Friday, November 21st, 2008.
8:58am.
Courtroom 5

For the first time since the incident, as she had been firmly told to word it, Darcy was legitimately terrified.  There were no professors here to fix her mistakes, nor peers to chuckle over it with.  Despite her mothers' presence, Darcy knew that whatever consequences she faced today would be Permanent.  Her knees began to tremble slightly as Josie gripped her right hand a bit tighter. 

"It's going to be okay, love.  Whatever happens, happens.  And we'll be here for you regardless."

Darcy could barely gather enough voice to mumble thanks, but instead squeezed her mother's hand in return.  Elizabeth, on her left, gave her a reassuring smile as well and Darcy couldn't help but thank Merlin and Helga for the eleventh-thousand time that she had parents that loved her.  They were still miffed, of course, and Darcy couldn't leave their eyesight for the next six months, but they were still with her.  The only saving grace she had was that they were all fairly certain she couldn't be sent to Azkaban.  At least, that's what they told her. 

The doors swung open, and a bailiff signalled her mothers to leave.  It was time. 

"Love you!" she called out after them, and heard the same in return.

"This way, Miss Bloxham," the guard spoke with a slight gaze of pity.  She wasn't sure if her feet could carry her in.  Even then, she half-wondered whether she could turn and run, maybe meet her parents back at the hotel and postpone the trial.  It had waited over a month anyway, couldn't they wait a little while longer? As kind as the bailiff was, he had the look that he could probably outrun her if needed.  She sighed, holding on to the door as she peeked into the chamber.  An empty chair stood in the center, and the guard waved his hands at her once more. 

"It's best to just get these things over with," he whispered.

She nodded, looking briefly for a kind face in the crowd.  She caught Liz's eye. Her mothers had been through enough, it was time to be brave.  She set her jaw, mashing her lips together as she walked into the room and took her seat.  It was awful looking up at the elders, and the bright lights only made it easier to cry.  But she wouldn't.  At least not yet, not when her mums had been so brave with her. 

The trial of Darcy Bloxham had begun.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Rita's heels made contact with the stone floor in an annoyingly loud manner. She had made sure she was in the court room nice and early, ready for the Hogwarts trial of the year. Sure, every so often there was a juvenile delinquent who performed magic in front of muggles, outside of school. Always the same stories; "I didn't realise any muggles were around!" "It was an accident, honest!" Always the same old tripe spouting from those filthy children's mouths. But this trial? Arson. An arsonist in Hogwarts.

The corners of her rouged lips twiched slightly as she settled herself neatly in a chair, pulling out the quick quotes quill and a pad of parchment. She sucked the end of the quill gently and allowed the jittery lime grean father to hover above the paper ready to do its damage.

All eyes shot to the door as it creaked open and in came a guard with the criminal. Rita shuddered slightly and straightened her back as the quill whirred into action.

'Scruffy urchin Darcy Bloxham enters the court room, tears clearly pricking at her eyes though she endeavours to hold them back.'

This was most certainly going to be an interesting trial.

Knox Greyfriar looked up and craned his neck to see the entrance of Darcy Bloxham.  He was always a little surprised how small people looked way down on the floor beside the nasty ceremonial chair.  Next to him, the other junior Elders moved their heads to get a good look.

"Merlin, she looks petrified..." he mumbled.  But how else should a teenager feel standing before a court? The Wizengamot, all clothed in traditional headwear and deep purple robes, all eighty of them, had always been an impressive sight.  It was difficult to see the faces of human beings among them.  The faces of witches and wizards who'd proven themselves to be thoughtful, learned and fair.

But all the accused saw were cold eyes on faceless heads.

Knox himself was looking a little transparent.  A shade less of his usual burly, hirsute self.  He'd had his first werewolf transformation just a week ago and it had taken a gruelling toll.  He'd had to bellow to be allowed to do his duty so shortly after.  But the law'd been on his side. He was fit to serve and he would.

He just felt like he'd been hit by the Knight Bus was all.  He rubbed his face with his hand.  He had to keep himself from automatically hoping in Darcy's behalf, and remind himself he must consider her case carte blanche, like anyone else.  The crime was severe and he couldn't allow his love for a former student to make him a liability to the long-standing justice of this body.

Whatever problems were going on in Figaro Sellaphix's life (and there were a couple of doozies), he was absolutely required to come to London for Darcy's trial.  It didn't matter that his own father was somewhere in the building, or that his trial was currently in progress.  It didn't matter that he and Xavier had almost gotten themselves killed last week.

He'd been there when Darcy had set the Infirmary on fire and he had to be present on the chance that the Wizengamot would want to hear from him.  He'd been interviewed by a pair of Aurors, told what kind of questions he might be asked.  It wasn't a sure thing they'd call him down to speak, but it was possible.

He sat in the stands with his mother, Zelda Sellaphix.  She had a hand on his shoulder, but had been very terse all morning.  He couldn't imagine what her life was like these days.  The shop was closed, so gold was tight.  And she had to be here in London nearly daily to help deal with his dad's affairs.  Plus, caring for his brother Frank.  And now, even though Figaro hadn't done anything wrong, he felt a little guilty for making her show up to court again.

When Darcy came in, Figaro moved to stand up.  To see better, maybe to wave.  Maybe to mouth the words, "I'm sorry", but his mum's firm hand sat him back down.

"Sit." It was the first thing she'd said to him all day except to tell him to wear his school tie and to hurry up.

He looked around nervously.  Bloody hell, what would he do if they made him talk, made him talk against Darcy?

Tulojow wasn't, exactly, a lawyer but she knew the laws, she knew the student in question and she had personal knowledge of the crime in question.  There were probably quite a few on the Wizengemot that were less than pleased with the arrangement - Tulojow had a long standing history of annoying the Wizengemot just enough to get under their skin but not enough to justify any real, legitimate action.  They were familiar with her tendency to not have the greatest respect for the letter of the law herself. 

But, Darcy needed representation and Tulojow hadn't hesitated to do her part. 

She let herself into the courtroom only a few minutes after Darcy.  The simple wizarding robes she wore over her usual attire of blue jeans, a turquoise tunic-shirt and a pair of carved cowboy boots was her mostly heartfelt attempt to conform to Ministry dress code.  But, her choice of attire had one advantage; the hard soles of her boots rang out against the stone floor as she crossed the room. 

"If we need you, we'll be sure to let you know," she said, pointedly to the hovering guard before waving him off to the perimeter of the room.  He'd done his job admirably but there was now no need for him to stand over her like she was some high profile criminal who was a flight risk. 

Tulojow crossed the room to Darcy and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, offering her a warm, easy smile.  "How are you doing?"  She asked.  "Do you have any questions or concerns before we get started?"

Watching Darcy Bloxham led into the courtroom, Jason MacDonell could not help but feel a momentary twinge of pity, though his stoic demeanor kept his face blank.  The girl looked deeply unsettled, as if she feared one of the observing Elders might attack her.  Then again, if the reports from the Prophet were true, the girl had quite a bit to fear indeed.  And the more he watched her, saw the tense set of her shoulders and the look in her eyes of the hare caught by the fox, the more Jason remembered a similar expression on the face of Barty Crouch, in this very room.

The comparison was not at all reassuring.

Bad enough that the girl had allegedly dabbled in Fiendfyre, one of the worst and deadliest curses known to wizardkind.  Like a vicious Nundu, spreading death to everything it touched, and all but impossible to bring down once set loose.  But that the target had been an infirmary was abhorrent.

Brushing a strand of his graying hair aside with the gloved forefinger of his left hand, hold his cane midway down its shaft with his right, the retired Auror glanced around at his fellow Elders.  Some seemed merely curious; others had the set, stony faces of those whose judgment is already made, and for whom the trial is only a burdensome formality.  Jason himself had no firm convictions yet, though the evidence his contacts in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had subtly dropped to him cast a less than optimistic picture for the young accused.

"Merlin, she looks petrified..."

"She should," Jason replied quietly.  "Azkaban is unseasonable this time of year."

He looked at Knox Greyfriar for a moment from the corner of his emerald eye.  The man seemed rather worse for the wear than usual, though if the gossips were right (and the ones who ever talked to Jason usually were), given his recent experiences, he looked as good as could be expected.

Watching Tulojow Nagde enters the courtroom and head over to Darcy, Jason could not keep the frown off his lips this time, nor the fractional narrowing of his eyes.  Her unusual blending of Muggle and wizarding dress did not vex him as it clearly did some of the other Elders,who were clearing their throats as if Nagde's cowboy boots were some mortal offense to their mothers.  But her dismissive attitude to the young Hitwizard escorting Bloxham, who Jason had privately thought was a bit more polite to her than duty alone had demanded, rankled the former law enforcer.  As if the Hitwizard was somehow trespassing, rather than in his own home territory, the administration of justice.  He kept from clearing his own throat pointedly with difficulty.

Though he could not hear what Nagde said over the mutterings all around him, Jason suspected from her expression that it was some form of reassurance, as if all this was a trifling matter to be attended quickly and forgotten.  He wondered what false hope Darcy might be entertaining; at best, this would not be a pleasant interview.  Grumbling for a moment, he looked over at Knox directly.  "When do you think we'll start?  Or are we all here now?"

Knox turned his head a little to look back at Jason MacDonell who was sitting up next to him.  His expression was scolding. 

"Don't be cruel.  She's sixteen, if that," he said.  "Unseasonable? Honestly, put me down if I become as jaded as you."

Jason had been an indispensable friend but they never agreed on anything.  Knox tended to find Jason to be cold and on the letter side of the law.  Amazing wizard, guts of iron, and a wize old man.  But stone cold. 

"You should teach..." he added under his breath turning back to look down at Darcy and Madam Nagde.  Nothing taught you patience and compassion like teaching first year Hogwarts students. And as talented and learned as Jason was, being a decorated Auror didn't really prepare one to handle the complex situation of a kid bumbling with Dark Magic.  At least in Knox's opinion.  He'd sit back and be lectured by Jason gladly when they came upon cases that spoke to hardened criminals, any day.  Sure.  But Knox didn't need Jason's morbid jokes right now.  He didn't need his hardened crusty outside.

But he turned back again to answer Jason's query like he ought.  They were colleagues and he was just as curious.  The quarrel was left for the moment.

"I have no idea.  This is my first trial.  The hearings always go more quickly.  I'm not even sure who's presiding."

Knox sat up again to look through the rows of purple-robed Elders to the center copse where the Chief and Undersecretary would sit, but he couldn't quite see.  He been studying diligently all through the autumn, making sure he understood the finest details of the way the Wizengamot ran.  But the texts were many and the details in the googleplex.  Greyfriar, as a Junior Elder, wasn't yet expected to be a master of procedure.  His role for his first few years would be only to opine and offer his judgment.  The conduct of court business was left to the veterans. Knox, too, was a learned man, but high Magical Law was a different animal.

"How are you doing?  Do you have any questions or concerns before we get started?"

Darcy shook her head in response, afraid to speak now that she was in the chair.  Thank Merlin for Professor Nagde.  Without the woman, Darcy and her family wouldn't have been sure of what to do.  To have the woman intercede for her on the courtroom floor as well was comforting.  Seeing Headmaster Knox was lovely too, and with him in the Wizenmagot, she felt her chances increase.  Maybe she could come out of this alright.  She had to, didn't she? She was just a child! And she had never felt more child-like than at the center of the courtroom. A chill swept through her body, a sudden spasm half from the cold and half from the thick tension in the room.

She spotted Fig in the stands and bit her lip.  Any other time she would have given him a hearty wave, called his name or whistled, but the tension in the room seemed to freeze her from even moving.  Besides, he was probably there to testify against her.  And even though she hated him for it, she understood.  Darcy hadn't wanted to drag anyone into her prank, although now the word seemed far too small for her act, burdened as it was by all the consequences.  But now he was there, and she was there, and Nagde, and Greyfriar, and her parents.  It was all too real, and she didn't like it one bit. 

She bit her lip, waiting for the trial to begin. 

Smoothing down the bodice of her formal robes, Tamis Raynor stared out the antechamber and into the vast levels of the legendary and ancient court room of the Ministry of Magic. It could be a truly awe-inspiring sight with its raised coliseum of benches looming over the expanse of floor below saved for the accused. The room held a lot of history and seated many powerful names, all clothed identically as they waited to pass judgments on the small individual many meters below. This was not the Auror’s first experience in court. She had on many occasions advocated for or spoken on behalf of the prosecution, offering a witness statement or revealing her investigative findings on a case. It was, however, the first time she had even preceded over the court.

A month ago, Raynor would have found it humorous to even contemplate that she could be sitting in the Big Chair in the court room. It was a position reserved for the Chief Warlock and in the absence of said individual, the Minister of Magic, and in the absence of him, the most senior member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, namely its political Head. She found her sense of humor significantly curbed considering the lack of a Chief Warlock, an otherwise engaged Minister of Magic, and a murdered boss. The Head of the Auror Office – and acting Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could not even muster a chuckle – not even at her oversized shadow.

Court attire was not favored by anyone. It itched, was composed of more pounds of fabric than should be legal, and made it difficult to breath. Despite all of these woes, her assigned ‘protective detail’ seemed to be having a more forlorn experience with the whole ordeal. She had wisely not commented at his choice of attire, though would no doubt rediscover mirth for his predicament later. She would not remind him that his formal Auror robes would have sufficed. Not if she wanted to live.

Steeling herself, at the appointed time, Raynor gathered all of her five feet and stepped out from the room at the top of the hall, making her way to the designated chair. If she noticed any surprised murmurs or stares, she did not acknowledge them; her composure did not flinch. Not having dealt with Bloxham’s case more than her title required, Tamis scrutinized the pale and petrified … and very young … teenager awaiting her fate. She did not have the face of an individual that would intentionally put hundreds of her fellow students’ lives at risk. There was a deal of evidence stating the contrary. Tamis Raynor, however, was remaining impartial.

There was a clear, expectant silence.

The Auror enunciated without the aid of magical enhancements; a voice used to traveling over a sea of cubicles and calling out directives in the field.  “This is the trial of Wizarding England vs. Darcy Bloxham. The defendant is charged with one count of Arson in the First Degree, one count of Reckless Endangerment of the Public, and one count of Unlawful Casting of Dark Magic.” 

She paused there, allowing the formal decree to finish reverberating through the vast room and giving time for the words to sink in. Both to the members of the Wizengamot who may have ‘forgot’ to do their preliminary work and, if had not hit her already, for the reality of the accusations to be understood by the student. After that very brief moment, she continued,

“If there are no pre-trial matters, this court is now in session. The Prosecution may proceed.”

Archer tugged at his collar anxiously.  He hated these robes, had only one set of them for a reason.  Everything was stuffy and he could not believe there was an actual trial that he had to attend without fail.  Usually, more than usually, he was able to get out of it – volunteer to work in the office, keep things together while the higher ups and involved parties were doing what they needed to do, but he was on protective detail with Ray, who managed to be put into the position of presiding over the trial.  How did this happen in the last week and a half he was on duty?  It couldn’t have waited until December? 

So, when he had to pull out the ridiculous, several layered outfit, and play with all of those annoying buttons and things.  They were traditional, apparently that word was synonymous with more difficult because it took him an extra twenty minutes to get ready, and then there was the fact that he looked completely ridiculous.  It had taken the best of almost everyone not to burst out laughing, and if they did, he wouldn’t blame them – but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hex them either.

He was just here to protect Tamis and little else.  The “upside” of looking like a pirate while he did it?  Not so much of an upside.  So, waiting to follow behind Tamis as she entered, Archer again played with his sleeve and then patted his side, making sure his wand was handy.  He always anticipated something happening when he was with her, even if there was nothing to worry about – it was the way of the job – a protective detail meant anticipating what the other person did not, and despite the fact she was the most paranoid woman in the entire world, but even the court room, to her, was not a place something drastic would happen.

But, no one thought anything would happen on Remembering Day either, and that had been a complete and utter catastrophe.  So, Archer was not leaving anything to chance, even when she had almost directly ordered him out of this (of course, her orders on this particular duty were completely useless – he wouldn’t listen to her and he couldn’t be punished for it either), so Archer Radley put aside his pride about what he looked like and waited for it to be time to actually enter the courtroom.  Nodding as Tamis started to make her entrance, Archer fell into line behind her, setting his jaw and walked stiffly into the room – his clothing really detracted from the movement thing.

If there were any battles to be had, it was definitely going to be without the coat.  Sighing softly, he kept his eyes peeled, looking around he saw familiar faces as well as those that he didn’t know.  The most noticeable face was that of the defendant, looking small and nervous – as well she should be – her charges were heavy, and as Ray repeated them, Archer sighed.  It was a shame, but there wasn’t a way to cut a deal with this girl.  She had committed and offense that was… beyond the measures of what any child should do – and beyond the good sense and taste of anyone he knew.  The castle had so many scars already – visible disturbances caused by a sordid past, and she was daft enough to repeat an egregious and dangerous spell. 

He would not join the masses of the outraged, but he was disappointed.  Perhaps the instilment of Hilde as history of magic professor would do them some good – and the children would remember what exactly fiendfyre was associated with.  Drawing his jaw shut, he looked about the court room – ever vigilant and listened as Ray opened court, using a voice he heard from her on so few occasions, having gotten used to the familiarity and non-formality of being partners and current housemates, it was so different. 

He also noticed in the Wizengamot sat Jason MacDonell, a recognizable face and one that he was well-acquainted with from working in the office.  Of course, he did not know him as well as Ray, who looked up to the man even more than Archer did, and considered him a close personal relationship.  It was disconcerting for the auror, not that he was jealous of the man, but it meant Archer had someone other than the few and far between friends Ray had to approve of him – someone who probably had much higher standards than “whatever makes you happy” and was not just concerned with the production of tine Raynor-Radleys (Squeak). 

Trying not to be distracted, Archer looked over the crowd again.  He was monitoring strange movements, bizarre behavior, but everyone seemed still so far.  The atmosphere was tense and he looked at both sides – notably Tulo with the young woman, and the prosecution’s side – the one he was so very familiar with.  It did not particularly surprise him that the controversial ex-auror was on the opposing side, though he did not exactly approve.  It was not his place though, and he clasped his hands behind his back, ready to stand for the entire proceedings.  Luckily, he was able to wear his boots with the rest of the ridiculous outfit.  He sighed, waiting for the trial to proceed. 

"Don't be cruel.  She's sixteen, if that. Unseasonable? Honestly, put me down if I become as jaded as you."

"Crime knows no age," Jason responded calmly, though with a bit of a frown.  The girl did seem very young to be charged with such a serious offense, but in a way that only made it worse. How in the world had she even learned such a lethal, uncontrollable spell? He felt he would have remembered it from the Charms syllabus...

"This is my first trial.  The hearings always go more quickly.  I'm not even sure who's presiding."

"I haven't been to many myself, as a juror," Jason confessed.  He had observed and stood guard at dozens while he was an Auror, of course, but the feeling was markedly different now, sitting in the gallery of judges, the arbitor of justice instead of its enforcer. Where then his job had ended when the accused was placed in the hot seat, now it began there.

"Normally it would be the Chief Warlock, or the Minister for something serious. Head of the MLE took over now and then when we were rounding up Death Eaters," the former Auror continued thoughtfully, pressing his lips together as he considered it. His tone darkening, he added, "But we seem to be a bit short on senior MLE personnel lately, so for all I know, it might be--"

And, as fate would have it, it was. The sudden quiet amongst the witnesses drew Jason's attention, and he followed their gazes to the petite woman making her way with stoic, dignified composure to the presider's chair. MacDonell could not help but smile fondly at her; his protege, now his successor as Head of Aurors. His smile faltered with a wince, though, when he considered how the death of the MLE Head must have been affecting Raynor. As next senior in the department, she would have to absorb all those responsibilities. He could imagine the weight on the woman's shoulders.

But she bore it with no outward sign of stress, appearing coolly collected. Nodding approvingly to himself, MacDonell shifted his gaze back to the accused. After a lifetime of fighting Death Eaters (and the consequent paranoia), he had a knack for telling when eyes were on him, and he glanced around until he spotted Archer Radley. He knew the man, of course, from years of work together, but couldn't read the inscrutable expression on Radley's face. Nodding once politely, he looked over as Raynor spoke.

"This is the trial of Wizarding England vs. Darcy Bloxham. The defendant is charged with one count of Arson in the First Degree, one count of Reckless Endangerment of the Public, and one count of Unlawful Casting of Dark Magic. If there are no pre-trial matters, this court is now in session. The Prosecution may proceed."

MacDonell smirked to himself briefly, proud again. 'Any idiot can yell,' he had once told Raynor, 'and anyone with a wand can make himself deafening. But a good commander is heard without screaming or bewitching, just by the force of his -- or her -- tone.' It seemed Raynor had perfected the art.

No one seemed eager to lead the charge on Bloxham, and in Jason's experience, the work of the Wizarding community was often a hodgepodge of badgering, interrogation, and rapid-fire beratement by those sitting in judgment. It wouldn't do for the trial of an accused arsonist to be weak, but Jason thought it unfair for a young one to be harried either. Clearing his throat, he spoke in his own 'Auror voice', the cool baritone echoing off the stones.

"Miss Bloxham, I'm sure I do nay need to explain to you the severity of these charges. Aside from the damage done, the magic in question is evil and nearly always unmanageable -- and something we've nay seen much since the reign of Lord Voldemort," he put in sternly in his Scottish brogue. "So perhaps we should discuss the events themselves."

"Give the Wizengamot your..." He almost said 'version', but thought better of it. "...account of what happened the night in question."

"Miss Bloxham, I'm sure I do nay need to explain to you the severity of these charges. Aside from the damage done, the magic in question is evil and nearly always unmanageable -- and something we've nay seen much since the reign of Lord Voldemort," he put in sternly in his Scottish brogue. "So perhaps we should discuss the events themselves."

"Give the Wizengamot your..." He almost said 'version', but thought better of it. "...account of what happened the night in question."

The judge's stern voice rang out through the courtroom, causing Darcy to shiver unvoluntarily.  She had no idea things would become this serious.  None at all.  If only she knew how to go back in time and keep herself from enacting the prank, she would have. Who would have thought a little fire was dark magic? The association with such an infamous name as Lord Voldemort--gee whiz, how on Earth did it come to that? She was stunned.

"I--" she spoke up, afraid of her own voice as it filled the tense, quiet room.  She had no idea where to start.  All those eyes baring down on her made her incredibly nervous, moreso than she had ever been in her life.  She wanted desperately to run out, to leave and tell everyone it was just a dream, that they'd wake up soon.  That she'd wake up soon.  She looked up to her parents, then back to the stern auror. 

How on earth did he get that scar?

His sharp eyes quickly corrected her need to divert herself.  The story.  The story.  Her...account.  The pause of hesitation was tense, palpable, and seemed to shrink Darcy down to ten times her size.   "It was--," no, not a prank.  Don't say prank.  Don't say prank.  "I was...upset, about Ollie.  Her expulsion, from school, you know."  She gulped hard, hands clenching the sides of her small seat.  "And--" Just the facts.  Just the facts. "And so, I went to the infirmary.  No one was there.  Nobody!" she added emphatically, as if the emphasize how well-intentioned she was about her act of arson. 

"And--," well, now there was no getting around it.  "I um, I cast a spell." She looked down at the floor as she spoke the incriminating words.  "To make a fire.  Just a small one!" she added, looking back up.  "Honest!" Darcy pressed her lips together, jaw clenched.  "And then, it got out of control.  And...then...she looked up, swinging her head to the side to find her classmate.  "Fig showed up...um, Figaro Sellaphix, sir.  And...and Trent.  Travis.  Then Pax, Pax W-Wintergreen, sir." she paused, swallowing again as she looked to the team of aurors above her, "they said, well, they weren't involved, and, erm, Pax ran to get a professor.  And then, Professor Nagde," she glanced up at her defender, "And...and...," she hated to say the name, "Head--mistress Snark.  Professor Lumpkin, too," she spoke, trying to remember everyone. 

"They...fought the fire.  And put it out." She looked up, swallowing again.  "They--they put it out."  That was the important part.  The aurors had to realize that she hadn't done any real harm. 

Darcy sounded so quiet.  She looked so small down there in a place meant for murderers and theives.  Dark wizards.  Figaro swallowed a giant lump in his throat and otherwise sat perfectly still.  His mum put a hand on his back.

As she began to tell her story, he couldn't help but feel how different it all sounded in here than the way it had felt that day.

That day... that had been hot. And very loud and very fast.  Everything in here was cold and slow.  Deliberate and booming.

When she mentioned him, and said his full name, Figaro flinched and looked down.  He didn't want to be a part of it.  But he wanted to blurt out that no one had been hurt and that this wasn't such a big deal.  But he knew it didn't matter.  Dark witch or not, Darcy had used a terrible spell.

She was going to get it.

Knox Greyfriar, next to Jason MacDonell, listened patiently as his former student stuttered out her account of the events.  They seemed faithful enough to the reports he'd seen of the day.  She was petrified and the import of his position weighed so heavily here.  It was so easy to see the destruction even their mildest sentence would cause her.  His responsibility here was clear, however.

"Thank you, Miss Bloxham," he said, speaking up in the silence that followed her story.  He hoped she'd recognize his voice and frame in the large dim room.  Realize his next question wasn't an all out attack.

"I have another question," he said and stood up with a polite pause by way of asking permission of Madam Raynor.  Then he proceeded.

"The spell you cast - Fiendfyre - that's very dark magic and not easy to cast.  You must know a hundred other ways to cast a fire spell.  Why this spell? And how in the world did you learn it? Did you not know how destructive it was? How difficult it was to control?"

He watched her down there and Madam Nagde at her side.  At least she had Tulojow to keep he and the rest of the old bears on the Wizengamot at bay.

Rita's eyes darted between the speakers, and as they settled on the Bloxham-thing for her version of things, her beetly eyes narrowed. Her quick-quotes quill whizzed with excitement at the scandal it was receiving, and Rita watched with an intense satifaction as the urchin looked increasingly uncomfortable retelling the barbaric tale.

As Greyfriar stood to speak, Rita felt the shadow of his gigantic self loom over her. He really was an enormous brute. Her eyes flickered to the parchment, that had very quickly received the treatment of the quill - something fleeting about his recent 'hairy problem'.