors to lose control?"
Jerry's jaw clenched. "He was the only one outside the compartment," he said, raising his voice unnecessarily. "And while he didn't name the dementors directly, I interpreted his wording as an admission of guilt."
Evaline's brow arched gracefully. "So—an assumption. Based on presence and implication. Not hard evidence?"
Jerry leaned forward, anger flashing in his eyes. "His aura sent them into a frenzy! Any sane wizard would've—"
"I have no further questions, Officer Gerald," Evaline cut in smoothly, her voice dipped in ironclad amusement. "Please. Rest your voice."
A muted ripple of laughter moved through the gallery, though no one dared to let it blossom. Jerry's lips snapped shut as he realized he'd been baited into overreacting. His face flushed crimson.
"Does any other member of the council wish to—"
"I have a question for the fine officer."
Cassian's head turned sharply toward the voice. He didn't need to see the speaker to recognize it—and his stomach twisted with the cold satisfaction of seeing the first card played.
Lucius Malfoy rose slowly, his appearance immaculate as ever. His robes shimmered with understated wealth, his pale hands folded like a chess master who already knew the next twelve moves. His smile was effortless, but Cassian could see the venom behind the charm.
"Officer Gerald," Lucius began smoothly, "for the benefit of the council, would you be so kind as to summarize the typical behavior of dementors?"
Jerry blinked, briefly thrown off by the simplicity of the question—then realized it for what it was: an assist.
"Yes, sir," Jerry replied. "Dementors are classified as semi-sapient dark creatures. They can comprehend basic instructions and enter into limited agreements—usually with the promise of feeding on strong emotional energy or, in more extreme cases, human souls. That's how we secured their assistance. Since Sirius Black's escape, he's been cleared for the Dementor's Kiss. Any dementor who encountered him would be allowed to extract his soul."
There was a ripple of murmured discomfort through the room. Lucius dipped his head solemnly.
"And Officer Gerald," he continued, "are dementors sensitive to strong magical fluctuations? Particularly, powerful aura emissions?"
"Yes, sir," Jerry said, bolstered by the support. "They're highly reactive. Strong magic can trigger aggressive behavior—especially when mixed with intense emotional output."
Lucius nodded slightly, casting a sidelong glance toward Cassian before delivering the next strike."And in your professional opinion, would the dementors deployed on the train—under contract with the Ministry—pose any threat to individuals beyond their authorized targets?"
Cassian narrowed his eyes. There it was. The ploy laid bare.
Jerry hesitated for a breath before shaking his head. "No, sir. Dementors know they'll be returned to Azkaban if they attack anyone not approved by the Ministry. They value their food too much to risk it."
Lucius smiled coolly, as though wrapping the entire argument in silk.
"So, by your expert evaluation, the dementors were never a threat to the students aboard the Hogwarts Express—because they had neither the motive nor the permission to harm anyone beyond their assigned quarry?"
"Yes. That is correct," Jerry confirmed, nodding emphatically, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Lucius turned his gaze toward Fudge and dipped his head. "No further questions."
"Does any other member of the council wish to question the witness?" Fudge asked, his voice practically humming with triumph as his eyes scanned the chamber. When no one spoke, he beamed. "Excellent. Officer Gerald, you are dismissed. Plaintiff, please summon the next witness."
Jerry stood so quickly it was nearly a stumble, gave a shallow bow toward the Chair, and exited the courtroom with something dangerously close to a swagger.
Then the doors opened again.
The next witness strode into the chamber with his chin high and a smirk carved into his pale face. Blond hair slicked immaculately back, Draco Malfoy practically glided across the courtroom floor, dripping arrogance with every step.
Cassian sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples. Draco Malfoy: a court-ordered "key witness" to the alleged events. The son of a puppetmaster, walking proof that strings had been pulled behind the scenes.
The boy took his seat and fixed Thane with a smug, expectant look.
Thane, true to form, didn't spare him so much as a blink.
Cassian shifted his stance and exhaled slowly, already feeling the first ache of the headache to come as he prepared his next move. If this trial was a game of chess, then Draco Malfoy was an unknowing pawn—smiling smugly, unaware he was being positioned for sacrifice.
"Witness, please state your name and occupation for the court," Minister Fudge intoned, though his voice had noticeably softened. There was an almost paternal glee laced through the words, as if welcoming a favored guest rather than overseeing a trial.
Draco Malfoy stood a little straighter in the witness chair, his pale hair slicked back in a precise, rehearsed style. He gave a small, practiced smile before speaking clearly and with well-feigned humility.
"My name is Draco Malfoy," he announced, his voice carrying across the chamber, "Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy—and I am currently a Third-Year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
He gave a half-nod as if expecting applause for the title alone.
The pride radiating off the boy was palpable. Even seated in a room filled with centuries-old bloodlines and towering legal minds, Draco sat as though he belonged at the center of attention—as though he were the most significant figure present, and everyone else merely background.
Fudge smiled broadly from the elevated seat of judgment, the expression looking far too warm for the setting. "Very good. Excellent," he said, as if he were congratulating the boy on reciting a family lineage at a tea party.
Then, turning ever so slightly in his seat, Fudge made a vague gesture toward the defense table. "Counselor, you may now question the witness."
"Mister Malfoy, you are identified as a key witness in the court's documents," Cassian Vale began, his voice calm and measured, "Can you elaborate on how, precisely, you are connected to the incident in question?"
Draco leaned back in his chair with a smug smirk, his tone laced with derision. "I'm connected to the alleged crime because I witnessed the whole thing firsthand."
Cassian gave a polite nod, showing no reaction to the boy's bait. He had been called worse by better men, and the tantrums of a privileged schoolboy would not shake his composure. "So you were aboard the Hogwarts Express at the time the Ministry of Magic initiated its unannounced search?"
Draco's brow furrowed slightly. "I just said that I—"
"A simple yes or no will suffice, Mister Malfoy," Cassian interjected gently, his tone never rising but carrying an unmistakable edge. His gaze met Draco's with calm finality—a subtle, unspoken challenge: try me.
Draco visibly bristled, his pride forcing him to restrain his tongue. "Yes," he ground out.
"Excellent," Cassian said with genuine civility, his demeanor so composed it made Draco's petulance seem all the more childish by comparison. "Now then, moving forward: can you recall your location during the incident in question?"
"Yes," Draco replied curtly, this time with a smirk, clearly hoping to flip the earlier tactic back on Cassian.
Cassian's expression didn't falter. Instead, a brief chuckle escaped his lips low, cultured, and effortless. "A fair attempt at wit, Mister Malfoy. Let me rephrase. Please describe your precise location at the moment the incident took place."
Draco's smirk faltered. He shifted in his seat before replying, "I was in the train compartment across from Thane."
Cassian cocked his head slightly, one brow raised in polite admonishment. "I must remind you that, in accordance with courtroom decorum, all present, especially those under formal inquiry, are to refer to noble persons by their appropriate titles. I will need you to restate your answer using the correct honorific."
A beat of silence passed.
Draco stared at Cassian, disbelieving. "That can't be a real rule," he said, tone skirting disbelief and indignation.
Cassian smiled, turning toward the central platform with theatrical calm. "I assure you, it is indeed a standing regulation, though often neglected in informal affairs. But this is a formal session with members of Wizengamot, and the rules are quite clear." He paused briefly, then added, "I'm sure our honorable Chair would agree that decorum is paramount in matters such as these."
Fudge, who had up to that point been observing with wary discomfort, visibly tensed at the implication. He gave Cassian a cold glare but knew he was cornered. To contradict the point now would undermine his own authority.
"The counselor is correct," Fudge said through gritted teeth. "Mister Malfoy, please restate your answer in accordance with court decorum."
Draco's face turned ashen, then flushed a deep scarlet. He looked like he had swallowed something acidic.
"...I was in the compartment across from Lord Fae," he muttered, each syllable of the title sounding like it physically pained him to say.
Cassian inclined his head slightly, the picture of gracious acceptance. "Thank you, Mister Malfoy, forgive my unyielding insistence that formailites be followed."
Draco said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight line. He refused to offer Cassian even a morsel of satisfaction. His silence wasn't strength—it was defiance, thinly veiled and poorly disguised as composure. Instead, he directed his frustration toward Thane, glaring daggers at the accused. But Thane met none of it. He remained perfectly still, seated with the unshakable poise of a man watching a chess game unfold rather than his own trial.
"Let's proceed," Cassian said, his voice a measured cadence of control. "In your previous testimony, you stated that from your position in the adjacent compartment, you had a clear, unobstructed view of my client during the alleged incident. I'd like you to confirm that again for the court. Is that statement accurate?"
"Yes," Draco answered, clipped and slightly impatient. "I was directly across from him."
"Very good," Cassian nodded. "Then, from that vantage point, Mister Malfoy—what precisely did you witness?"
That was the opening Draco had been waiting for. He sat up straighter, his eyes flashing with self-righteous fire. "I'll tell you what I saw," he said, the words seething with accusation. "After the train stopped, Lord Fae stepped into the corridor and deliberately unleashed his aura. The dementors responded instantly—he sent them into a frenzy, and they began swarming."
"Just to clarify," Cassian said, lifting an eyebrow, "you claim he initiated contact?"
"Absolutely," Draco snapped. "He knew exactly what he was doing."
Cassian gave no indication of how he felt about that answer. He merely nodded as though ticking off a checklist. "And that's all you witnessed?"
Draco's sneer deepened. "No," he said, practically hissing now. "Lord Fae then cast a Patronus charm—and not just any Patronus. It was powerful, corporeal. He used it to attack the dementors. Most were destroyed right then and there. The rest fled."
A tense silence fell over the chamber as Cassian took a slow breath, giving the court a moment to absorb the image Draco painted.
"It's curious," Cassian said at last, his tone light but piercing, "that you used the word attack, considering your testimony indicates that the dementors swarmed him first. Surely a countermeasure to repel dark creatures is an act of defense, not aggression?"
At Cassian's words, Draco's apparent anger melted away, replaced by a smarmy smile, "I thought that as well...until I watched Lord Fae capture a living dementor in an enchanted vial."
A sharp ripple of whispers tore through the gallery like wind through dry leaves. Even the members of the Wizengamot exchanged glances, some of concern, others of interest. The tension mounted with every passing second.
Cassian's outward demeanor remained composed—but behind the veil of calm, a beat of unease struck. Just one. Subtle. Fleeting. And then it was gone.
"Are you making an accusation, Mister Malfoy?" Cassian asked slowly, his voice colder now, sharpening to match the moment. "Please be explicit for the record."
Draco leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with vindictive triumph. "I'm saying that Lord Fae deliberately agitated the dementors to provoke an incident just so he could capture one. He endangered every single student on that train. Maybe to work on some dark experiment for his company's next product."
Another wave of gasps echoed through the room louder this time, swelling like a rising tide. Some recoiled in their seats. Others leaned forward, hooked by the drama like moths to flame. For a moment, the entire room buzzed with unease, every word of Draco's accusation hanging heavy in the air.
But Cassian did not flinch.
There it is, he thought, watching Draco with new clarity. The crux of their gambit. The centerpiece of their carefully staged performance. But the boy played his hand too soon.
The shift was well timed, and the impact had landed. But the performance was rushed, and Cassian knew better than to respond on their terms.
Instead, he simply adjusted the sleeve of his robe and offered Draco a nod that was neither impressed nor dismissive—merely observant. Calculating.
"Thank you for your clarity, Mister Malfoy," he said quietly. "That will be noted in full. The defense rests your Honor."
For a moment, Cassian's nonchalant response seemed to raise some eyebrows, and Fudge squinted his eyes at the man as if trying to figure out what secrets he was hiding, "Very well, does a member of the council wish to question the witness."
The stands went dead quiet; no one wanted to become involved with the plot unfolding, and they bet on the losing side.
Fudge nodded, satisfied, "Very well then, I now submit the accused Lord Fae to questioning in final testimony before judgment is passed."
Thane stirred for the first time since the start of the trial. He hadn't moved much up until now—just sat quietly, hands folded, posture relaxed, gaze steady. But now, as Minister Fudge called his name, Thane looked up and met the eyes of the people seated above him. Members of the Wizengamot and various voting houses stared down with practiced neutrality, though some couldn't help the occasional glance at one another.
He knew what they were really debating. It wasn't about whether he was guilty. That had never been the point.
Guilt and innocence were just words—decorations for the real issue on trial: power.
No one up there cared about the details of the incident on the train. They cared about where Thane stood in the larger picture, and what supporting, or opposing, him would cost them.
The council had fractured. Lines were being drawn between the traditionalists clinging to what remained of the old order, and the more ambitious members who saw value in backing someone younger, sharper, and already far too popular for their liking.
Thane had walked into this trial hoping it would be a boost. A show of strength. The public would rally behind him, and his opponents would be forced to play nice. Instead, he'd stumbled into something larger. This wasn't just damage control anymore—this was the start of a long, messy fight. The verdict, whatever it was, would only decide who got to throw the first punch.
And unfortunately, there would be no sitting this one out. Any neutral ground had already been scorched.
The houses that abstained would paint targets on their backs, seen as unreliable by both sides. The votes today wouldn't just determine the outcome of the trial. They would set the stage for Ministry politics for the next decade maybe longer.
It was irritating.
Worse of all no matter how the trial ended it was only the beginning. More political maneuvering would follow, taking away the little free time Thane had managed to carve out of his busy schedule. 'Every single day, the benefits of revealing my true nature grow increasingly appealing.' Thane thought to himself before returning his focus to the present moment as his trial entered its final stages.
"Lord Fae, were you aware that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was responsible for the release of dementors on board the Hogwarts Express?" Cassian asked, his voice clear and unwavering, projecting strength into the courtroom with every syllable. Confidence, after all, could often carry as much weight as evidence.
"No, I was not," Thane answered without delay, his tone calm but firm—leaving no room for ambiguity or hesitation.
Cassian gave a slight nod, as if the answer were exactly what he expected. "Then tell us, Lord Fae, what were you aware of at the time?"
Thane folded his hands and spoke evenly, his words crisp and deliberate. "That the train had come to a sudden and unannounced stop. Moments later, the train was swarmed by wraith-like entities that I identified—based on their appearance and the immediate effects of their presence—as dementors. Recognizing the danger they posed, I acted to protect myself and the students around me."
A few murmurs spread through the gallery, but Cassian pressed on. "And how, specifically, did you identify these creatures as dementors?"
Thane took in a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the room before locking back onto Cassian. "As Officer Gerald testified, dementors are known to feed on emotional energy. Their proximity induces an overwhelming sense of despair, and when they appear in groups, that effect is exponentially magnified. Their presence on the train was unmistakable. The psychological pressure was immediate, sharp, suffocating, and deeply familiar to anyone who has ever studied magical creatures or visited Azkaban."
Cassian didn't hide the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "One final question, Lord Fae. Did you, as has been suggested, capture one of these dementors?"
"I did," Thane replied, without flinching.
Cassian tilted his head slightly, gesturing for elaboration. "And for what purpose?"
"I will not deny that their connection to the soul is of academic and developmental interest," Thane began, his voice steady, "but at the time, my motivation was pragmatic. The dementors' appearance was unexplained and, unauthorized to my knowledge. So I captured a single specimen to investigate how and why they had surrounded the train. I considered it a priority to determine if this was a coordinated attack or an unintentional failure of containment."
Cassian stepped back with a satisfied nod, folding his hands behind his back. "No further questions."
"Lord Fae," Minister Fudge snapped before the silence could settle, his voice sharp and dripping with accusation, "did you truly believe a swarm of dementors could simply appear out of thin air?"
Thane tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. "Improbable? Certainly. But not more improbable than magical law enforcement deploying soul-sucking dark creatures onto a train full of children—without oversight, explanation, or so much as a warning to the passengers aboard."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the gallery.
Fudge's jowls trembled, his face contorting into a frustrated scowl. "The search would have proceeded in a reasonable manner if you hadn't interfered!"
"Are you absolutely certain of that, Minister?" Thane replied the edge of his voice sharpened just enough to cut through the formality. "Do you truly believe that none of the students, some as young as fifteen, would have instinctively defended themselves? That no one would have reacted with panic, spells, or screams when a dementor appeared unannounced at their door?"
Fudge flushed a deeper shade of red, the color creeping up his neck and past his collar. "Regardless, that does not give you, Lord Fae, the right to use your magic in such a reckless, unregulated fashion!"
Thane leaned back in the bewitched chair, calm as ever, fingers steepled in front of him. "And what part of my actions would you define as reckless? Casting a protective charm to defend myself and those around me? Restraining a threat when it appeared that no one else, including your department, was doing so?"
Fudge's hand clenched around the edge of the lectern his knuckles turning white. "Do you, expect this court to believe that you Lord Fae, were able to cast one of the most complex defensive charms known to wizardkind, without the risk of error, and collateral damage "
"The court doesn't have to take my word for it," Thane replied, his voice steady and unflinching. "A witness already attested under oath that I successfully conjured a Patronus—one powerful enough to repel an entire swarm of dementors."
He allowed a beat of silence to settle before continuing, his gaze never wavering. "And while no spell comes without risk, I am confident in my casting. I do not act without precision."
Across the courtroom, a few murmurs stirred once more—soft enough not to be disruptive, but loud enough to reach Fudge's ears. The Minister's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply through his nose, an obvious attempt to tamp down the white-hot frustration building in his gut.
He exhaled, slow and loud, as if trying to rid himself of the indignity of being outmaneuvered in his own courtroom. "Very well... Lord Fae," he said, drawing out the title like it soured on his tongue. "You've made your case."
He looked around at the chamber with thinly veiled impatience, scanning the benches of Wizengamot members and council seats. "Does anyone wish to pose a final question to the accused before we proceed to a vote?"
A long pause followed, heavy with tension. No one moved. No hands raised. Not a single voice broke the silence.
Fudge gave a sharp, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and straightened in his seat. "Very well," he said coldly. "Let the voting begin."