(Courtroom Two) The Times That Try Men's Souls [open]

WIZENGAMOT OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT
FOR THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND

LEIGH MATTHEWS, PROSECUTION FOR THE MINISTRY,
VS.
DAMIEN JASON CONWAY, DEFENDANT.

WHITEHALL, LONDON, ENGLAND; WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8, 2001
9:00 A.M.

DEPARTMENT NO. ᛞᛇ205
HON. CALLUM DAVIS-DIRGE, MAGISTRATE

ARES CHARON AWNING, OFFICIAL SCRIBE

"All rise!"

At the bailiff's cry, DJ stood up and eyed the front of the courtroom as the judge entered from a side door and climbed up to his lofty perch. The former Prefect was extremely grateful that although his case was very serious and he was in one of the largest Courtrooms in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, at least he was being granted a public trial before a single judge rather than a private hearing before the entire Wizengamot, as he had feared would happen. But he was still without his wand, his hands still shackled together and chained (with some very slight give) to a ring on the floor, and still wearing the orange and faded black of Azkaban Prison. Behind DJ, adults of the Conway clan and presumably of Linnet's family, fellow students from all four Hogwarts Houses, and other super curious onlookers were sitting in tiered benches. At the entrance to the courtroom, Across the aisle from him, the representative of the State stood, a smug androgynous form with shoulder-length hair to match the genderless name. He or she, whichever it was, wouldn't even deign to look at DJ's side of the courtroom. DJ was sure in Matthews' opinion, this was an open-and-shut case.

The problem was, DJ was sure it was an open-and-shut case too. He knew one hundred percent that he didn't do it, but the evidence pointed one hundred percent to him. A poisoning that only took place after DJ joined the victim at a table, an irreversible Transfiguration, a vial with the Conway family crest, the fact that he was a member of Slytherin House and a pureblood, and the victim was a Muggleborn. It made no difference that his wand had already been examined and the Ministry admitted it had not been used in the crime. As Nathalie had said, this was a beauty of a frame job, and most of British wizardkind would probably be almost too happy to accept that a typical Slytherin like Damien Conway was to blame for this horrific act of violence and hatred. Today (and however many days the trial may or may not extend on) was his last chance to prove to the Ministry that he had nothing to do with Linnet's poisoning.

"Be seated," Judge Davis-Dirge intoned, and everyone behind DJ did so; uncertain whether he was supposed to or not he hesitated, until his Ministry-appointed "counsel" tugged at his pantsuit and pulled him back down into the chair. Colin Spiller was little more than a figurehead as far as DJ was concerned - visual physical proof that the Ministry was providing DJ with a defence as required, but DJ could tell from Mr. Spiller's body language that he was unmotivated to be much use, if not personally offended by DJ's proximity and certainly by the nature of the crime.

Fortunately as the judge went on with his opening remarks, DJ heard that all-important phrase "burden of proof." What it meant, as Nathalie had explained, was that it was the prosecution's job to prove absolutely without a doubt that it had to be DJ that killed Linnet. If DJ (since he wasn't counting on Mr. Spiller for anything) could reason out the possibility of someone else having been involved, he could at least delay the proceedings if not escape an unjust punishment entirely. Matthews stood at Judge David-Dirge's indication, and began a litany that was clearly pre-rehearsed. Merlin's beard, even the lawyer's voice was impossible to place as decidedly male or female. That would probably get him in trouble later if DJ tried to refer to the person as "Mister" or "Miss Matthews," but he didn't want to empower the idiot any more than necessary by having to call him (her?) "Prosecutor Matthews" every time they had to have dialogue. And just saying "Matthews" would probably earn him contempt of court from the Judge.

Finally his "opponent" wound down, and the judge made an indication to Mr. Spiller to give his defence's opening remarks. The man stood, but before he could begin speaking DJ stood up as well and said loudly, "Your Honor, I decline the services of Mister Colin Spinner as my defence counsel." There were some muted gasps and murmurs from behind him, probably more from DJ breaking some sort of rule of court behaviour that he was completely unaware of, than from him dismissing his defence attorney. Judge Davis-Dirge narrowed his eyes slightly, but as DJ turned his head slightly to take in Spiller's reaction, the man actually seemed to sag with relief.

"The prosecution would like to ask the purpose of this announcement," Matthews semi-sneered, still not looking directly at DJ, more appealing to the magistrate.

"Your Honor, I'm sure it follows that nobody in this room is more concerned with proving my innocence than myself," DJ also spoke directly to the judge by way of answer. "But with all due respect, I would further state that Mister Spinner has no concern with proving my innocence, as he was appointed solely by requirement of Ministry procedure. I am an adult of legal age and will represent myself during your discernment."

Judge Davis-Dirge studied DJ for a moment, tapped his fingers on his podium a few times, and then said, "Your cross-examinations will have to take place from your table," with a vague motion toward DJ's chains. DJ nodded in understanding, and the magistrate went on, "Very well, Mister Conway, you may exercise your right to defend yourself. Mister Spinner, you are dismissed from this proceeding and may not contribute to representation of either side of this trial. Thank you."

DJ cracked his neck and tried to relax - but that wasn't really possible. The next few days, or mere hours, were going to determine his fate and whether he would be able to go back to Hogwarts for his last year of school. He looked down at the list of witnesses which Mr. Spinner had hurriedly shoved over to DJ's side of the table before bolting up the side aisle of the courtroom, and took a deep breath. He didn't need legal training to prove his innocence, he just needed to find the holes in the big patch of guilt that Matthews was going to try and put him on DJ.

*NPC ~ GWYNEDD WILLOWSONG*

Gwynedd Willowsong felt every one of her sixty nine years as she took her seat in the public gallery of Courtroom Two.

She also felt terribly, dreadfully alone. Alone and lonely. This was her parents' world, her granddaughter's world - not hers. It was the world she had grown up in before realising that she was a squib and would never attend Hogwarts, never learn the magic she had seen her parents so casually perform all their lives. And she had mourned the loss of what would never be, but that was more than fifty years ago. Gwynedd had since learned that many squibs were less fortunate than her, clinging to the fringes of magical society, barely accepted, seen as an embarrassment by those who were 'real' witches and wizards and, perhaps, something to fear in case they were somehow contagious.

She had had a good life. She had excelled in her muggle schooling, enjoyed a muggle career, married a muggle, born and raised a muggle child and, with the death of her father some thirty years earlier, all but relinquished her brief knowledge of the magical world into the past. That was, until Linnet had been eight years old and started showing signs of the magical talent that had skipped two generations of the family. Her precious only granddaughter of whom she was so proud. Linnet, who was closer to Gwynedd than her own parents. Linnet, who she had followed to Beauxbatons in her fourth year to avoid the war that was raging in Britain (even Gwynedd had heard of Voldemort, though mercifully she had been largely oblivious to the first wizarding war). Linnet, who had allowed her a second chance to discover life in the wizarding world.

Gwynedd lived in Chatoeil now, in a small second floor apartment. She had moved there during Linnet's fourth year and acted as a kind of surrogate Aunt to the British transfer students, ready to hear their worries and concerns and attempt to act in place of parents who they weren't able to see or contact. And through her granddaughter she had been accepted, to the extent that she had been allowed to study for a OWL - Wizarding Literature needed nothing more than a desire to read and made no distinction between those who could transfigure a buffalo into a washbasin and those who had never handled a wand in their lives. So she finally felt like she belonged in the world she had been born into.

And then, right after she had stood on the shore watching the wonderful Regatta that had marked Beauxbatons' end of year celebrations, the terrible news had come to her, delivered by a sad-faced official from the French Ministry. Linnet had been poisoned, with the result that she had been forcibly and, it seemed, irreversibly into a tree.

But then the lies had begun.

The official line was that she had been 'transplanted' to her family's home where she could be 'cared for'. Gwynedd hadn't even seen her, and she knew for a fact that her son and daughter in law were so horrified by the news they had been unable to contact the Ministry to find out where she was. Gwynedd had so far failed to find out either, which was one reason she was here today. That, and to look into they eyes of the boy who had poisoned her beloved granddaughter and see what sort of a monster lurked there. Yet, she found she could barely look at the boy, her gaze instead fixed on the Judge in the hopes of seeing someone who would see justice done. Her Linnet, who had passed all her exams and had the whole world at her feet, changed into a tree and spirited away to goodness knows where.

Then her head snapped up in shock. The boy was refusing his Ministry-appointed defence? Was he insane? Gwynedd felt cold all over as if she had been doused in freezing water. She suddenly felt sure she wasn't going to get any answers here. Linnet's poisoning had clearly been the random act of a desperate lunatic.

She had prepared for this for weeks.
Ever since the article in the Prophet had been published announcing the trial.
Ever since she’d gone to visit him in Azkaban.
Ever since the publication of the trial date.
Now it was here, and Keela was praying to Merlin and to all of her Irish and Celtic ancestors and whomever the hell else might or might not be listening in that she wouldn’t screw it up. Faintly, she thought she might be sick.

She’d sat mutely in her assigned place, dressed in brand new robes of dark red. Her parents were somewhere in the midst, which was mildly reassuring; but they couldn’t help her. Couldn’t help D.J. But she might be able to help him. She hoped it would be enough.

And just like that the trial was underway, and almost instantly she felt like she was caught in a riptide. Watching the crowd for guidance on when to stand and when to sit, she made every effort to focus on what was being said. Waiting for her cue. And her jaw had nearly hit the floor when her Year-mate dismissed his defense.
‘Conway, you bloody git, what are you on about?

A few more agonizing moments passed. There was some more discussion; a few more comments. A brief silence fell; had he asked for witnesses yet? She had spaced out for a moment and couldn't remember what had been said just prior. A fleeting sense of panic rose up in her, afraid to miss her opportunity. She had no bloody idea how this sort of thing worked.

Oh, what the hell.
Keela took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering so loudly against her ribcage that she was certain the entire courtroom could hear. Well, here went nothing.

The Irish witch stood, the bench upon which she’d sat scraping the flagstones dully as she rose to her full height – all five feet, five inches of it. Summoning what strength she could, she spoke clearly and boldly – despite the fact that her hands shook like autumn leaves. She gripped the table succinctly to quell it.

“Your Honor. My name is Keela Doyle, of Dublin, and I am a Year-mate of D— of Mr. Conway, though in Gryffindor House. I am here today as a character witness in his favor.” She inclined her head politely at the judge. Merlin, it felt bloody strange to address D.J. as such! She often called the Slytherin by his surname, but never with a title before it. She’d need to pull out all the stops if she wanted to be at all convincing, though. Mentioning her House – she hoped – would maybe bolster things further.

“I trust that all present today are very well-acquainted with the… events… at the beginning of term at Hogwarts. The partial collapse of the castle, the impenetrable dome, the assault on the student body by the horrors expelled by the very system designed to protect it.” She dared to raise an eyebrow questioningly, but there were of course murmurs of assent at this.
“Allow me to recount just a few of those moments. As we may recall the first explosions were heard in the early hours of the morning, perhaps two-o’clock. They were so violent that I was abruptly displaced from my chair and onto the floor – and I was in Gryffindor Tower.” She paused a moment to allow the crowd to absorb that piece of information. It was common knowledge that the worst of the damage was done to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff Common Rooms – at the opposite end of the castle from her own dormitory. A hush had fallen.

“I cannot begin to describe the chaos that ensued. Having been made a Prefect the term before, I knew the magnitude of my responsibilities.” She took a moment to very briefly recount her own actions that night – including the joint rescue effort of a First Year with staggering blood loss – for context before continuing.
“If you have never been in an intensely stressful situation, with lives – young lives – at stake, you’ll know it is intensely difficult to recall anything beyond your own name in the midst of it. Perhaps not even that much. But after a moment you are fueled purely by adrenaline and the primal need to fulfill your responsibilities; be they to yourself or to others in your care. Mr. Conway, as a Prefect himself, knows this very well – and did not shirk his responsibilities to his charges.”

Keela glanced around the room then, making eye contact with a few of the members of the courtroom, though her hands still shook. Thankfully, her voice did not. She cleared her throat anyways.
“I witnessed this, myself, in the Great Hall perhaps an hour after it all began. I first saw him enter with perhaps six younger students of varying Houses ushered before him like ducklings, all the while glancing over his shoulder for stragglers. Later I saw him again, gathering the Slytherins and organizing a head count. Then the… the list of casualties began to circulate.”

The room was silent as a tomb.
Keela hazarded a fleeting glance at her friend before collecting herself again. She was treading on dangerous emotional ground, here, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he resented her for reviving the horrifying memory. But if it helped his case, it was worth it.
“It is with the utmost sincerity that I hope no one in this room need ever experience what Mr. Conway must have when he saw… that he was not entirely successful. Despite his best efforts.” Her tone dropped at this, but not with staged dramatics. Her throat had constricted, but she did her best to take a steadying breath and push on. She glanced up, pale blue eyes blazing. “I ask you. How many sixteen-year-olds do you know that would have done what Mr. Conway did, and for complete strangers, some?” she demanded. “How many sixteen-year-olds you know carry such a weight?”

Her mind raced. She had to leave the sympathy there and hope it was enough; any more, and it might suggest she was trying to overshadow poor Linnet’s predicament in her determination to prove her point, which was most assuredly not what she wanted.
She waited three heartbeats before proceeding.
“Despite this, Mr. Conway made significant efforts to support others throughout term, indiscriminate of Year or House. When the dome materialized” – she’d nearly shuddered visibly, herself, at the memory – “there was a tangible sense of gloom within it. For those of you with family who experienced it firsthand, perhaps you’ll have some inkling. But Mr. Conway was determined to do something about that. He single-handedly organized a student-wide Halloween party that doubled as a surprise birthday party for one of the Second Year Hufflepuffs who had been having a particularly difficult time, even going so far as to bake the younger boy a cake; all the while neglecting to mention to anyone that it was his own birthday as well.”

Keela paused again to let that information sink in as she turned her attention to the next point of discussion.
‘Here’s where things get dicey…’
Now more than ever, she needed to hold her ground. This was perhaps the weakest point in her testimony.
“I concede that I did not bear witness to the events directly preceding L— Miss Willowsong’s poisoning—” As she had anticipated, a low buzz went up from the crowd at that, but she merely raised her voice and talked over it, with a bit more aggressive emphasis than she’d intended on the next word. “However. If you’ll forgive my boldness, Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen – the past few months have quite qualified me to recognize an expression of raw, unguarded shock and stunned disbelief when I see it.”
Her tone, while not outright disrespectful, held a palpable edge to it. ‘I dare you to tell me I don’t know what I'm talking about,’ it seemed to suggest.

“Regrettably, I do not know Miss Willowsong particularly well, but I am well enough acquainted with her to state with confidence that she is a delightful, likeable person. The younger Hufflepuffs especially adore her, and in all the years we’ve had classes together I have never heard her speak one ill syllable of anyone. Frankly I cannot imagine how anyone could have a motive for attacking her; save a baseless, spineless ‘excuse’” – she all but spat the word – “on the premise of blood purity; which is of no concern whatever to Mr. Conaway in any case, as he has friends and acquaintances of all blood statuses and Houses.”

Just a few hurdles left in this marathon, now.

“I am quite certain that I speak for all of us at Hogwarts when I say that we have seen more death and destruction and suffering in the past several years – from May the second, 1998, until now – that many would see in a lifetime. Why would any of us want to see more of it?” she demanded. Taking only a fraction of a second to temper her rising emotions, Keela drove her final point home.
“Lastly, I beg you to consider, how could an intelligent young man in otherwise excellent standing with the school be so careless and stupid as to incriminate himself by using a device with his own family crest on it?” She had to physically bite her tongue to hold back a derisive snort. That may have been the most absurd part of it all! “As his academic performance and interpersonal relationships would suggest, Mr. Conway is most assuredly neither ‘careless’ nor ‘stupid.’”

Acutely aware that she was gripping the edge of the table so tightly that her fingers had gone numb, Keela released it quickly as her temper ebbed. Pausing one last time for her own composure as much as for effect, the Irish witch’s icy blue glare made a final circuit around the room, all the while fighting to quell the rising sense of desperation. The had to believe her!
“Knowing what I do of Mr. Conway’s character, I refuse to believe he was in any way responsible for an act of this nature – especially against Miss Willowsong – and gladly assert his innocence. It is my most sincere hope that I have objectively illustrated his character and the relevant circumstances as such that the jury sees the irrefutable truth of this statement. Thank you.”

She felt momentarily lightheaded then. All at once the strength seemed to leave her legs but she somehow managed to sink gracefully back down onto the bench, though she was shaking so badly now that she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. For it was in the last few minutes – when she’d said the words herself – that it truly registered with her just how much was at stake. If they didn’t believe her, didn’t believe D.J., then he would go to Azkaban – for life.

They would find holes in her statement; of course they would, it was their bloody job. She could only hope fervently that she’d be able to patch them.

Please let me know if I've made any egregious errors in the proceedings. xD @Taed and @Carys let me know if anything regarding D.J. or Linnet needs changed! <33

The voice of Prosecutor Leigh Matthews graciously provided by @JT
@Christine graciously contributing to the voice of Judge Callum Davis-Dirge

It was both thrilling and terrifying to hear Keela Doyle suddenly stand up and clearly make a well-worded and length statement on why DJ had to be innocent. He'd known the Gryffindor since their second year at Hogwarts and, in spite of the difficulties of peer pressure and the traditional Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, they'd become something very much like friends. There had even been a period of time in the last year and a half when DJ thought they might be able to try something more than friends. But never before now had he felt quite this urge to kiss her.

Unfortunately he wasn't sure if Judge Davis-Dirge felt the same way. Worriedly he looked at the man, who seemed to be trying to hide mild bemusement under a stern expression. "Miss Doyle, though this was not the time for such a character witness, I can appreciate your candor and your willingness to stand up for Mister Conway, especially since I know how the old House rivalry usually goes. I'll let you off with a warning this time and I'll ensure that your testimony remains in the record. Be aware you may be asked up for cross-examination later, do I make myself clear?" He waited for a response in the affirmative before going on, his eyes spreading across all the gathered persons in the courtroom, "That goes for all students, and adults as well. I understand this is an emotional case on both sides but we will have order or I will make this adjudication in private." Having said his piece, the judge indicated Leigh Matthews and said, "You may go ahead with your prosecution, Miss Matthews."

Ahh, so she was a woman. Before DJ could think any more conscious thoughts, Matthews immediately stood and said, "At this time we call Damien Conway to the stand." Well, of course. DJ stood and waited while the bailiff unfastened one of the shackle locks, led him to the witness stand, and rethreaded his shackles to another iron ring at the base of the bannister in front of his seat. Matthews studied DJ for a moment, during which time DJ vowed that, even if it hadn't been required in a court of law, he was going to tell the absolute truth the whole time.

"Mr. Conway, do you consider yourself more adept in magical arts than your common wizard?"

"In Transfiguration, yes." He knew where this was going but it was still true.

"Have you not successfully conjured common objects before?"

DJ was starting to get annoyed; it was clear the hag was trying to frame these questions in a way that she could pin this on him. "Not without a wand," he hedged.

"Were you present at the table when the goblets were conjured?"

Now he was just getting impatient. "Yes, I told the Aurors that already."

"Have you not practiced wandless magic for your advancement in becoming an Animagus?"

"I haven't had the chance yet." Thank Merlin.

"Yet you have been described as an sharp, independent learner. Is it within your purview to pursue magic beyond the general scope of your professors’ instructions?"

At first he was going to say 'no,' but... Dammit. There had been a time, which he had confessed to Professor Markham at the beginning of the year when their Animagus lessons began, when he had experimented with small self-Transfiguration spells. They were tiny little things, but even so, he couldn't truthfully dodge this question. And he had already sworn that he really was going to tell the truth ".........yes," he finally said.

Matthews looked triumphant but she made no further dig at this subject, abruptly changing tacks once again. "You have been noted as quite adept in the arts of Transfiguration. Meanwhile, Miss Willowsong has been noted to know no particular skill in such arts."

"Has it also been noted that I am not adept at Potions at all?" DJ snapped, and then bit his tongue almost literally. Really don't need to add contempt of court to my problems.

But both Judge David-Dirge and Ms. Matthews seemed to either have missed the outburst, or decided to overlook it, because Matthews just went on. "The poison which she was given was not one to merely cause pain, but to have transfigure its victim. A vial was found in your person, was it not Mr. Conway?"

"Yes."

"Have you not cast magic upon other persons throughout your term in Hogwarts?"

Whoa, now. Doing a quick review of his time at Hogwarts, he could not recall a single instance where he cast an offensive spell on any other student or any professor, since he didn't participate in the Duelling Club. In fact only in class had he even cast defensive spells on his partners. "Could you clarify in what capacity you are referring?"

"This is not the defence’s time to cross examine with a question," Matthews sneered. "Answer the question. Have you not cast magic on other students during your studies in Hogwarts?"

Fine then. "As all other students do during partnered practises, yes."

"So you have cast magic on other students." She turned and paced with affected casualness in the open space between the witness stand, the judge's lectern, and the two counsel tables. "And you have pursued magic, advanced magic independently of a lesson’s instructions. And as you are pursuing human transfiguration, a decidedly dangerous art, in your presence a student was transfigured into a tree." Abruptly she spun around and clicked her heels back toward DJ. "Were there other students with you and Miss Willowsong in your table?"

Yes! Oh blessed be, yes there was! he exulted in his head. Out loud he only calmly replied, "Yes, Zara Sparks."

Ms. Matthews turned back around and grabbed a piece of paper out of the folder on her counsel table. She scanned it briefly. "In her statement, Miss Sparks had mentioned she left to retrieve food and that there were no cups present while she and Ms Willowsong had been sitting together. They appeared only when you arrived. Is that true, Mr. Conway?"

No, wait, something about that wasn't right. The way that Matthews had worded it, it sounded like the meaning she wanted Judge Davis-Dirge to take was that DJ conjured the cups while Zara had been away from the table. A neat trap, but DJ was an expert at playing with words and he recognised the question for what it really was. He evaded by saying, "That is almost accurate, Prosecutor."

Matthews inclined her head slightly, as if acknowledging that DJ had noticed her choice of phrase. "So, these cups were summoned only as you appeared. Were you not to the first to take a cup amongst the three of you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Of course, nothing was found in your own drink, right Mr Conway?"

Feeling the need to clarify (as well as the need to reply to Matthews' sarcasm with his own), he responded, "Fruit juice, ma'am."

The prosecutor began pacing yet again. "So we have a sixth year Gryffindor who has not shown any pursuit of human transfiguration, an adept seventh year pursuing human transfiguration, and a fellow year mate with no outstanding craft in such arts." Then she turned again and tried a different tack. "Tell me Mr. Conway, what are the potential consequences in attempting an Animagus transformation?"

DJ paused for a moment, having not gotten very far in his own training, before he recalled what Matthews was likely referring to. "The worst consequence is for the transformation to go horribly wrong."

"Would you attempt such magic on your own person without a professor’s watch knowing these consequences?"

"Absolutely not. I made a promise to my professor and instructor not to do so."

"As such, on that day you are perfectly fine. Rather, the person who was horribly Transfigured and has since gone missing was the lone Muggleborn amongst a table of Purebloods." Matthews strode quickly to the witness bench and tapped the bannister meaningfully. "Was there not a vial found on your person immediately after the incident?"

"This is the third time I have confirmed this, ma'am."

"Was the vial not engraved with your family’s crest?"

With an exaggerated sigh, DJ explained far more patiently than he felt, "The engraving was that of the primary charge on my family crest.  As well as that of many other Welsh family crests. But my entire family crest was not on the vial."

"Has any other Welsh student come forward to claim ownership of such a vial?"

"Of course not. Including me."

"But does any other Welsh student have the same charge tattooed on their body?" Fuck, DJ thought as what sounded like the entire courtroom collectively gasped. Even though a tattoo that he got at the beginning of the year literally had nothing to do with the frame job at the end of the year, human nature was going to try force the connexion. "In fact, Your Honor, might we have your court scribe assist Mr. Conway in removing his shirt so that we can all see this tattoo?" DJ's mouth felt dry and he wasn't sure what to do anymore. Anxiously he looked at the court scribe - who was none other than his yearmate's older brother, Ares Awning. @Ares Awning

Thwack!

Jonathan Emerson junior found himself rubbing the back of his head, soothing the sting of a well-placed slap from his father. ‘Why have I got to be here?’ Jonathan whispered. ‘My Department has already given its official record.’

‘I could ask the same question,’ voiced his sister. Katherine had been sitting upright as they waited for the court to proceed, thus avoiding the smack that her brother had gotten. But both siblings looked at each other, puzzled why their father had called them here. They’d both been summoned, assuming some important meeting was taking place that required them to clear their schedule. Neither was expecting this, sitting in the far back of a courtroom.

Jonathan senior merely grinned, and responded vaguely in the airiest of tones. ‘Look. Listen. Learn.’

And with that, the bailiff had called them all to rise and set the proceedings in motion. The case was of passing interest, but neither Jonathan nor Katherine could figure out why their father was forcing them to pause their entire workday for it. They could have just gotten the Scribe’s Report at the end of the day! And surely if they had better things to do, their father most certainly did. Second only to Shacklebolt himself, Jonathan senior was tasked with overseeing the daily operations of the Ministry, ensuriing that all the cogs were oiled and running smoothly. He certainly had more pressing matters than to sit in a trial, which didn’t even warrant the summons of the full Wizengamot.

Katherine leaned forward to take a look at the Accused. She only knew of him in passing, but enough to know she was similar to Conway in some respects. Intelligent. Independent. At times incorrigible. She eyed her father suspiciously. Had he brought her here for a cautionary tale? Katherine quickly brushed the thought away. She’d never deliberately poison someone...well, never was a strong word. At the least, she’d have better sense not to get caught. And the notion that someone could try to frame her was even more laughable.

She’d also never been interested in pursuing a Law Enforcement track. She was far better suited to the deepest levels of the Ministry, seeking knowledge of the arcane. A criminal suit offered no wisdom worth keeping.

Jonathan, meanwhile, sulked in his seat, though sat upright to avoid another whacking. He was already busy with the ISS, as well as with the upcoming summit of the ICW. He’d been called into the preliminary case review only to give a statement. He’d been trapped in the Dome for a few weeks, one of several Ministry Officials to give a statement of the conditions of the school during that period. He’d also been present for the Beltane preparations, though had no involvement with the End of Term events. He had no connection to the boy standing trial, and had no possible business to entangle himself in the case.  The Ministry was departmentalized for a reason. Let the Wizengamot run as it should, and he could attend to far more pressing matters.

Jonathan and Katherine were still at a loss as to their purpose here. Their father gave no further insight than his earlier directive. Jonathan senior merely looked on, making no reaction until Conway waived his right to representation. Jonathan’s mouth gaped and Katherine rolled her eyes in incredulity. There was no chance a student could successfully defend himself in court! And if Conway thought his Ministry approved representation was not acting in good faith, he should have said so before the trial, and then claim his right to stand before the whole Wizengamot. It would have been far more in his favour to appeal to a majority of judges than having to desperately gain the sympathy of one.

Jonathan senior, however, seemed to smile almost approvingly. In any case, he was very much bemused.

Another surprise came from the bench. Jonathan’s mouth dropped even lower and Katherine didn’t bother to hide her scoff. The court allowed some Gryffindor girl to take the floor, although it was surely just of mere courtesy. Katherine watched as Keela made an utter fool of herself, and perhaps sealing Conway’s fate in the process. The Wizengamot had existed long before the Ministry, and prided itself in upholding ancient traditions. The earth moved, the times changes, but the wizarding world anchored itself to the eternal wisdom of the Wizengamot. To break the hallowed process was a grave error, no matter how noble the intent. Was this not a trial, or a minstrel show?

Perhaps Conway didn’t notice, but the fact that the litigator made no reference to Keela’s outburst, not even to make fun of it, was telling. Even if the Scribe had to take the testimony, to the Court, it was essentially worthless.

The Emersons watched as Ms Matthews fired a volley of leading questions that were purposefully non sequitur. Jon senior was especially amused at the line of questioning. Leigh Matthews wasn’t particularly bright, but dogged enough to make up for any lack of procedural finesse. Perhaps it was due to her being part hag that made her almost predatory in her work, eager to devour any poor wizard set in her traps.

A natural break occurred when the Scribe was called to assist with the…er, the presentation of evidence. Jonathan senior turned to his children, arching a brow. ‘Well?’

Ensuring that they wouldn’t be heard, Jonathan shrugged and whispered, ‘It’s in the Ministry’s favour.’

Katherine was more blunt in her assessment: ‘The Ministry will be serving justice with a sentencing to Azkaban.’

Jonathan senior frowned, apparently disappointed. ‘The logical conclusion…’

The siblings gave each other a look. They thought they had grown past their father’s whimsical riddles. What was he hinting at? Katherine looked at Conway, Matthews, and the judge. From the corner of her mouth, she pressed for clarification.

‘Justice is all about logic. Established precedents and letters of the law. She has stacked the cards well against him, and she has only opened her case. Besides, how would the Ministry look should we lose this?’

Jonathan senior looked at Davis-Dirge, locking eyes for the briefest instant. He then turned to where Ms Willowsong’s family sat, then at the accused young man, before resting his gaze on his still baffled children.

‘The Ministry does not serve Logic, nor Appearance, nor a semblance of Justice. We are here for our people. Your cases, your research, your greatest ends are to the lives we are giving sentence today. Matthews is fulfilling a duty, as is Dirge. But duty isn’t always Justice. We like to say Justice is blind, but truly, she must keep both eyes open, and she must see all.’

Jonathan senior turned back to the case proceedings. ‘As things are, this case feels murky, like ink spilt across a page. So look, listen, and learn.’

@JT continues to provide the voice and technique of Prosecutor Leigh Matthews
@Christine continues to contribute to the voice of Judge Callum Davis-Dirge

Fortunately for DJ (and Ares), the judge wasn't having it. "Absolutely not, Miss Matthews," he thundered. "I will not permit any such dehumanising behaviour as forcibly stripping down the accused in the middle of a trial, regardless of what crime he may be on trial for."

Matthews backpedalled right away. "Ah, I do apologize your Honour. I only meant to prove that the photographs in my hand have not been doctored. But they have been confirmed as being on Mr Conway’s person. I direct the court's attention to what I shall call the Prosecution's Exhibit № 1, identifying photographs taken of the accused at the time of his incarceration." She held up one of the Ministry photographs that showed DJ in an unflattering light, slightly tearstained and red-eyed (not that you could tell from the black and white of the picture). There were three of them - one with all his clothes and school robes, one without the school robe in just a tee and jeans, and one of him stripped down to the waist. In all of them the little photographic version of DJ was unhappily facing the camera, and then turning to the side, the back, and the other side. "These markings are indeed tattooed on your back, are they not, Mr. Conway?"

"Yes, that griffin tattoo is on my back," DJ conceded, "as an homage to my family." In fact the red griffin was on his back, just as he had told the court, as an acknowledgement that his father's blood flowed through his veins. Similarly the tattoo on his chest, a golden trident which the photographs also showed but was not being discussed as it did not pertain to his case, was the primary charge of his mother's family and an acknowledgement of that family line. Neither one was meant to indicate thanks or pride for belonging to the clans; it had been a long time since DJ had felt particular loyalty to his relatives on either side, with the exception of his late Aunt Ceinwen.

"Let me see those, please," Davis-Dirge instructed Matthews in a semi-aside as he put on a pair of spectacles. DJ's eyes followed the photographs as they passed from Matthews' hand to the judge's, but then his attention returned to his prosecutor as she continued, "Have the Conways made a practice of having their charge on their prized items?"

"Actually, they have not," DJ responded emphatically, glad to finally be able to disprove one of the hateful hag's points.

Or not. "So, like this deviant act," Matthews promptly continued, turning from DJ and meandering casually away into the space before the judge's podium, and not-so-subtly looking at an older woman who -- DJ blanched as he realised -- looked alarmingly like Linnet Willowsong, "you have strayed from your usual family custom."

DJ sputtered angrily. "Objection! Uh, h-- i-- inflammatory!"

The judge appraised both DJ and Matthews over the top of his glasses lens. "It's not technically inflammatory, Mr. Conway; but the counsel does appear to be testifying, Miss Matthews. I feel obliged to point this out and sustain his objection as he is serving as his own defense."

"I humbly withdraw my statement, Your Honor," Matthews replied with an extremely overdone look of righteous apology on her face. DJ growled audibly; the damage had been done. "The prosecution has no further questions."

"Bailiff, please escort Mr. Conway back to his bench."

Mutely DJ waited while the bailiff unlocked the bolt at the base of the bannister, then lightly held DJ's elbow while the Slytherin student stood up and made his way back to the bench. Halfway there, he paused, the bailiff running into him and muttering an instinctively apology, as DJ had a sudden thought. "Umm.... Your Honor," he turned back to the arbitrator, "wasn't I supposed to get to cross-examine myself?"

Davis-Dirge pursed his lips and then frowned, though he seemed more thoughtful than judgmental. "Unfortunately you may not, Mr. Conway. That would be narration, and I am certain that Miss Matthews would call an objection which I would be obliged to sustain."

Son of a bitch, DJ thought, and almost said aloud, but was too thunderstruck to speak much less move. The bailiff had to nudge him four times before DJ remembered that he had to go back to his seat. With an uncomfortable numbness and a feeling of disassociation, he resumed his walk back to the bench, at one inopportune moment looking up at the irresistible pull of the elder Willowsong's hard gaze and then almost immediately being forced to look away from the coldness in her eyes. Meanwhile Matthews' eyes were surely dancing with glee, though her posture and behaviour still indicated the utmost respect for the laws of the courtroom, as she announced, "The prosecution calls to the stand: Varvara Zakharova."

This was new. Varvara Stepanovna had been the Head Healer of the Potions and Plant Poisoning floor for no more than three months when she had been summoned to her ward to tend to a new patient. ‘Patient’ was a bit of a stretch, however. The woman in question was, in fact, a tree, leaves and roots and little bits of dirt and all. She had been poisoned, clearly, though if she was still feeling pain, it surely wasn’t obvious. Varya had foregone sleep, actively searching for a solution to the problem; the Ministry had exhausted its resources on any wand magic transfiguring her back so now, it seemed, the only remaining option was an antidote.

But an antidote for what, not even Varya was sure. The tree was moved after a few days of unsuccessful attempts to either identify the poison or recreate a poison with the same effects so that she might reverse it. She had lost contact for any follow ups, despite how much she had tried. She was curious, not just about the wellbeing of the patient, but about the poison as well. It was fascinating, one she hadn’t seen before, and in the few months since she had seen it, was one she had still been unable to recreate.

It wasn’t until she was called to appear at the trial for the accused poisoner that her interests were piqued once again. She was there to testify, but she was also there to get a good look at the boy who had been so careless as to get caught doing something so simple as poisoning another someone. Or maybe it was called the woman’s weapon for a reason. Of course, Varya’s public reputation was far more golden than her private one, the one where she had a secret laboratory for her own research with the slight caveat that she manufacture poisons in lieu of rent, plus the occasional dabbling in utilizing those poisons.

But things were finally underway, Varya dressed in robes of a fine green silk with gold thread trimmings and seated just behind a girl who she soon learned was a very loquacious Irishwoman. The prosecutor seemed competent enough, though why she managed to get into a career that required so much face time with clients (when that was really the last thing she ought to be offering, all things considered) was beyond her. She watched the proceedings with a blank expression save for one arched eyebrow, hardly believing what she was hearing. This boy was an idiot, plain and simple. No wonder he got caught.

She nearly smirked when his request to cross-examine himself was denied. Even Varya, who had only sporadically called England home was well aware that the British judicial system wouldn’t allow him to do that. Her name was called, and she stepped out of her row, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she cross to the stand and sat herself down rather comfortably. Prosecutor Matthews jumped into her line of questioning without ceremony: ”Ms Zakharova, could you please state your position and area of expertise?”

Varya straightened up, pushing her shoulders back. “It is Zakharova, and yes.” Her English was only slightly accented now, but anyone adept in business with foreigners wouldn’t miss it. “I am the Head Healer of the Potions and Plant Poisoning floor at St Mungo’s. I have a Gold Cauldron with the Potioneer’s Guild. My research focuses primarily on poisons, specifically antidotes, and supplementary healing potions to ease symptoms of poisoning when there can be no cure.”

”Thank you Ms Zakharova.” Matthews made sure to over emphasize the correction of her pronunciation. “From your experience, could a student who has passed his OWLs or international equivalent, and is eligible for advanced studies of potions, be able to create a poison of mortal consequence?”

Varya nodded, adding a barely discernible grimace. “It is. In fact, it is not unheard of for such a potion to be included on the curriculum of the advanced study of potions.”

”I see. Could you please describe any experiences you’ve had with wizards who have experimented with potions and poisons. How young have you seen them perform such feats?”

“Most who experiment when knowing what they’re doing can create fine potions. The Potioneers Guild welcomes, encourages, the young generation to join. Thankful to people such as myself, young students have many more opportunities these days to learn. I would say as young as school age, even younger for pureblooded wizards who are aware of potioneering from birth.”

Now, when mixing such poisons, how would most potioneers test them?

“Most potioneers would have volunteers to test them. I myself have a very thorough volunteer program, courteously facilitated by St Mungo’s.” Willingness of the volunteer was not a relevant detail. “However, not all potioneeers have the luxury of the resources that I am afforded with my position.” She paused to glance up at the judge for a brief second then back to the prosecutor. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a grove of saplings in the forbidden forest were more than simply evergreens.”

”I believe you had seen Ms Willowsong in her Transfigured state when she was taken to St Mungo’s. Could you describe the effort that went to revive her?”

“Yes. We attempted countless life saving measures: the standard anti-poison steps were not working. Without a mouth, how can one deliver a bezoar? Any and all antidote we administered were not properly soaked up through her roots. There were no vital signs. If there had been no eye witnesses identifying this tree as previously Ms Willowsong, I would be hard pressed to prove it.”

”Do you consider Ms Willowsong to be classified as a Being, that is, a magical witch in her current state?’

“I do not.”

”In your professional opinion, do you consider Ms Willowsong to be alive as a witch?”

Like she had any opinions that weren’t professional. But she paused, to muster up some semblance of remorse in her voice. “I do not.”

”How would you characterise the wizard who could do such a thing to a fellow witch?”

Her characterization would more properly fit a wizard who attempted such a thing, only to be caught, but that detail wasn’t significant here. “I would characterize that wizard as cruel and ignorant. To poison some one just for the thrill of it…” She trailed off, not feeling it necessary to finish her statement.

@JT continues to provide the voice and technique of Prosecutor Leigh Matthews
@Varvara Zakharova recorded her responses prior to this post

"Thank you, Ms. Zakharova." Leigh smiled wickedly at DJ. "Your Honor, the prosecution has no further questions for this witness." She returned to her bench triumphantly.

DJ glared, but then resolved his face to be more neutral as he saw the judge indicate he should begin his cross-examination with a flutter of his hand. Right. He stood up, started to take a step but his hands caught as the shackles wouldn't give him any more distance, and he remembered the judge's admonition that he would have to cross-examine from the bench. He looked at the potioneer for a moment as he thought about how he was going to go about this; nothing the witness said indicated one way or the other that DJ did commit the poisoning, which he supposed was good, but Matthews' slant on how the questions were asked were definitely meant to incriminate DJ. "Ms. Zakharova," he finally began, and unlike Matthews, DJ could pronounce it correctly because of his practise with Russian and Ukrainian, "how would you go about tracing a poison?"

"Tracing it in what way?"

"Let us say, if not who brewed the poison, at least determining the ingredients used in its creation." There was a pause as the potioneer struggled to apparently prepare her explanation. Since DJ didn't really care to waste time learning how the details of the process, he added, "You need not elaborate on how it is done; a yes or no will suffice."

The woman breathed a tiny sigh of gratefulness before she said, "Yes, there are various spells and other potions that can be used in determining the make up of a potion."

"Were you provided with the means to make a determination about this poison?"

"Yes, a sample of the potion was necessary to make the correct determination of antidote."

This was good. Even though she said none of the antidotes took, there could have been something preventing the tree from receiving the antidote. "And on examining the poison, what did you find went into its creation?"

"A bulb of devil's trumpet, lanarkite, hemlock, blackberry, elderberry, and foxglove."

Okay, so he knew the first in passing because he remembered hearing it in a Herbology class one day. But he had no clue what lanarkite was. Hemlock was a common poison ingredient, the berries were just plain old common, and DJ thought he should know what foxglove was but he could not recall what it looked like or what it was used for. Regardless, it was clear Zakharova was exactly the expert she claimed she was. "I would say that you are a talented witch, Ms. Zakharova. Would you say that you are a talented witch?"

One eyebrow went up. "I fail to see how that is relevant."

"I rely on your answers to come from significant experience, as you've brought here as an expert witness. Would it be safe to say that to reach where you have in your profession, you are very experienced and very knowledgeable?"

"Yes, I have already stated my credentials."

"All right then. To the best of your knowledge, do any of these ingredients have any Transfigurative properties?" Before she answered, speaking the words out loud made him think of something new; if Linnet had been Transfigured, no matter how it was accomplished, what on earth was preventing her from being Transfigured back?

"Not on their own," Zakharova hedged.

DJ veered slightly onto his new train of thought. "To the best of your knowledge, is there any non-human object, living or otherwise, that resists magic such as being Transfigured?"

"My expertise lies in potioneering."

Now it was DJ's eyebrow that went up. Why was she being evasive? "Very well then - to the best of your knowledge, has there ever been a poison that not only Transfigured a witch, but also made the Transfigured witch completely resistant to magic?"

"Yes."

What? DJ's eyes opened wide. Really? Well, there's still a way out of this, there has to be. "Is there any way to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Linnet's-- Linnet Willowsong's Transfiguration was caused by such a poison?" he stumbled for a moment, almost forgetting that he had to appear as professional as possible while acting as his own defence counsel.

"Again, my expertise does not lie in Transfiguration, potion-induced or otherwise."

Oh for fuck's sake. Fine. DJ chewed his lip for a quick second, and then decided to pursue one more line of thinking about the so-called 'incriminating evidence.' "You previously stated that you identified the ingredients of this poison. Could you recreate it?"

"I was unable to, but I devote my time to caring for my patients."

Okay but maybe someone else could, DJ thought hopefully. There were two ways he could think of that recreating the poison would help him out. One: it might turn out as he'd been suggesting that the Transfiguration was independent of the poisoning. Since he couldn't do any wandless Transfiguration yet, even on himself, that could be enough to get him out of the line of fire. Or two: the poisoning really did cause the Transfiguration, but the exact source and measures of the ingredients might help to track down whoever actually did create the poison. DJ resumed his questioning, "Did you pass along the information on the ingredients of this poison to the Ministry, so that they could appoint someone else to continue investigating it?"

"What happened to that information after I relayed it to the Ministry is beyond my knowledge."

"But you did indeed give the information to the Ministry."

"Yes."

"Thank you, Ms. Zakharova. The defence has no further questions." And he sat down, his hands only shaking a tiny little bit. It could have gone better, but it also could have been a whole lot worse. DJ felt okay with the fact that Zakharova's obvious evasions, and his own pointed comments about whether the Ministry followed up on identifying the poison and possibly tracking down its origins, seemed to ease some of the weight of guilt off his condemned shoulders. And, he had to remind himself, he hadn't done this to Linnet. So he had to just endure, and ensure that there was enough doubt in the judge's mind to prevent the burden of damnably annoying circumstantial proof from incriminating him.

The problem was, Matthews seemed just at ease as DJ was. As Varvara Zakharova was dismissed from the stand and made her way back up to the spectator seating, Matthews stood again and announced, "The prosecution calls Rachel Twylan to the stand."

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There we go, she thought. She'd been waiting to give her piece for some time now, but she knew Leigh Matthews had only called her here as an expert witness and there was a particular timing to it. All she knew about Leigh was that she was a bitchy but relentless (even 'dogged'?) prosecutor who thought this was an open and shut case. And all Leigh knew about her was that she was an expert on Alchemy. So since the court was making a decision about a poisoning case, it made excellent sense to bring her in, right?

So she stood up when the prosecutor, Leigh, called out for the next witness, her auburn hair let down simply to match the plain black dress and formal grey robe she had worn for the occasion. She smiled as she stepped up to the chair behind the small bannister next to the magistrate, and took her seat. She knew she had to think about her words in order to be taken seriously and also avoid lying, because that was apparently a thing you didn't do in court. As she adjusted her robes beneath her legs, Leigh wasted no time getting the credentials out into the open. "Ms. Twylan, would please state your name and profession to the court?

"My given name is Rachel Emily Twylan. A general Alchemist for the Scottish Highlands region, and an expert researcher into alchemical foundations and discoveries. Occasionally I have provided consultation or assistance to the authorities."

"Thank you. In your line of work, do potions play a significant role?’

She nodded her head eagerly, excited to be able to answer a question that related to her interest. "Alchemy is *intimately* connected with the art of crafting, identifying, and recreating potions. As well as transformative magic, and rudimentary chemistry."

Leigh nodded and looked at the Judge, looking like she hoped he understood that more than she did. "As an alchemist, can you charm or transfigure ingredients to imbibe extra qualities?'

"Well typically in potion crafting, the imbibation of extra qualities happens automatically during the combination of the ingredients, not due to any enchantment or charming of the ingredients prior to mixing them together," she started babbling as her eyes took on a look of excited and personal enjoyment. "Golpalott's Third Law, you know. And of course transfiguring the ingredients is difficult to do - that is, from one ingredient into a completely different ingredient. You are effectively trying to turn something you need nothing from, into another something, which is the same as conjuring something from nothing. Some ingredients you can accomplish this with, but food-like ingredients you cannot, per Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. In fact--"

"Thank you, Ms. Twylan," Leigh cut her off loudly. "Have you ever discovered or made something novel by brewing potions of transfigured or otherwise modified ingredients?’

With a somewhat more moderated expression and voice, she responded after a moment, "Hmmm, yes, I'm sure it's happened before. In fact I'm positive of it. Serendiptous discoveries are the best discoveries, and they happen most often when you experiment or think freely about the fluidity of your potion compositions."

"Would spells to add extra qualities be within the abilities of someone taking NEWT Charms or Transfiguration?" Leigh seemed to ask quickly before she could go off on another tangent.

"NEWT level students? Oh of course. By the NEWT level in Potions one expects students to begin acting more independently, researching and exploring ways to improve their own potioneering. It's practically the golden age of personal discovery."

"Ah. So they are encouraged to be independent with their research?" Leigh glanced and sneered at Damien.

She shrugged helplessly with a neutral smile on her face. "Well that depends on the instructor, of course, but students of sufficient brilliance to be in NEWT-level Potions classes tend to think on their own regardless of their teacher's methods."

"So could a student who was passable at potions make up for that lack with hard work as well as a prodigious talent in other subjects, like charms and transfiguration?"

"Oh, savants are very often found discovering ways around common impediments through the use of alternative magical applications," she responded brightly. "I would not be surprised to find that someone with an exceptional aptitude for, for instance, Transfiguration, might be able to reach the same conclusion I might have as a NEWT-student, but from a totally different direction."

"In your expert opinion, can NEWT level students produce—whether serendipitously or intentionally—potions with some transfigurative or alchemical properties?"

"Yes, it's entirely possible."

"How readily available are books on basic alchemy, either from your time as a student or as a private magical citizen?"

"Oh, basic alchemy books can be found in any bookstore or library of note," she waved her hand lazily. "After all, it's not just the Muggles that want to turn lead into gold all the time, right?" This elicited a few chuckles from the other spectators, but for fear of getting in trouble with the magistrate, she once again made an effort to moderate her expression and voice. "Anyone with at least a standard background in Potions can comprehend the bare bones of Alchemy as a subject. The further one progresses in one subject, the more you can understand in the other."

"Ms Twylan, could a finished potion be summoned wandlessly like other Transfiguration summons?"

"Well I mean, I can't think of a single instance where a witch without a wand could cast Accio on *anything*..."

"Ah, let me rephrase then, Ms Twylan. In your knowledge of Transfiguration, could hidden or vanished objects be made to re-appear after a time, like a timed spell or charm?"

"Oh, well, typically Transfiguration spells can't be 'timed' exactly..." she sounded like she was struggling to explain it properly. "It's more like... the magic runs out. But," she added brightly, "although vanishing things requires a wand, Unvanishing them does not! Sometimes, at least."

"Would potions with alchemical and transfigurative properties be reversible?"

This was the one part of the entire debacle that had surprised her. "Typically yes," she answered truthfully. "Magic is all about change, isn't it? When you draw on that mystical energy that is constantly reforming itself, it's hard to consider really anything truly 'permanent,' so even if there is some sort of delaying or resisting agent, a sufficient application of either force or finesse will almost always be enough to reverse a change." She paused with a pensive, hazy look in her eyes for effect, and added, "But, if I might hypothesize... perhaps this change is not able to be reversed because the victim had already passed into another, considerably more permanent state?"

Coming from a family of scholars and counsellors, Jonathan was used to being surrounded by insufferable know-it-alls. Most times, he hardly minded, especially since he was one himself. He enjoyed having his wits tested by some of the cleverest wizards and witches of the age, but he had to admit there were moments when all that cleverness proved more irksome than illuminating. His father in particular possessed a knack for turning words and phrases in a way that juuuust managed to crawl under his skin and set him itching in irritation.

Today’s vocabulary of vexation seemed to centre on three little, alliterative words that were harmless on their own. But strung together in his father’s whimsical baritone, those words made him twitch at their mention. What on earth was he supposed to be looking and listening for? Aside from the slight deviation of order, things seemed to be progressing like nearly every other Wizengamot case. There were some slight theatrics, but like Katherine noted, everything else felt rather procedural, at times even textbook. What particular knowledge could he gain that required his physical presence? Why were they even paying that Awning bloke if his father felt they had to actually attend these suits?

Jon stole glances at his father, wondering why he seemed disappointed that every seemed to be going as they should. The whole point of the Ministry was to establish and maintain a sense of uniformity. The laws laid everyone on equal ground, applied consistently without prejudice. Exceptions and amendments weakened rules that were meant to govern them at present and in future. It was an art of balance, finding common standards and meeting the needs of the people with the desires of each individual.

Nothing felt out of place to him, but he had to admit he had neither his father’s intuitions nor his decades of experience. Being told to observe and reflect made him feel like he was first year at Hogwarts, as if he were wholly ignorant. But again, what exactly was he looking at? The questions that the prosecution asked could be found in the preface of a textbook. Did they really need to bring in experts to deliver such statements? Did people forget how to read?

Thwack!

Just after the first cross-examination, when another witness was called to to the floor, Jonathan felt another sharp smack in his head. He sucked in his breath and seethed as he glared at his father. As savagely as he could sound with a whisper: ‘What?!’

‘You’re not looking,’ his father warned.

‘What do you mean? I’ve my eyes about me, haven’t I?’ Jon hissed. ‘She’s asking about poisons. The poison lady is answering about poisons. People test poisons on other people. People who poison are bad and—what now?’

His father was shaking his head again, then tapped at his temple. ‘There is too much of your own thoughts. You are judging before it is time to do so. You must look. Really look. And—‘

‘Learn and listen.’ Jon completed his father’s mantra, slightly exasperated. He instinctively jerked away, wary of a third ninja strike on his pretty noggin. Jonathan pouted, looking at his sister before turning his eyes back to the benches, wondering how she managed to be spared of the smacking.

He realised his brain was still running commentary. Afraid his father would pick it up again, he tried to focus. So the new witness was another character expert. This time, Matthews had called an alchemist. It was an uncommon, but decidedly smart, move on the part of the prosecution. Alchemists were rather rare in Britain. Most witches and wizards didn’t even take a class on it. It was regularly removed from Hogwarts’ schedule due to lack of interest or talent. But Alchemy was a complement to the generally esteemed arts of Transfiguration and Potions. Whatever Ms Zakharova couldn’t or wouldn’t inform, Ms Twylan could perhaps fill.

Jonathan tried to follow his father’s advice. But it was like being in Divination, being told to see things in a crystal ball or in the dregs of tea leaves. You could say the word look in as many emphatic tones and modulated voices as possible, and it still wouldn’t teach Jon how to properly see anything. Just what did his father want him to understand?

He looked at Twylan, trying to recall if she’d been mentioned by the guilds or had work published. There might have been a mention of her in The Alchemists’ Avalon Almanac. Jonathan studied her face, noted the cadence of her voice, approved her scholarly eagerness to explain her art, wrinkled his nose at her stench—

Wait, what?

Jonathan jerked his head, suddenly disoriented. There was a scent of something foul in the air, although no one else seemed to notice. That was all right. Jonathan knew his nose was far more sensitive than the lay wizard’s. What was odd that his mind somehow pairing these scents to even stranger images. How on earth would he know how witnesses would smell like? They were all sitting a distance away, even more so when called to testify. Nothing about them looked out of place, clothes presentable but nondescript. So why did Jonathan imagine a scent that was closer to rolling in a landfill?

Jonathan had been getting these odd thoughts more and more frequently. At first they seemed whimsical enough, thinking a person smelled like a day at the beach or an evening revising under candlelight. Then those thoughts became more vivid, as if he could imagine entire scenes of that person, imagining they were real. Some were pleasant, others far from it. But every single one had a scent to it, unique from everything else.

Jonathan looked at the witch again, who was now mentioning where to find books on alchemy. She sounded pleasant and looked put-together. All in all a respectable witness. But there was something else, too. He just couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps his father was onto something after all?

Jonathan tried to pinpoint where this discomfort was coming from. He couldn’t call it a gut reaction. More like...a nose reaction? The more he tried to focus on the witness, the hazier she appeared. His vision blurred, but oddly his olfactory perceptions seemed to heighten. There was definitely a scent in the air. Several actually, somehow layered together to something foul.

It was like the scent of blood, slightly metallic and salty. And it soon began to swirl with a scent of something sour and acrid. Like something dead and decaying. But not like a carcass rotting in the open summer sun. It was much more subtle, like it was frozen in ice or a charm. And grave dirt, although Jonathan couldn’t fathom how he could remember the scent of grave dirt. Or the scent of a wand after it had just cast a spell, charging the air with tinges of magic. Not like a tickling charm or even a stunning hex. Something much darker. Yes, darker.

Dark, and deep. It was hard to explain but that's what it smelled like. Dark and deep. Deep enough to be buried in. Dark like the inside of a coffin, cavern, or crypt. And then dead, or the scent of something not dead, but should be. Clinging to a pathetic vestige of life that made all else immaterial. Even time gave way, pausing, resting, fleeting. Time and death, sleeping side by side, to wake in turns or both at once. So what was the time? It may have been for a second, a year, a millennium. But a time. And the the stirring. Stirring from suspended slumber into a waking that carried within the weight of time.

And at last, Jonathan could see. It was no longer dark, but blindingly bright. Then it gave way to flashes of colour, imperceptible patches at first, then coming together, focusing like a lens. And Jonathan at last could make out something familiar. A sign he’d seen since childhood.

And then it all faded. He was now in the courtroom again. Or had he always been here? Jonathan groaned, feeling faint. His hands looked pale, as if the colour had been drained from them. But his face felt flushed, and he had to wipe a pool of sweat from his neck. His heart was pounding loudly, and wondered if even the courtroom could hear it.

He took a deep breath, holding it before release. He did this a few more times, meditatively, until he felt calmer and cooler. He looked ahead, and realised that the witness was still there. Jonathan couldn’t pick up her words, still feeling dizzy. These odd daydreams and dizzy spells happened from time to time, but were growing a bit more frequently. He couldn’t really go to St Mungo’s for it, as he didn’t have any symptoms until these moments would come, sneaking in like a migraine. But he was trying to research it on his own. He ruled out most of the common factors, and few uncommon ones. But he still had a ways to go, and his current schedule didn’t leave him much time for his little medical mystery.

He glanced at his father again, who was still looking onward. So he was safe from another whacking, for now. But now Jonathan was trying to catch up and pay attention too. Whatever it was he just experienced, even as unpleasant as it was, hinted there was something more he needed to figure out. It wasn’t logical, or even a gut thing. As the saying went instead, follow your nose! And for now it was pointing right at this very case.

So Jonathan looked. Jonathan listened. Hopefully, Jonathan could learn.

@JT continues to provide the voice and technique of Prosecutor Leigh Matthews
@Rachel Emily Twylan recorded her responses prior to this post

DJ stood up angrily. "Objection, speculation!" he cried out, astonished that the court would allow Miss Twylan to "hypothesize" like that while on the stand.

It was clear that Judge Davis-Dirge was in agreement. "Sustained. Mr Awning, strike that from the record." Ares gave a little nod and his stenotype machine gave a little disappointed sigh while Ares manually struck out the last part of Twylan's comment. DJ noted with interest that Ares had hardly looked at him the entire time that the trial had been underway. It made sense, of course; the last thing Ares would need as an esteemed employee of the Ministry of Magic was to have any obvious association with an accused student from Hogwarts, but it still stung a little bit.

"The prosecution has no more questions for this witness," Leigh, unlike DJ and the judge, was obviously quite happy with the liberty her witness had taken even if it wasn't on the official record. She was still playing to the emotional attitude of the room and the judge, and DJ wasn't convinced that the judge wasn't thinking along the same lines, even if his official position required him to sustain DJ's objection.

At any rate, DJ remained standing since it was now his turn to cross-examine. He had never heard of this woman but if she was being called as an alchemical expert, she had to be even more knowledgeable than Zakharova had been. "Ms. Twylan," he started out, "are you helping the Ministry examine this poison?"

"The current authorities have not asked for my assistance yet," the woman responded pleasantly, if not somewhat wistfully.

"Hm. Okay. But, if you were given the list of ingredients that Ms Zakharova identified, would you be able to recreate the potion?"

"I think so, yes. All it takes is identifying how much--"

Despite his dislike of Leigh Matthews, he had taken note of something during the primary examination: namely, if you didn't ask Rachel Twylan to stop talking, she would continue to babble about alchemy ad infinitum. "Thank you, Ms. Twylan," DJ interrupted her loudly, cutting her off. Then, however, he stood still and just stared at her dully. His mind was a complete blank and he could not figure out for the life of him (possibly literally) what line of questioning to pursue next.

The alchemist awkwardly but patiently waited a few seconds, and then asked politely, "Is... that all?"

DJ shook his head subtly, trying to clear the cobwebs out and maintain what little was left of his professional dignity. "No, I'm sorry, Ms Twylan," he apologised. "Just gathering my thoughts." He opened his mouth to ask something about the effects of the individual ingredients, along the same lines as his cross-examination of Ms. Zakharova, but then suddenly he was struck with a moment of inspiration. Privately he cursed himself for not thinking of this in time to ask Zakharova about it, but, oh well. "Ms Twylan, just to verify something you said earlier, Alchemy has to do not only with potioneering, but also with Transfiguration, is that correct?"

"Ooooh, yes," she bobbed her head emphatically a few times.

"So you have considerable expertise in the subject of Transfiguration as well?"

A surprisingly quick, faint blush filled Twylan's cheeks as she modestly replied, "I would say so, yes."

DJ smiled encouragingly. "Good. So, in your experience, can an unliving Being or object be Transfigured into a living Being?"

"Oh no, of course not," Twylan waved her hand absent-mindedly. "There is no magic that can truly bring back the d....." Her voice went from trailing off to cutting completely off as the import of what she was saying sunk into her face... the judge's face... the prosecutor's face... and DJ assumed, the crowd behind him as well. But for the moment all he knew was that there was a stunned silence in the courtroom for the first time since the bailiff had called everyone to rise for Davis-Dirge's arrival.

"So," DJ pressed the witness, "as the tree that Linnet Willowsong was Transfigured into has been reported as being alive and well, would it then follow that Linnet Willowsong is, in fact, not dead?"

After a moment, Twylan answered somewhat slowly and flatly, "That... would be a logical conclusion."

DJ resisted the urge to whoop with excitement. If Linnet wasn't actually dead, then he couldn't be held responsible for her murder! Of course the courts tended to address both the action and the intent, as Nathalie had been so kind to remind him in some of their limited correspondence the previous week, but DJ was fairly confident that his own witnesses would provide enough proof that DJ didn't have that kind of ill intent anywhere in his body. In the meantime, DJ racked his brain trying to think if Twylan could provide any other information that would further improve his chances. "Do you know why..." he started to ask, and then abandoned the train of thought about the tree's resistance to magic. "Actually no, nevermind. Thank you, Ms Twylan. The defense has no further questions for this witness." Feeling for the first time like he really, truly, had a chance, he took his seat.

Before Twylan could stand up, however, Matthews stood and said, "Your Honor, prosecution would like to re-examine the witness."

"Granted. Go ahead."

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Well, *that* could have gone far different. Leave it to a bright wizard like Damien Conway to make a surprising discovery that nearly rendered his accusation of being a murderer moot. It had taken her compltely by surprise - - actually it had taken the whole group of people in the courtroom by surprise. She wasn't actually certain that it had sunk in yet. Were she more personally intimate or friendly with the defendant, she might have applauded.

And Leigh Matthews was not happy about it - - why would she be? Leigh was trying to get Damien convicted. So since what she had just said contradicted the answer Leigh had gotten out of the potioneering expert, she was not surprised that Leigh wanted to re-examine her. She sat patiently, having mostly recovered from the incredulity of Damien's turnaround.

Leigh tapped her finger on her chin while looking at Damien. Then she said, "The Ministry is not concerned with the state or status of floral life." She turned around with her hands clasped behind her back and said, "Ms Twylan, I will ask you as I did Ms Zakharova. With all attempts to revive her, do you consider Ms Willowsong alive as a person?"

She had expected this, for better or for worse. "I would have to say that, despite her resistance to being returned to human, Miss Willowsong must in fact be alive." ...Damn it. "But is she a person? No, not currently." That much at least had to be clear; she was a tree, not a witch. But it was better to repeat dumb statements than to withhold her thoughts.

"Ms Twylan, does a tree have a brain or neural network capable of human thought?"

She chuckled a little bit. "I am not an expert on botany." Then she sobered her expression and continued answering anyway. "However, where magic is concerned, you just can't answer 'yes' or 'no' to this type of question. Physically she is a tree, but at the core of her being she is still her pre-Transfigured self. Does that mean she has a neural network? I don't know."

Leigh seemed a little impatient, maybe even a little desperate, she was trying so hard to get around the Hogwarts victim being alive. "As she had been examined, did Ms Willowsong display any signs that she was sentient or display any hint of magic as a tree?'

"Well, she is displaying resistance to magic," she responded drily. "I will let others judge whether that is sentience, magic of her own, or neither."

"Thank you Ms Twylan. The prosecution has no further questions for this witness." Leigh didn't sound pleased about this.

But she didn't care. Her turn on the stand was done, unless Damien wanted to re-cross her... but he didn't look at her or say anything, so she stood up, brushed off her dress, and started walking back up between the two benches to find her seat and watch the rest of the proceedings. Just as she was even with the benches, behind her, she heard Leigh speaking to the judge.

"At this time... The prosecution would like to request Jonathan Emerson to please come to the stand," Leigh said.

She saw two different people look sharply up at the front of the trial from the seats in the viewing area of the courtroom, one middle-aged, one older.

"Jonathan Emerson, Senior," Leigh clarified.

As she continued to step closer, the older of the two men nodded and stepped out into the aisle. She moved to one side politely to let him go by on his way to the witness stand.

"Objection!" Damien stood up angrily again. "This gentleman is not on the list of subpoenaed witnesses for the prosecution!"

"Overruled," the magistrate responded after a moment. "Mr Emerson is a Ministry representative and his willingness to participate in the trial is indicated by the fact that he has already come forward. A subpoena is not necessary."

Ooooh, this was unexpected! She took her seat and leaned forward, anxious to see what Mister Jonathan Emerson Senior might have to say about the matter.

As Jonathan junior slowly re-oriented himself from his strange daydream, he was rather surprised to hear his name called from the bench, straightening up in attention. He saw his father stiffen as well and made a motion to rise. At the prosecution’s clarification, Jonathan sat back in his seat, but no less confused. There was a bit of protest from the Accused, to which Jonathan could empathise. This was all a rather surprising turn of events.

As for Jon senior, who had only meant to observe, he was also caught off guard, although his stern demeanour gave little hint of it. He simply stood, smoothed out his robes, and proceeded forward. He gave a slight nod to Dirge-Davis, then stared intensely at the prosecutor.

‘Could you please state your name and position to the Court,’ asked Ms Matthews.

‘Jonathan Wellesley Emerson, Senior Undersecretary to the Ministry for Magic,’ Jon senior replied.

‘As a ranking member of the Ministry, would you say you are familiar to our bylaws?’

‘I am the highest ranking Official save for the Minister for Magic himself,’ he responded, his eyes narrowing at the condescending question. ‘I have worked for the Wizengamot’s Administration for the bulk of my public career, so I would say I am rather familiar with our laws, as I’ve written a number of them myself.’

‘Thank you, Mr Emerson. From a legal standpoint, would Ms Willowsong be considered a witch in her currently known state?’

‘She would not.’

‘Why do the laws no longer recognise her as such?’

‘Our laws state that a Being is any creature that has sufficient intelligence to understand the laws of the magical community and to bear part of the responsibility in shaping those laws. A wizard or witch is a magical Being capable of human thought and the ability to utilise a wand. In her state, she is not a Being, Beast, or Spirit.’

‘What is her current classification?’

‘After St Mungo’s medical report, the Ministry currently classifies her as an Object.’

‘Are there precedents of those who have lost their status as wizards and witches?’

‘Yes. Those infected with Lycanthropy are not considered wizards for the duration their transformation, but as Beasts. Any wizard considered Permanently Transfigured also lose their recognition as such.’

‘Would you consider the killing of a werewolf as murder?’

‘I am not in the judge’s seat, Ms Matthews,’ Jonathan senior warned, his tone of voice darkening. ‘And I will not speculate.’

‘Ah, I apologise,’ Leigh quickly said, then pivoted, ‘Has the Ministry every convicted someone of murder when eliminating werewolves during their transformed state?’

‘We have not.’

‘On the reverse side, with Lycanthropy being considered a Transfigurative curse, what is the sentence given for causing it, despite the duration only happening for a brief time per month?’

‘Up to a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.’

‘So wouldn’t a more permanent Transfigurative state entail a much harsher charge?’

‘This is the second time you are having me speculate. You are the assigned prosecutor here.’

Leigh glared, but retreated. ’To which Classes do our murder laws entail?’

‘Those laws are in relation only to Beings.’

‘As she is, what wizarding laws and rights are granted to Miss Willowsong?’

‘On her own, none. In relation to being a possession of her family, we have laws related to theft and vandalism.’

‘Why has she lost practically all magical protections and rights?

‘Her transfigured state has resisted all attempts to revive her into a Being, or even Switch her into an intermediary state as a magical creature. As such, she has been deemed to have been elementally transformed, beyond our magical knowledge to turn her back. Ms Willowsong as we knew her is no more.’

Leigh grinned at Jon senior’s last statement, and attempted to pounce on it. ‘As the magical laws no longer see Ms Willowsong as a witch or even a Being, and as we have no ability to turn her back, can the Ministry provide a legal death certificate?’

‘No,’ Jon senior said curtly.

Leigh’s expression changed dramatically, having expected a different answer. ‘Ah-I’m sorry. Could you clarify that?’

‘I cannot, Ms Matthews.’ He stared at her like a hawk just before it swooped in for a kill. ‘That is your job.’

She paused for a second, trying to salvage her line of reasoning. ‘But, you said she is no longer a witch!’

‘Indeed!’ Jon senior looked bored now. He had expected a bit more amusement from Leigh.

‘If she isn’t a witch, and cannot be turned back to a witch, then doesn’t it follow that she is dead a witch!’

Jon senior practically growled in annoyance, especially as it was nearing tea time. ‘Have we skipped to closing arguments already? Otherwise, what follows will be an inadmissible response for narration and argumentation from the bench. I can only provide facts, Ms Matthews.’

Leigh was now testy. ’So, what is the prerequisite for providing a confirmation of death for a wizard or witch permanently transfigured?’

‘Well, they’d have to be dead, Ms Matthews. Or permanently inanimate.’

‘So then, if Ms Willowsong has ceased all function as a witch—’

‘— I am not the judge in this case, Ms Matthews. And the status of Miss Willowsong has been answered by twice previously. If all your other questions are to have me speculate and argue the case for you, then I can state as a matter of fact that I will no longer be of use as a witness.’

Leigh looked livid, and Jon senior eyed her warily. She paused for a moment, parsing through her own legal knowledge, but yielded. ‘No further questions, your Honor.

*NPC ~ GWYNEDD WILLOWSONG*

She'd known it was going to be painful to be here, but Gwynedd Willowsong hadn't anticipated just how many emotions she was going to experience. First she wanted to slap that stupid slip of a girl who stood up and blurted out all that rubbish about the Conway boy, about how he was noble and caring and looked out for the younger students. Linnet was all those things, she wanted to shout! She'd been looking out for just about everyone since her second year, as soon as she wasn't one of the youngest any more. Her letters home had always been full of news of her friends, some older, who she studied with, some younger, who she helped with their homework. There had been tales of her favourite lessons in the greenhouses and out in the school grounds, and descriptions of how they changed with the seasons. Gwynedd felt as if she could feel the crisp winter snow underfoot and feel the biting, ice-filled wind of early January, see the first new grass when the snows finally melted weeks later, smell the budding crocuses and tiny plants that grew at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She could imagine what the forest looked like, dark and eerie, though Linnet always described it with something approaching reverence as she listed the different kinds of trees that grew there...

And with the thought the woman's attention was snapped back to the Courtroom where her every detail of her granddaughter's...assault was being described and dissected. She couldn't think of it as murder, wouldn't let herself, because so long as some part of Linnet was alive in whatever form, she could still hope.

That didn't mean she didn't want to shake some of these obsequious fools who thought their evidence was important, the witch for the prosecution who reminded her of every bad lawyer she'd ever seen on those dreadful afternoon TV shows. The ones who blundered through the evidence and ended up missing something important, that one vital thing that meant the suspect was on the verge of walking free before the brilliant detective was finally able to secure a conviction on some unlikely shred of evidence. There was far too much discussion over Linnet's current state, and Gwynedd was ready to scream. Couldn't any of these people see that they were talking about a real person, a girl right on the cusp of adulthood and the rest of her life? What did it matter whether some ridiculous legal loophole meant she was now officially classed as property or whatever such idiocy they were babbling about?

What mattered was whether or not this boy had deliberately poisoned her, not that she was an interesting case for discussion. Why couldn't any of these so-called learned scholars see that?

@JT continues to provide the voice and technique of Prosecutor Leigh Matthews
@Christine continues to contribute to the voice of Judge Callum Davis-Dirge

DJ seethed quietly from his place chained to his table, but listened attentively to the words of this new witness since, you know, he'd have to defend himself from whatever the man said. But with Emerson's very first response, DJ's attitude changed from anger to fear, and then confusion. This was a Ministry representative. This was practically the Ministry representative, subpoenaed or otherwise. The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic? What, if anything, did he already know about the case? Was he going to force Judge Davis-Dirge to slam the gavel down and lock DJ away? But although the responses he gave to Matthews' first questions didn't seem to help him out very much, they were still very neutral. DJ tilted his head slightly to one side as he listened and considered all the information that Mr. Emerson was giving. Linnet was not currently a Being, but an Object. Well that was kind of obvious, but he supposed having a Ministry official make that distinction official was helpful. Still nothing that pointed directly at DJ as the culprit.

And then... those magic words. 'I will not speculate.' DJ's heart soared. Mister Jonathan Emerson, Senior, was a pro. Leigh Matthews had made a mistake, thinking that she could call someone high-ranking who would support her accusations without question and ruin DJ's life for good. Emerson was, DJ surmised, a veteran of the legal system and did not necessarily take kindly to being so spontaneously called to the stand, whatever his opinions on sharing the information he did have at his disposal might have been. Leigh's change of direction lasted a few questions before Emerson told her off again, and DJ sat back, much more relaxed than he had been when Emerson took the stand. Such relaxation turned to nauseous tension once again when Emerson answered one particular question with the chilling statement, 'Miss Willowsong as we knew her is no more.' Leigh seemed to look very gleeful at this, and DJ could practically feel the glare from Linnet's grandmother boring into his skull, even though the statement by itself still didn't indicate any connexion to DJ and the crime itself.

But in the end, it seemed Mr. Emerson was going to call Leigh Matthews out on her terrible prosecution methods, after explaining that just because Linnet was no longer a witch didn't mean they could declare her legally dead. Leigh could not understand Emerson's dissent and finally poutingly announced that she was done questioning the witness, and both Judge Davis-Dirge and Mr. Emerson turned their mildly quizzical expressions to DJ. He blinked a few times before remembering that he needed to either cross-examine the witness, or defer.

Quickly he ran through the whole of the dialogue between Emerson and Matthews, and decided the whole thing had been a wash. DJ didn't want to risk jeopardizing that. "The defence has no questions for this witness, Your Honour."

"Very well then. Thank you Mr. Emerson," Davis-Dirge said quite respectfully to Emerson, who nodded curtly in reply and excused himself from the seat behind the stand, returning up the aisle between the spectators to sit with two younger adults with a considerable resemblance to him, also dressed in Ministry robes. DJ's eyes were on them as he heard Matthews announce, somewhat regretfully, "I have no more witnesses to call, Your Honour. The prosecution rests."

"Mr. Conway, you may begin calling your witnesses," Davis-Dirge turned his attention to DJ once again.

DJ had a split second of panic, which more than anything called his attention to an uncomfortable sensation between his legs. "Your Honour, before I call my first witness, I would like to request a recess for... uh..." he wasn't sure how to say 'going potty' without sounding like an idiot.

As he was floundering, the judge came to his rescue after scrutinizing him for a moment. "You're fine, Mr. Conway, I understand. This trial shall recess for five minutes. Bailiff," he indicated DJ to the behavioural official, who looked puzzled for a moment before he too figured out what was going on. Giving DJ a look of understanding, he undid the shackle holding down DJ's chain as quickly as possible and helped usher him quickly out a side door of the courtroom. "Oh my god thank you," DJ muttered to the man as soon as they were in the hallway, and turned to the left to head quickly for the restroom.